Tag: Pagan

Modern Witches Connect on the Internet

Modern Witches Connect on the Internet

 

by BlackCat

Back in 1980, the personal computer was new. As a preteen, I used to wonder why anyone would use one. I knew, however, that this was a part of the future, and so I thought it must be a good thing. At the same time, I was spending many hot afternoons in the forest near my home, communing with nature and searching for spiritual connection. I found that connection with all of the life and energy around me. I yearned to learn more and find others to whom I could relate in these matters.

It was hard. There was no huge assortment of “Wicca for beginners” books available, as there is today. I was lucky to find two books on witchcraft at the local library. Even now, a trip to the downtown Seattle Public Library finds fewer selections on witchcraft than the chain bookstore up the street. Funny that the Seattle Public Library has several bookcases full of selections on religious studies of a Judeo-Christian nature, but only a handful of titles on Wicca. It strikes me that ignorance and prejudice still rear their ugly little heads, even in the free-thinking culture of Seattle.

Since my childhood hometown library yielded some results, I also checked bookstores. I discovered that an independent bookstore in town sold Tarot cards. As my ethnic background is Hungarian Gypsy, Tarot cards were considered okay in our household. I believe it was my elder sister who said, “Tarot cards are okay, Mom. They’re like astrology.” I started collecting them with allowance money. I scanned the shelves at that store, looking at the selections. Seeing books by Starhawk classified as “women’s studies,” in my youthful ignorance I didn’t even pick one up.

After a few visits to the bookshop, a woman behind the counter began to chat with me about the Tarot cards. I did not get to know her personally, but looking back I would say that she, like I, was searching and knew there was some way of connecting out there, but we just didn’t have a vehicle to find it.

For most, it was the true witch-shop that connected them. Generally in larger cities, shops specializing in occult merchandise and books became small magnets for like-minded individuals. In a small town, you relied on mail order catalogs. I bought my first athamé via the mail and even a “spell kit.”

Because neo-paganism is a minority spiritual system or religion, its adherents have generally already broken some ties to the cultural mainstream. Our practices require of us new ways of thinking and rethinking previously accepted norms. We do not have a sacred scripture to keep us all in a line, so we are ever seeking and learning new ideas. All the while, we rediscover the beliefs and practices of our ancestors. The use of the Internet is a natural enhancement for these quests.

The Internet can be so helpful in learning that you’d have to be a fool to stay away from it, in my opinion. It is in essence a huge library. All you do is type a word on your computer, and pictures and text are presented on any subject. I use the Internet for news, weather, shopping and especially for e-mail. Like a telephone call, e-mail is immediate, but unlike a phone call it does not interrupt. The receiver can get the communication whenever is a good time for the receiver.

The pagan community using the Internet is large and diverse. Made up of so many creative people and free thinkers, this graphic and opinionated medium was an easy hit. Today, there are thousands of pagan-related Web sites, Webrings that link sites together, e-mail lists, chat rooms and even virtual covens that have sprung up. We already knew that our magick was transcending time and space. Why not use the computer to further this transcendence to commune with other like-minded individuals? Many of these are separated by great physical distance and, yes, time (it’s afternoon here, but it’s tomorrow morning in Japan). Nevertheless, virtual covens communicate via e-mail and online chat-rooms. Rituals are held online, often using a graphic interface that each member can watch on his or her computer during the ritual.

Where to start? Most people have some search feature on the start page of their Internet service provider. According to Lycos, one of these search engines, of the top 1000 most widely searched-for Web topics, the subject of witchcraft ranked 72 and Wicca ranked 91. A search on the word “Wicca” I just did brings up 59,305 Web sites. That’s right, 59,305 individual listings of Web sites you could look at on the subject. Witchcraft brings up a whopping 108,542!

Such a list is hard to sort through, with many of the listings being redundant or actually off the topic you are looking for. The Internet is so extensive as to be almost too big to handle. I have a suggestion. There is one site in particular that stands out among all the thousands to choose from.

The Witches Voice Web site, Witchvox (www.witchvox.com), is a nonprofit organization. Wren Walker, Fritz Jung and Peg Aloi created the organization and Web site in 1997. Wren and Fritz had both previously done work for the Witches League for Public Awareness. They currently operate out of their home in Clearwater, Florida. The Witches Voice is one of the most widely used religious Web sites in the world, having registered since its creation over 30,850,000 pages viewed! Their tagline, “Those who walk in love and truth shall grow in honor and strength,” clearly reflects their honest, noble cause.

Each week, an update is posted, reflecting current events in the pagan community worldwide. The site is extensive, with 34 chapters containing 3410 Web pages. There are over 5000 working links and over 39,000 personal connections verified every three months. The site is rich in graphics, yet with no annoying advertisements. The Witchvox staff does not take any money for the work they do and state they never have and never will. The Witches’ Voice is funded by the community only.

To quote from their Web site, “The Witches’ Voice provides the information, resources, educational materials, networking sections, latest news and all of the other support documents on the Web site to everyone free of charge. What you don’t see on the site are the more personal letters and information packets that are sent to local agencies, schools and individuals, the many hours of research, the discussions with mainstream media on issues that affect pagans, the phone calls offering emotional support and guidance and all the other ways the staff supports the pagan community.”

I use the Witchvox site for many reasons. Sometimes I just browse the well-organized links section and learn about different Craft traditions. One will find widdershins.org and several other Pacific Northwest links. Maybe I want to learn about pagan musicians or an Internet pagan “radio” address. “Wren’s Nest” offers the latest news and is a credited source for my own news column, the Speculum. There are surveys and essays written by community members from all over the world.

The site encourages and accepts sponsorship donations from those that deem its mission of value, and the site uses those funds to pay for communication costs and for donations to events or situations in the community that need help.I can best offer more information by simply quoting the site:

· Witchvox does not teach Wicca or Witchcraft, nor do we promote our personal spiritual beliefs on this site. We offer some of the more popular tenets to those outside of this community in an effort to help them better understand who we are and what we do. Witchvox is about supporting and celebrating the work of the local communities. We are constantly approached for interviews by some of the most famous publications in the world. We defer 85 percent of these requests to witches, Wiccans and pagans at the local level.

· The Witches’ Voice will never be about titles, degrees or fame. Our focus will always be related to the work itself. We live in a world of spin, idle promises and hype. It is our observation that the work will ultimately speak for itself.

· The Witches’ Voice is a community effort; we don’t pay writers or famous names for articles. Even if we could afford to do this, it’s doubtful that we would do it. We are a site by the community… for the community. All are welcome to submit articles and always have been. Notable pagans are encouraged to share their wisdom and experiences.

· The “pages viewed” stats on our splash page are indeed real. They have been faithfully culled from our server logs from day one. They indicate a running daily total of both Witchvox.com and Witchvox.net. Witchvox.com stats are added daily, and Witchvox.net stats are only added at the end of the month. At present, we are pacing at close to 35,000 pages viewed on a daily basis. If you prefer to work with the concept of “hits” (page elements) you can multiply that number by 5; if your preference is for actual visitors, divide this number by 5.

· The Witchvox focus is on the present day and the present way. To us everyone is special and valid in their own personal beliefs. All you have to do to get “featured” here is to do something for the community. We don’t care if you found this path last month or 25 years ago. We do “lean into” individuals and groups that consistently work for the community. Current selfless work, for the good of all, means everything to us.

· The Witchvox staff have no desire to impose our own personal morals on anyone. “An it harm none, do what ye will” — we do maintain a strong sense of ethics. We encourage honesty and direct contact by anyone that has concerns related to what we do.

· We have a rich history of answering 99 percent of our e-mail on a daily basis (we sure have received a mountain of it). We do not participate in “he said/she said” gossip and do not respond to background bitching. Our e-mail addresses are accessible via links at the bottom of all of our pages.

· As always, our goal is to create solutions that are both valuable and useful to the pagan community. Both Witchvox.com and Witchvox.net are here for your news and networking needs. Use them with our love.

· Use the Internet! Start with The Witches’ Voice, www.witchvox.com, and you’re on a firm launching pad for all of your neo-pagan spiritual explorations through cyberspace.

One Pagan Steps Out of the Broom Closet

One Pagan Steps Out of the Broom Closet

 

by L. Lisa Harris

In days past, stepping out of the broom closet meant sitting at the dinner table and blurting out, “Mom, I’m a witch,” then waiting for her to accept the fact and ask you questions, or faint dead away. She might tell you it was a phase you were going though or refuse to talk to you for a period of time. As a general rule, if it wasn’t accepted, it never left the dinner table. It just wouldn’t do to air the family’s dirty laundry to the neighbors (what would they think?).

Today, it could still be as simple as telling a trusted co-worker that you go to circle, instead of church, or explaining to a potential significant other why there is 7-inch dagger on a small table next to your bed. You might even be lucky enough to be outed by your 9-year-old child, who in an argument with a neighborhood kid yells, “Yeah, well, my mom’s a witch, and I’m going to go get her right now.”

However, with the advent of the Internet, one’s “witchiness” (along with anything else of interest) can be world news in a matter of seconds, as I quickly learned. The speed at which such information can travel and how far it can get can be quite surprising, even for one who is “out of the broom closet.” You can give in an interview to the local paper, and the next thing you know, you’re getting e-mail from Australia.

My adventure in pagan PR and world news began early last winter when I received a phone call from Steve Maynard of the Tacoma News Tribune advising me that he was planning to do a feature story on the Earth Centered Spirituality Group at the Unitarian Universalist (UU) Church in Tacoma, which I have facilitated for the past two and a half years. Steve covers religion for the paper and was slowly but surely making progress with his editor in getting earth-centered events covered on the religion page. We both knew he had a long way to go before he would be permitted to treat our group as the paper did other religious groups when, last Easter season, his editor would not allow him to use the word “pagan” when he was describing a UU church service in which elders read children stories of how four traditions (pagan, Hebrew, Christian and Unitarian) celebrated the Easter season.

I was expecting his feature story to be on the religion page, as we were just beginning to get calendar space in the Saturday edition in that section. Imagine my surprise when he told me that it was going to be the cover for the “Sound Life” magazine section and that there was also going to be a photo layout. He was even going to use the words “pagan” and “witch.” For a moment, I couldn’t believe it. All the months of pestering him and sending press releases and information had paid off. We were going to be taken seriously. We were going to have a chance to let Western Washington know what we were and what we weren’t. I was elated.

But on the drive home from work, I asked myself, “What was I thinking?” A nice little column on the religion page was one thing, but to be on the magazine cover of a Sunday edition was another matter. I have been “out” with my family and friends for 13 years and even wear a triple moon pentacle at work, where I have no problem educating those who would malign others’ religion out of ignorance. But when I thought about the conservative Christian parents of the girls I coach in softball and volleyball on the South Hill of Puyallup reading in the Sunday paper about their coach being a witch, something in my stomach did a double back-flip with a twist. I had visions of girls being pulled from the team by parents who didn’t want them corrupted by that “tool of Satan,” other kids not being allowed to play with my daughter and picketers throwing rocks in front of the church. Steve and I had been working towards this for almost a year and a half, so it was no small matter that I found myself reconsidering the wisdom of the situation.

Most witches I know would meditate or cast a circle and ask the Goddess for guidance when dealing with an important situation like this. My goddess never waits for me to do that. I’ve learned to deal with it. She likes to slip into the passenger seat of my car when I’m trying to drive home at the end of a busy day or corner me when I’m in the bathroom and can’t get up and leave because my pants are around my ankles. This time she chose the car, and she really let me have it. “You’re the one that wanted to be a warrior. Now you’re given a chance to battle ignorance and you’re afraid? Don’t be a wimp! Get out there and act like a priestess, not a weenie!” I don’t recommend dedicating yourself to the Morrigane unless you’re the type of person who can stand up to a drill sergeant without flinching. Of course, as I remember it, I didn’t have a lot of say in the matter. She chose me.

About the time I was feeling completely unworthy, my cell phone rang. It was my daughter letting me know that she was home from school. “Honey, how would you feel if the next article about me was in a bigger paper than the last one?” I asked.

“Um, okay, why?” she replied, her mouth overly full of partially chewed banana. I explained that it would be a front page spread and my picture was likely to be in it. More chewing, and another “Um, okay” followed the sound of the fridge being rummaged through. I asked her what her friends would think if they saw the article, and she assured me that her friends don’t read anything other than the horoscopes, music reviews and comics.

“How would you feel if one of your friends wouldn’t hang out with you anymore because your mom’s a witch?”

“I don’t think that would happen,” she said.

“But what if it did?” I pushed.

She swallowed the rest of her banana, which I’m sure was not properly chewed, and in her best exasperated-adolescent voice said, “Well, that wouldn’t make them very good friends, now, would it? Can I go over to Morgan’s?” So much for the girl being traumatized by it. That was one excuse gone. I reminded her to chew with her mouth closed and take smaller bites, then hung up the phone.

The next call came in right on schedule, from Hubby, who was on his break at work. “Hi, honey, how would you feel if all the guys in the break room at work read in the paper that I’m a witch?” I asked, thinking that there was no point in beating around the bush since he only had 10 minutes to talk.

His response was immediate and enthusiastic, “Cool!” he said. “When will it come out? I’d love for some of those dumb, right-wing conservative jerks I argue politics with to see it, so that I can yank their chain.” When he found out it would be in the Sunday edition, he was extremely disappointed he wouldn’t be there at work to watch the looks on his co-workers’ faces when they read it. It would have been amusing, since I used to work in the same place and know all of them. Great, Hubby wasn’t going to be an excuse either. I was going to have to go through with it.

The next step was to set up interviews and photo opportunities. The interviews weren’t going to be a problem. I’d been talking to Steve for over a year and a half and had sent him volumes of information. How much was there that he could possibly ask? I found out that there was plenty. It seemed that the more information I gave him, the more questions he had. He found that the more people he talked to and the more research he did, the more disagreement on basic issues he found. After a month of spending my lunch hours, breaks and time after work talking to Steve, I still couldn’t come up with answers to some questions other than, “Well, if you ask 30 people that question, you’ll likely get 30 different answers.”

I could hear him shaking his head on the other end of the phone line, but he kept with it. He interviewed Ph.D.s, ministers, theologians, authors and other high priestesses in the local community. He attended Tarot classes and rune workshops that we put on in order to get a better understanding of what our group does and interviewed several people at those classes to get a feel for the local community.

The photo editor wanted to photograph a ritual. “We don’t allow photographers at our rituals,” I explained. When I offered to set something up with people who didn’t mind being photographed, he told me that at the paper they “don’t like things that are staged.” “Great!” I muttered to myself. I already had a Brigid ritual to write, a class on the runes to put together and lines to memorize for a Candlemas ritual that another group was putting on. I knew that the only way the layout was going to work would be to put on a real working with participants who didn’t mind being photographed. I made the offer of a special ritual, with a real working, and once he was convinced it wouldn’t be “staged” and I had his agreement the photographer would not disrupt the flow of the ritual, the date was set. I put out a call to the local pagan e-mail lists for volunteers who didn’t mind being photographed.

Getting the volunteers was much easier than I had imagined, and I was rather pleased with how things were working out. The difficult part, I discovered, was going to be finding a ritual that wouldn’t expose material that many in the pagan community would consider “inappropriate” for public use or that would offend or exclude anyone. I soon discovered that what some considered “outer court” material, suitable for any public occasion, others considered “oath-bound.” I was also faced with the fact that just because something is published and sitting on a shelf at Borders doesn’t mean that it isn’t considered oath-bound by one tradition or another. I suddenly had to worry about being pagan politically correct.

Then there were the personal preferences of those who were going to be in the circle. My Wiccan friends didn’t want a Wiccan ritual “performed” for the media. Some of the pagans didn’t want to be confused with witches, the neo-pagans didn’t want to be confused with “New Agers,” my Brit-trad friends didn’t want to be mistakenly identified as Unitarians, and some of the Unitarians didn’t want to be labeled at all. I had 17 ritualists with 17 different ideas of what would and wouldn’t be appropriate.

As I sat at my computer, staring out the window at the woods out back, I thought to myself, “If my close friends and those who trust me to present paganism to the media are this fired up, what about all the pagans who are going to read this in the paper and had no say in the matter? What are they going to think?” Suddenly I went from feeling like a champion of those who suffer religious oppression to feeling like someone not worthy of the task. I had lost count of the number of people who thought that no reporter could be trusted and that I was making a huge mistake. But I had been talking to Steve for a long time. I knew him. I knew what he wanted to accomplish and trusted him to do right by us. I thought I was doing a good thing, and it seemed that it just ticked everyone off. Visions of angry pagans wanting my hide were added to the already scary ones of crosses burning on my lawn or windows being broken at the church by those who fear us. More doubt filled my mind. I tried to brush it away as quickly as I could. I really wasn’t up for a bathroom visit from a ticked-off goddess. I was starting to get a headache.

Two glasses of wine later, I had decided that we would use only published material, to which I would make some changes so that no tradition’s sacred material would be exposed to the media. The ritual would be a working for community understanding, which seemed fitting for a media event. I scanned my bookshelves, literally sagging under the weight of what my hubby considers my “excessive” book collection, hoping that something would present itself.

I noticed my old dog-eared copy of The Spiral Dance sticking out a bit farther than the other books on the shelf. “Starhawk! She knows how to deal with the public and fight for the cause. I don’t really think she’d mind if I borrowed a few things,” I told myself. I found a ritual written by Alan Acacia titled “A Circle for Healing During Struggle,” which fit in perfectly with what we were planning. I modified it to be less priestess-centered and to have the quarters read their parts themselves. I picked out some nice invocations to the God and Goddess, and soon I had a basic ritual ready to go.

The ritual was beautiful, so beautiful in fact that I forgave my friend Dana without even giving her a hard time for calling me a “circle Nazi” in rehearsal. Everyone showed up in festive clothing and colorful robes. People who came to sit and watch but didn’t want to risk being “outed” by being in the circle were drawn in; they just couldn’t stay out. The quarter callers performed their parts perfectly, the candles all stayed lit, and our sound and lighting person hit every musical cue. We passed a small cauldron, which was later lit, around the room, so that each person in turn could hold it and speak aloud what they hoped to accomplish with the ritual. Everyone was so eloquent and sincere and came up with such wonderful, positive wishes that the reporter was frantic trying to copy them all down. We danced a spiral to raise energy, and everyone in that room could feel a strong, palpable force, even the photographer. We had been asked prior to the ritual to send healing energy to a critically ill girl who was on a respirator in a children’s hospital, so we added that to our ritual working and sent it all flying out of the circle in a powerful stream of golden light. Afterwards, everyone in the circle had a look on his or her face as if they had just had amazing sex. I’d call that good energy.

At 4 a.m. on February 8, after weeks of worries and what ifs, I drove down the hill to the mini-mart to get a copy of the paper. I took a deep breath, readying myself in case it wasn’t really there or my trust in the reporter had been misplaced. On the cover of the “Sound Life” section was a full color picture of the ritualists with their outstretched arms, adorned with rings, bracelets and colorful robes, sending healing energy to the ill girl, and the headline “Pagans at Peace.” The light bouncing off of the sanctuary wall in the background looked just like a ball of gold light being tossed out to the universe. There were pictures of the rune workshop and flaming cauldrons. I must say it was possibly the best article I have ever seen on paganism in the mainstream press. Steve had even quoted Christian clergy to explain what attracts seekers to witchcraft and paganism. Yes, there were some things left out, and a couple of people didn’t think that the press should have made it sound like all pagans share a common set of beliefs. All I could do was say, “Well done, Steve. Thank you.” (To see the story, check out “NEW !!! UUAT In the News” under http//members.nbci.com/uuatearth/.)

There were no picketers in front of the UU church that morning. No threatening messages had been left on the answering machine there or at home. Everyone in the church was excited about the article, and some new people even showed up because of it. A friend who works in a local hospital arrived at work to find the article pinned to the bulletin board and a request for pagan clergy posted. The hospital staff had taken notice of the article section that spoke of pagan hospital patients not having access to clergy services. Now there is a group in Pierce County putting together a program to get pagan clergy registered with local hospitals.

The article made it around the globe in a few hours, thanks to the Internet mailings lists and bulletin boards. It made at least two appearances in the “Wren’s Nest” section of The Witches Voice Web site, and I received congratulations from Circle Sanctuary. Soon I started receiving e-mail messages from all over the world. One told me how the article came at a perfect time to show to a judge in a child custody battle in which the mother’s Wiccan religion was being used against her. Another letter told of a case where a young girl was missing and the local media had blamed it on the fact that she had visited a Web site on Wicca. The story went out on the Howard-Scripps News Service and was reprinted in several other newspapers, sparking a whole new batch of letters, all with similar stories and gratitude to Steve for portraying us in a positive light, not just as a media curiosity at Halloween, as many newspapers do.

When it was apparent that nothing bad was going to happen because of the article, I was almost disappointed. I wasn’t going to have to do battle against ignorance or have an exciting and dangerous story to tell in Widdershins. I came to realize, though, that I did have a story to tell. It isn’t about confrontation or hate. It is about battling my own fear and self-doubt. It is a story of a group of people who came together, regardless of personal risk, to accomplish a goal for the greater community. It is the story of a little girl who got off of a respirator and is back home with her family, who incidentally are not pagan.

Get Your Pagan Self into the Woods

Get Your Pagan Self into the Woods

article

by Catherine Harper

While the pagan religions are frequently generically classified as “nature-based,” pagan culture and practice often seems to grow and flourish the most in and around urban centers. The density of people and social volatility, the greater tendency toward liberalism and an atmosphere that encourages the exchange of ideas … it’s not hard to see why. And perhaps in the cities, where at times our relationship to the natural world seems strange and contorted, we feel most strongly the need for that connection.

(Of course, I sometimes question the whole classification. Not all pagan traditions are so closely tied to real or imagined agricultural roots. And while all may be said to be tied to nature, what then does that not cover? The sky turns equally over city, meadow or forest. There are seasons on the street, as there are on a mountain, and wilderness of a sort in an industrial basin. Unless we are to posit that humans, or the works of humans, stand outside of nature, what does the phrase “nature-based” really mean? But not to belabor the point — many people in the pagan and magical communities feel drawn to, or some reverence toward places and systems of life where the touch of humans is less evident.)

One of the changes in my own practice, over the years, has been a gradual shift of interest away from magical forms and rituals toward a simpler practice dealing with direct connection and experience and contemplation. From being a city girl, fascinated with the natural world but having limited wherewithal to explore it outside of an urban environment, I’ve moved out a bit further, planted my garden, learned to drive, picked up a good pair of boots and sought a portion of my connection with the natural cycles among the mountains, among trees and streams, flowers and mushrooms, snow, sun, wind and rain.

I don’t do a lot of formal ritual anymore. In the woods, if I do anything more than just being there, it is usually simple. A small pile of stones by the side of a stream. A candle lit in darkness. A charm woven of needles or grass, hung from the branch of a tree as a gift and remembrance. I go into the mountains far less to change them than to be changed by them, that the malleable stuff that is my substance may be shaped by these other forces, vast and enduring.

Although there can be a lot of power in ritual, I find that for me the undeniable reality of these experiences grounds me, giving me a simpler but firmer foun-dation. At some level, I may strip down and plunge into a snow-melt fed stream for purification. But even more important, it is simply that I am there, the stream is there and that my soft skin comes to know that water. (Brrr!) I touch, and am touched; the symbol fades before the reality.

There is a feeling among many people that spending time in the wild is something that pagans ought to do. I think such a sense of obligation can only do us harm — there are as many ways of being pagan as there are people who so identify. It seems best to me to strive to understand our own callings and approach those things with delight. (Especially since most of us are already called to many things, and finding balance amidst such abundance is already no simple task.) And yet, it does seem like I know a lot of people who would like to spend more time in the woods, or mountains or untended places by the sea, but who don’t, not even because of the press of time and events by themselves, but because the initial steps are a little too unknown, the research a little too time-consuming, the equipment not entirely familiar. At any one time, that first trip out — or perhaps the second, or fourth — takes a little more preparation than that trip is quite worth.

And so I have for you a modest guide that I hope will help you on your way if you are wanting to get out for the first few times.

What to Bring

Clothing: The basic rule is comfortable, sturdy clothes. Your clothing should allow you to move freely, including scrambling over the odd pile of rocks, or other kinds of moving that might not be part of your everyday life. It should not be likely to be damaged by branches or thorns and it should protect you from the same. Wearing multiple layers is practical, as they can be added or removed to adjust for changing conditions. And conditions do change, the cool day turning blazing hot, the sunny day turning into a thunderstorm. Cotton, as comfortable as it is for many situations, is often not the best choice — it absorbs water too readily and dries too slowly, and so often is cold and uncomfortable when wet. If you have them, lightweight wicking fabrics will serve you well. You can also count on wool, when it’s practical.

Footwear: Good, well-fitted hiking boots are one of the best investments I can recommend for anyone. But if you aren’t hiking more than a few miles, and don’t have ankles that are unusually susceptible to being twisted, any pair of sturdy, supportive shoes will do. Keep in mind that trails are often muddy. Bring waterproof shoes if you have them, and remember that thick wool (or hi-tech synthetic) socks will give you better cushioning and will function better when wet. Also, if you’re going to be walking more than is your usual habit, it’s really not a good time to break in new shoes.

Protective gear: At minimum, I’d recommend a lightweight, water-resistant jacket. (I have one that packs to about the size of an orange.) A hat with a brim for keeping water or sun out of your eyes can be a good idea, as can sunglasses, though it does depend a bit on the time of year and weather. If it’s hot, and you don’t want to cover up, bring sunscreen. Insect repellant is often a good idea too.

Companionship: It’s easy to both over- or understate the hazards of time spent in the wilderness or relative wilderness. One is fairly unlikely to run into serious predators, human or otherwise. But even minor injuries can become serious if they prevent you from returning to the comforts of civilization. (I once fell while climbing up the side of a ravine not much more than a mile from where I lived, putting a deep slash, almost six inches long, up the inside of my leg. Not very far out, but far enough so that no one could hear me. I did get the bleeding to stop, and hobbled home, but it was a sobering event.) These dangers are greatly, greatly lessened by not going alone. It is, to be fair, a rule that almost everyone breaks sometimes. But think about it.

Navigational Material: Classically, you should carry a map and compass. Though if you’re not used to navigating by these means, I don’t know how much they’ll help you. Bring tools appropriate to your trail, whatever it may be — directions, a map, a GPS… and if the trail requires more than you know how to use, save it for another day. Remember, also, that it’s easier to get turned around once you’re off a trail than it might seem.

Other Basics

Food: Even if you don’t think you’ll need it, even if it’s just a sports bar or a handful of trail mix, bring some kind of food.

Water: Same deal. Except more so. (After one 3-mile hike that turned out to be a very thirsty 10-and-a-half-mile hike, I always carry water-purification tablets in my purse as backup, though I use a pump filter if I’m hiking seriously. But this is probably overkill for most people.)

First Aid Kit: You can go fairly minimalist. Most of the time, it will probably go unused, but those few other times you’ll be happy to have it.

Flashlight: Again, you may not intend to be out after dark, but things happen.

Where to Go

Twin Falls, Ollalie State Park: This is one of my all-time favorite short hikes, and even better for being only a short drive from the city. A nice, fairly flat walk along a rushing river surrounded by wildflowers. And then the trees thicken into forest, and there’s a bit of a hill climb to an overlook to the falls. Then down, around, and up again, past more flowers, more river and some really wonderful old trees, and you reach a bridge suspended between two cliffs, offering excellent views of both falls. From the bridge you can follow the trail up to another overlook or two, or simply call it a day and turn back. (The trail eventually connects to a multi-user interstate trail, which, although convenient, is not nearly as scenic.) About 3 miles round trip to the overlook above the bridge.

To get to Ollalie State Park, take I-90 east to exit 34. At the bottom of the exit, turn right, and follow the road until the last left turn before a bridge (which is marked with a sign saying “Twin Falls” or something to that effect). Take that left, drive until you reach the parking area.

Barclay Lake: Barclay Lake is a little farther out, and perhaps a shade longer than the last hike, but less steep. It’s a rougher trail (if you have a tendency toward twisted ankles, make sure you’re wearing supportive boots) through woods with some of the most impressive mosses, shelf fungus and contorted logs that look like trolls. There’s a certain amount of scrambling over logs and some bridges that aren’t much more than logs, along a beautiful stream and at last to a mountain lake. It’s around three miles round trip, with only about 100 feet of elevation gain.

To get to Barcklay Lake, take Highway 2 eastbound, through Index, into the town of Baring. You will see a sign marked “Forest Service Road 6024 next left” and indeed, this is the left you want to take, even though it crosses the train tracks and becomes a fairly piddling road. It then turns into a gravel track, which you follow for about 4.5 miles until you reach the trail head.

The Old Robe Trail: Rushing water. Big trees. Fallen rocks the size of houses. Dark tunnels to creep through. This is one of the most dramatic easy hikes you’re likely to run across. Parking at the trail head, you’ll head down a hill and then across a mostly flat old railroad grade trail along the side of the river. At some points, portions of the trail have washed out. These are still navigable with caution, but do require that caution.

Take Highway 9 until you see a right turn onto Highway 92, toward Granite Falls. Follow 92 into Granite Falls, until it Ts out. Turn left onto the Mountain Loop Highway. (The last few times I’ve been in Granite Falls there has been construction.) About 7 miles out of Granite Falls you’ll see a sign on your right marking the Old Robe Trail.

Further Resources

Washington State is netted with trails. The Mountaineers have lots of publications giving descriptions and directions to many of them (including wonder books aimed at niches — best hikes for kids, best short hikes, best hikes with dogs…). Their Web site is www.mountaineersbooks.org. It lists the books available. There is also a good selection of these and other trail guides at REI, www.rei.com, which is a good source for any additional gear you might want as well.

What’s All This About “And Harm None”?

What’s All This About “And Harm None”?

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by Freya Ray

“Do what you will, and harm none.” What does that mean, exactly? Why on earth would any community hamstring itself with a fundamental motto so basically impossible to live up to? When you think about it, it’s crazy, right?

The Jains, those intensely wacked-out Hindu-type people who believe all life is sacred — and I mean all life — they try. They go barefoot so they don’t inadvertently crush any little critters. They eat no animals. They wear a cloth across their mouth so they don’t inhale a bug. Now that’s devotion to a creed.

Does it work for them? If you play it out logically, any food they eat is taking food from the mouths of other creatures. In India, this equation is even more apparent than here, the land of the surplus. I’m sure Jains roll over during the night and squish caterpillars, brush gnats out of their ears with a little too much force and kill them dead, dead, dead or eat some rice with little cooked rice-eating bugs in it. Not to mention the damage that is inflicted to all the tiny dandruff-eating mites that inhabit our bodies with every belly scratch. You can run it up the food chain, too. The rice that the devout Jain eats is grown on land that is therefore not used to grow hay, and he could be causing the death of a cow through his own feeding.

Please indulge me, and allow me to run through a similarly ludicrous examination of a good little witchy person trying earnestly to do no harm. Say she wants to draw love into her life. She does a nice little ritual to draw a mate to her, being terribly careful not to make any specific requests about any particular individual, so as to not infringe on anyone’s free will. She disposes of any leftover ritual props in sharps containers or recycle bins and dumps nothing into a storm drain. She just wants to be happy, after all, and thinks she needs a mate in her life to be happier, although of course she’s fully aware that true happiness comes from being full in yourself and wouldn’t ever dream of needing to be rescued from her loneliness, although it might be nice to have sex again before she dies.

You with me? Now what happens? Anything. She’s altered the energetic balance of the universe, moving energy and intent toward a specific purpose. She’s shaken things up, sending out a “Now!” signal into the void. She might get someone, but not a very good someone but only what was available at the moment. She might get the letter of what she asked for but not the intent, because the deities are crafty bastards. She might run around after the ritual radiating sexual readiness in such an overtly enticing way she provokes a normally faithful partner to start hitting on her, causing his girlfriend to dump him. Any of these scenarios are possible, and any of them can result in heartbreak and angst for all of the players involved. Or worse, she might get what she wants, be deliriously happy, pissing off her bitter single girlfriends and losing all her pals.

Go on, play this game yourself. Ask yourself, when did I do ritual asking for something? How did it go wrong, in ways I might have anticipated but didn’t? If you’ve been playing with fire, you’ve been burned, unless you’re perfect, and then why are you reading me?

Then there’s ritual for other specific purposes. You might do a ritual of protection for yourself after a bad relationship, a woo-woo restraining order. A year later you realize you haven’t had sex since the circle went up, and guess why? Think of the untold harm this has brought all your potential sex partners during that period of time! The heartbreak!

You do a healing circle. After the circle, one participant has a nervous breakdown, another ends a long-term relationship, another quits his job and becomes an artist. Harm, or not? The nervous breakdown might lead to breakthrough healing, but then it might be the frying caused by too much energy running through a system unprepared for it. The end of the relationship might be good and long overdue, or it might be the result of someone high from endorphins released by letting go of old baggage who decides she’s too good for the partner who stood by her through carrying all the baggage, and if she stuck around another six weeks they’d have been happy together forever. The artist — following his dream or caught up in a Bohemian fantasy? Living his path or abandoning his responsibility to pay child support every month?

How on earth is one to tell?

Spirit can probably keep track of all the ramifications of individual events, but humans can’t. As to judging whether individual results are boon or bane, I’m not entirely convinced Spirit keeps score that way. When we do, it only makes for extensive confusion, and worse.

“And harm none” is a great idea for keeping Fluffbunny Artemis Moonriver from casting a spell to bring Peter Trent, the boy next door and man of her dreams, to her bed, despite his complete and utter lack of interest in giggling little Artemis. It’s a good motto to try and dissuade High Priestess Arachne Wolfspawn from casting a curse unto the seventh generation on the landlord who wouldn’t refund her security deposit because of the teensy little cigarette burns in the carpet. It’s a fine thing to attempt to keep Lord Wizard Aleister SexGod of the Ninth Circle from “initiating” all his “novices” with mushrooms and “tantric sex magick.” I’m not sure it works, but it’s a nice idea, and well worth repeating.

What effect does it have on those with both a conscience and a brain, though? You work to learn responsible magical practices. You sweat the language for your rituals, trying to envision all the possible consequences. You set up support groups and phone trees for helping people who crash after ritual. You do giveaway work more often than you ask for anything for yourself; you try not to offend people in the supermarket.

Good for you.

After a while, you realize you’ve PC’d yourself into a little box, and you can’t really remember why this whole Wiccan thing was so appealing in the first place. Wasn’t there some original moment of power and glory when you touched all of creation, throbbed with majestic spiritual strength, knew your divinity? Wasn’t there some seminal idea about living without compromising yourself to your dominant culture; following your own heart, creating your own reality?

Screw it, then. I mean, assuming you’ve got a conscience and a brain. If you don’t, then you don’t need my words as an excuse to bungle things up wildly all around you all the time.

I let that idea, harm none, lead me away from the place where I radiated power all the time. I got tired of people (only some of them, some of the time, but still … harm none) jumping back out of a hug as if they’d been shocked. I got tired of people calling me after a two-hour first date to tell me their stuff was suddenly all up in their face and they were in no way ready for a relationship. I got tired of people shrinking from eye contact as if I were overwhelming their circuits by beaming lasers from my eyes.

I mean, it’s not like I’m Guru Mai, right? I’m not offering shaktiput, elevating the consciousness of devotees with a glance, touch or hug. I’m not part of some grand tradition where running current at a zippy frequency is celebrated.

No, I was making people uncomfortable. I was doing too much meditation, too much energy work, too many readings, too much talking to God, too much teaching and ritual. Too much. I was too much.

So I stopped. I watched a lot of TV, I stopped meditating, I turned my attention to writing rather than all the other stuff that required my being terribly amped up. Readings I can still do, even when I’m not crackling with juice. Energy work, no. But it was fine, really.

Until I realized consciously what I had done. In seeking to harm none through least common denominator thinking, I had removed a significant portion of my light from the world. I wasn’t making people uncomfortable anymore, but neither was I challenging them to grow and giving them a little nudge with catalytic energy. I wasn’t radiating at the highest frequency possible for me, the one that brings me the most joy.

It’s a lot more fun being all amped up. If I thought about it, I could list the harm I brought the world by damping my energy down, but the other kind of harm was much more in my face. It’s a Wonderful Life, and all that.

That’s my point, then. Screw `em. Do what you reasonably can to act ethically and responsibly, but don’t sweat it, trying to find the perfectly harm-free path. It can’t be done. Harm happens. Every action you take, every word you speak, is going to have consequences, more of them unforeseen than foreseen. That’s life!

Take a deep breath and do what you are moved to do. If you expand the first part of the creed to “Do what you will, as guided by spirit, your intuition, your wisdom and your conscience,” you’re probably going to be fine.

There will be consequences. You’ll deal with them when they happen. But don’t let the fear of them stop you from charging yourself up, radiating light, learning energy work or asking for what you want. I’ve got the army slogan running through my head now: “Be all that you can be!” Whatever. So it’s hokey. Do it anyway.

Screw it. Do what you will, as best you can.

A Walk on the Wild Side: A Lifetime Finding Magick in Nature

A Walk on the Wild Side: A Lifetime Finding Magick in Nature

 

by L. Lisa Lawrence

When I sit back and try to identify my first significant spiritual experiences, I can’t come up with just one but rather a series of experiences that share a common bond of nature and wilderness. These experiences span my entire lifetime and began when I was too young to understand them.

I was blessed to grow up on the coast. Some of my earliest memories involve running along the waterline dodging the incoming waves picking up seashells, building sand castles and watching the Pacific Ocean crash onto the rocks and cliffs sending its salty spray skyward. I remember the sun setting over the Channel Islands painting the sky orange, pink and purple. I was never as happy anywhere as I was where I could experience the sand, wind, water and blazing sun.

As a small child, barely 3 years old, my heart stopped beating as a result of respiratory arrest induced by an asthma attack while running on my beloved beach. I can’t recall any “white light,” dead relatives or even the paramedics restarting my heart with an intracardiac epinephrine injection, but I did know that my life ended and began again at the edge of the sea. From that day on, I would always be tied to the water. I was literally reborn to it.

Later, farther north on the coast, as an adolescent drawn to the beach and water, I defied my parents and climbed down a treacherous trail from cliffs to the beach below, only to be trapped in a cave by the incoming tide for several hours. I was not afraid but was at peace, knowing that the never-ending cycle of the moon and sea would let me go home when the time was right. I explored the labyrinth of caves and discovered bats, otters and sea lions that were more than willing to share their space with me and didn’t seem the least bit disturbed by my presence. Time stood still while I was in those caves. When I emerged, I was shocked to see the sun setting, and I made my ascent back up the cliff. I returned to those caves many times when I needed a place to just be — although after getting in trouble for worrying my parents, I learned to check the tide tables first.

When I got older and began to expand my geographic horizons, I discovered the foothills, forests and mountains. As a teenager, I rode the bus from my small costal town up into the foothills to work at a fancy inn’s riding stable on weekends and vacations, shoveling horse poop and guiding trail rides for a mere $15 a day, unlike my friends who were working at McDonald’s or in a fashion store in the mall. My reward for all the sore muscles, sunburn, saddle sores and blisters was being able to escape into the hills on my horse, alone. The pressures of a challenging academic program, teen angst and a dysfunctional family disappeared as my chocolate brown gelding and I ascended the steep hills and galloped across meadows with the wind blowing through our hair. Almost every evening, I watched the setting sun turn the Topa Topa Bluffs a bright pink and listened to crickets and coyotes sing a welcoming song to the twilight. I was at peace. I was at home. Only reluctantly would I come down out of the hills, walk two miles to the bus stop and take the hour long ride back down the hill to “real life.”

On the outside, I appeared quite “normal”; I was popular, excelled at sports, held elected office, did well in my classes and was involved in community theater, a church youth group and journalism. But I knew that I was different and often needed to escape to nature, which was the only place that I truly felt at peace. At that point in my life, I didn’t know anyone else that was like me, so being a typical teenager, I just did my best to fit in. I would soon discover that denying your true nature doesn’t work.

If I hadn’t already figured out on my own that I was “different,” it was brought home to me in junior high school when our Methodist Youth Fellowship youth group took a religion test. We were presented with a series of statements and were asked if we agreed or disagreed and on a scale of one to five how strongly we felt about it. Our answers resulted in a numerical score that correlated to a specific religion. Out of the 14 that took the test, 13 scored “First United Methodist,” and I scored “Unitarian.” I’m certain that “pagan,” “witch” and “tree-hugging dirt worshiper” were not included on the test, and that I had, in fact, received the lowest score possible. In our small costal town, the Unitarians were “those pagans on the hill who drink wine and have naked hot tub parties” and were not thought highly of by other churches.

After graduating from high school with honors as part of a group of friends who composed a Who’s Who of well-adjusted overachievers, then graduating from college with a degree in accounting, I spent a year and a half trying to do what was expected of me by taking a stable government job. I tried to force myself to work in a concrete and glass climate-controlled building, and in true overachiever fashion I became the youngest-ever deputy treasurer for the County of Ventura. It wasn’t me. I just couldn’t take it. At the tender young age of 21, I ran off to go fight fires for the Forest Service.

It was there that I found others who also loved nature and needed to be in it as much as possible. Every morning, I would take long hikes in the mountains, encountering bears, mountain lions and eagles that did not react to me as if I was an intruder, but rather as if I belonged there. It was there that I began to have visions of the spirits of the land and to understand my connection to the earth and the meaning of my dreams. I was finally free to be myself and even had others with whom I could openly discuss these things.

Soon, I became a liaison between the federal land management agencies and the local Native American tribes. Tribe members invited me to sacred ceremonies, and elders taught me because they recognized my connection to and dedication to the land. During my time and travels with the Forest Service and Park Service, I was accepted by several tribes.

But I knew that I didn’t belong. I became confused and discouraged that it was okay for the earth to be your religion if you were Native American, but not if you were white. It was as if I was trapped between worlds, not fitting in either. I knew I could never go back to the church I was raised in, and I felt that I would spend my entire life wandering in the wilderness alone, without those of like mind.

As I questioned and explored more, I discovered that my mostly Celtic ancestors also had a tribal culture that honored the earth and that was quite compatible with what I had been taught by Native Americans. I did as much research as I could, found bookstores, covens and teaching circles when they were available in towns near where I was stationed, and I had many mentors and pen pals (this was in the days before the Internet). I finally learned who the woman was who stood at the foot of my bed when someone died or when there was danger. I had inherited my line’s banshee, who skipped a generation from my grandmother to me. I even finally found my way to a few of those “pagan” Unitarian churches.

My formal training enhanced but never took the place of actually being in and connecting to nature. I stood on mountaintops in the Sierra Nevada and Rocky Mountains talking to and honoring the spirits of the land. I sat in sweat lodges in the very womb of the Mother in the Black Hills of South Dakota and had visions that I can’t share here that told me to remain close to the earth. I’ve seen the ancestors in the pueblos of the Southwest and heard the music of the desert.

Each new sacred place in nature taught me a new lesson or introduced me to a new guide; many of them appeared in physical form and would do whatever was necessary to get my attention. High above the Colorado River, a golden eagle buzzed me numerous times and almost knocked me off a 2,000-foot cliff, appearing incensed that I didn’t recognize that it had graced me with its presence and was trying to give me a message. That eagle taught me that there is a message in every encounter and that it is our job to recognize and learn from those messages. It also taught me that the messengers don’t take kindly to being ignored.

I realize that I have come full circle back to the waters of the Pacific. I am blessed to live close to the water and to be able to walk down to it whenever the mood suits me. I often play my fiddle on the water’s edge and find myself in the company of harbor seals, bald eagles and great blue herons. I feel the sun on my face, the wind in my hair and the magick that is all around me. Just as when I was a small child, the water brings me comfort. I experience the elements as sand, wind, sun and salt water, only now I understand what they mean and my connection to them. I am also surrounded by great people who understand as well.

I have met many people over the last 20 years who can be described as “natural witches.” They draw their energy directly from nature, work with herbs and stones for healing and are attuned to the cycles of the earth. Their mysteries come to them directly from nature, and their magick has an organic feel to it. They may or may not have had formal training, but no matter what their experiences, there is something special about them.

My grandmother, a Scorpio, was such a woman, although I don’t think she would have taken kindly to being called a witch; then again, I could be wrong. We never talked about it. She was by all accounts the original “wild woman” and certainly looked the part, with long raven hair cascading around her face and shoulders, reflecting red in the sunlight as she stood in the desert greeting the rising sun. Well into her 60s, she would wander the desert alone in search of stones, herbs and adventure. She lived on her own terms, not giving a rat’s butt what anyone else thought about her, and preferred the company of the earth and its creatures to that of most people. When she did choose the company of others, they were always artists, writers, musicians and other Bohemian types. My mother, in bouts of exasperation with the wild and difficult child I was, often said, “You’re just like your grandmother.” Writer Earl Stanley Gardener wrote a piece about her entitled “The Desert Nightingale.” He knew she was special.

I wish I had been able to recognize and appreciate the magick in her. By the time I grew into an adult and began to understand, she was gone. But her spirit remains in the mountains, desert and ocean, and in me.

How does a woman with a legacy of wildness, whose spirituality is explicitly tied to nature, survive living in an apartment in town? It has been challenging, but it has expanded me.

Six years ago, when I moved to the Pacific Northwest and attended my first indoor circles, I was shocked to find that many groups here held rituals indoors. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could connect with the elements or the gods in a building.

I got over it after experiencing my first winter here. It’s all very well and good to be outdoors, but if your fellow participants are getting pelted with freezing rain, with soaking wet feet in the dark of night, they’re going to be distracted. I work alone and in small circles outside whenever I get the chance, even in crappy weather, but for larger, public events it’s easier to be indoors.

It’s much simpler than I thought to connect to the elements while standing inside a building. Going on a simple guided meditation can connect me to the earth, feeling its coolness, inhaling its heady scent of decomposing leaves and pine needles and reveling in the feeling of fertility. With a little work, something as insubstantial as a few two-by-fours and some shingles isn’t a barrier. If I’m in the proper state of consciousness, it doesn’t even seem to exist.

Even living in a city, wilderness is all around. Wilderness exists at the edge of the water, in a local park or even under a tree in a backyard. I have seen the fey dancing in a hanging basket of flowers on a patio in an apartment complex. The Cascade and Olympic Mountains are a short drive, in a car or on the bus. In a little over two hours, I can be standing on the beach looking out at the vast wilderness that is the Pacific Ocean or across the mountains harvesting sage in the desert.

I have experienced and learned much in the last 20 years from many different sources, but the times in my life spent in direct connection to nature, to the gods, to all this is, without religious structure or human-imposed limitations, have been the most powerful times in my life.

Every place in nature, and in pockets of nature in the city, is sacred. Each place has its own energy, song and spirit guides. Go on… take a walk on the wild side and see where that journey takes you.

Sacred Symbols and the Witch Next Door

Sacred Symbols and the Witch Next Door
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Author: Draekaa

It’s Tuesday at five o’clock. I punch out, lock up my desk, and leave the dreaded office for the evening. As I walk out of the side door, I imagine that I’m going through one of those automatic car washes, and the brushes and water are removing the day’s stresses and negativity from me (I’m a title clerk at a car dealership, and as you can imagine, dealing with the DMV every day tends to build up negativity). By the time I get to my car, I’m feeling good, stress free and ready for the evening. I look up and see another Carolina thunderstorm rolling in. It’s going to be a 30-minute drive in the rain, and that makes me smile.

By the time I meander my way out of the parking lot, the rains have started. I roll down my window and stick my hand out. As I drive down the street, going with the flow at 45 mph, I feel the bite on my palms and wrists. Like thousands of needles, the drops seem to pierce my skin, infusing me with the energy of Water and Wind. My entire left side is soaked, and I don’t seem to mind. The family in the mini-van next to me stares slack-jawed, thinking me to be insane. I feel sorry for them. If they only knew how good this feels, how cleansing it is, their heads would hang out of the windows of the van like Labradors. I turn into the parking lot of the grocery store to pick up something for cakes and ale tonight. The rain is coming down in sheets. Thunder cracks and rumbles, making the ground shake. Lightning strikes are everywhere. A handful of people run to their cars, holding a few grocery bags and covering their large heads with thin arms to shield themselves. I have the sudden urge to strip naked, arms out in childlike joy, and dance in deformed circles throughout the parking lot until I’m dizzy and fall into a puddle, laughing. The only thing stopping me is the patrol car parked nearby, with the cop inside catching up on his paperwork. I stroll leisurely into the store and pass a small group of old southern women staring at me as they huddle just behind the automatic doors waiting for the storm to subside. One of them tells me that I’ll get sick from that, and that I should have at least tried to hurry into the store where it’s dry. I look at her and say, “Water is a sacred symbol. I am Cleansed and Purified by the Mother.”

When I’ve finished my transaction and head out of the store, the rain has slowed to barely more than a drizzle. As I turn out of the parking lot, it has stopped all together. Again, I’ve rolled down my window and stuck my arm out; now it’s just the Air that I feel on my skin. I inhale the crisp smells only detected after a storm. My lungs expand, and I feel the butterflies in my stomach. That smell always seems to rejuvenate me. I pull into my driveway, turn off the car and go inside. I put the cakes and ale in the refrigerator, then head straight for the back door. On my deck, I sit and enjoy the rolling hills and farmland behind my house. The smell of the after rain still clings to the Air. I breathe deeply and close my eyes. I feel at one with the Air, with the sky. A light breeze kisses my face. As the breeze kicks up, it wraps around me, a swirling blanket of the Gods. I am given the gift of the East, Air as its symbol, and I take that with me back into the house.

The rest of the coven arrives. I change into my robes and we go into the altar room to set up. I lead them through the chants and the worship, we dine on the cakes and ale, and we meditate briefly before opening circle. After ritual, we sit and catch up on what’s going on in each other’s lives. We laugh, we talk, and we laugh some more. By 9:30 they show themselves out, and I return to the altar room. I light all of the candles once again and stare into the flame of one of my altar candles. I feel my spirit disconnect from my physical body. I enter a trance, and am lost in the awesome power of the Fire. My mind becomes one with the dancing flame and images flood my head. Insights are gained, wisdoms etched into my psyche to forever become a part of me. My education continues, with the Lord and Lady my teachers. The Fire is a symbol of my knowledge. My passion swells as I strive to learn everything…to know…to be. I become aware that I’ve hit the climax of my trance and feel the cycling down, the beginning of the end of the controlled burn. The images slow, and I am once again aware that it is a candle at which I stare. I thank the Gods for bestowing the gnosis upon me, and carefully extinguish the flame.

I am unaware of the time, and do not care to know. I need to ground myself, but rather than do it inside, I instead choose to take our offerings from ritual and bury it outside in the Earth. In the backyard, I find a small, rich patch of soil. Most of the yard is clay, except for here. I dig deeper than needed. Halfway down I toss aside my trowel, electing instead to feel the Earth in my bare hands. As I dig I allow the energies raised within me to pour down into the Earth. The smell of the grass and weeds and dirt permeate me. I feel calm and relaxed, bathed in the glow of the full moon. Carefully I scrape the offering off of the dish. I close my eyes and feel good, knowing that however small it is, this gift of thanks to the Gods will decompose, and what grows in this spot will receive some extra nutrition. All returns to the Earth in good time. I repack the hole I’ve dug and remain on my knees for a few more minutes. The Earth, our symbol of life, our living organism.

These are the most sacred of symbols, the Elements. Water, Air, Fire and Earth all connect us to the Spirit. I stand up slowly, beginning to feel the effects of exhaustion. I turn my head to the right and see a neighbor peeking out the blinds at me. I think to myself that I’m doing nothing strange here, yet tomorrow morning I’ll be the block’s topic of conversation. A Mona Lisa smile crosses my lips as I wave to her and she quickly moves away from the window. I go back into the house, knowing that I’m just the everyday Witch next door.

Alas, All Barrels Have Their Bad Apples

Alas, All Barrels Have Their Bad Apples
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Author: Ginger Strivelli

It is sad but true; all barrels have their bad apples hidden within.

The Pagan community is not immune to ignorant and/or immoral idiots who call themselves one of us, and then go on to be the worse kind of bad example, spewing bad PR and worse damage in the wake of their stupid if not outright evil behavior.

The problem is, most people do not judge all Muslims by the “bad example” of Osama Bin Laden, or all Christians by the bad example of David Koresh, nor all New Agers by the bad example of the Heaven’s Gate cult. Nonetheless, it seems painfully clear that too often too many people still judge all Pagans and Witches and Wiccans and Druids and other Earth Religionists by the crimes of our few bad apples. Admittedly we’ve had some real rotten-to-the-core ones…and will sadly continue to in the future, most likely. We are open and accepting and loving people and we tend to embrace everyone, even those we shouldn’t. In our inclusive accepting ways we sadly include and accept those who we should not to start with. However, once those bad apples have been pointed out to us, we should stop including and accepting them! That seems simple, but often it is not so clear to Pagan leaders, clergy and communities when faced with a situation where one within their circle surprisingly turns out to be a bad apple.

How can we as a community distance ourselves from these types of bad examples? It is a question we ask each other often. A question we are forced to address way too often when such situations arise where someone within our local Pagan Circles turns out to be an idiot, mentally ill, or actually evil. Woefully, we tend to have some people who call themselves “Pagan” who fit all three categories. Perplexingly, some of our fellow Pagans will balk at denouncing these people…they will urge us to be “understanding” or “forgiving” or “tolerant.” The fact is some things, some people, some behaviors and some crimes are just wrong and not understandable, forgivable, or tolerable. That is a hard lesson: For some of us who have fought long and hard for tolerance and acceptance to realize that everything is not tolerable and acceptable! Some things are just wrong. There is still a line between right and wrong. Just because you are trying to be progressive and open-minded and tolerant doesn’t mean you can just not draw that line between right and wrong…you must draw it somewhere. Even if you draw that line at a different place than the (in your view) narrow-minded greater community, you still must draw the line somewhere!

We in the Pagan community try so hard to be open-minded, we often get so open-minded our brains start to fall out. It is a hard lesson for us to face that we can’t and shouldn’t blindly accept everything and anything, just because we preach acceptance and tolerance of our faith.

An ancient and honorable faith like Witchcraft, Paganism, Druidism, Shamanism, or modern variations thereof, like Wiccans and such, should naturally be accepted; a religion is not intolerable. However, some things, some behaviors, some people are intolerable, and we should stop preaching acceptance when we are faced with such stupidity and/or evilness. Those things do not deserve acceptance. People who practice such behaviors should not be “accepted” or “understood.” They should not be excused with the wand of “tolerance.” They should be exposed, exiled, and executed in some extreme cases with the Athame of Lady Justice and Lady Karma instead. We real Pagans should not feel obligated to explain or excuse or expunge such behaviors and crimes. We should stand up and loudly and proudly be intolerant in such cases!

The Pagan community’s bad apples range from just the misguided and stupid bruised-apple types to those who are evil mutations of nature and are rotten-to-the-core types… and none of them should be protected or covered up for by the legitimate Pagan community, just because they call themselves one of “us.” That does not make them one of us; it does not make them representative of our religion or our community. However if we stand behind these bad apple bad examples, and “accept” them and embrace them and forgive them, then we should not be surprised when our whole community gets judged by their bad example. What is the greater community to think if we ourselves allow and foster such fools and monsters amongst us? Naturally they will think us all as ignorant and immoral as our fosterlings.

The phrase goes, “One bad apple spoils the barrel;” that is why a good farmer doesn’t let any bad apples stay in any barrel. We as Pagan clergy and leaders need to listen to the wisdom of that farmer. We need to kick such bad apples out of our barrels as soon as we know they are bad. That doesn’t make us “intolerant” or not “accepting;” that makes us a religious group with a code of honor and morals that we hold ourselves to. It is shocking that many of our Pagan clergy and Pagan group leaders hesitate to show this bit of wise leadership. In their defense, often they are trying to be all-accepting and all-inclusive, for they fear being seen as un-PC. Or perhaps they have just become so open-minded their brains are falling out.

Pagans need to encourage their leaders to set limits on what is acceptable and tolerable and what is not. We need to start drawing that line between right and wrong somewhere, instead of just arguing that everyone else has it drawn too conservatively so we are going to erase it altogether. The line is there for a good reason, so when people go over it, we know to stop associating with them and to punish them or see that the greater community punishes them before they cause any more harm to others around them.

We preach, “And ye harm none.” But perhaps we should add, “And ye let no one else do harm either.”

I Am A Witch

I Am A Witch
by Sandi Thomas

When I stand up for myself and my beliefs, they call me a “Witch”.
When I stand up for those I love, they call me a Witch.
When I speak my mind, think my own thoughts, or do things my own way, they call me a Witch.

Being a witch entails raising my children to be strong people

Who have a solid sense of personal and social responsibility

Who are not afraid to stand up for what they believe in
Who love and respect themselves for the beautiful beings they are.

Being a witch means that I am free to be the wonderful creature I am,
With all my own intricacies, contradictions, quirks and beauty.
Being a witch means I won’t compromise what’s in my heart.
It means I live my life MY way. It means I won’t allow anyone to step on me.

When I refuse to tolerate injustice and speak up against it, I am defined as a witch.
The same thing happens when I take time for myself instead of being everyone else’s maid or when I act a little selfish.

I am proud to be a witch! It means I have the courage and strength to allow myself to be who I truly am and won’t become anyone else’s idea of what they think I “should” be.

I am outspoken, opinionated and determined.
By Goddess, I want what I want and there is nothing wrong with that!

So, try to stomp on me, try to douse my inner flame, try to squash every ounce of beauty I hold within me. You won’t succeed.

And if that makes me a witch, so be it. I embrace the title and am proud to bear it. I love this, I can call myself a witch now and not feel bad about it!

SO MOTE IT BE!

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I AM A WITCH

Rune of the Day for June 10th is Ehwaz

 

Ehwaz/Movement

 

This rune stands for transit and transition and movement. It can even mean new life. Things are getting better. The development is a gradual but steady progress through several shifts and changes. Growth is just possible by the means of those changes.
Moral integrity and per
Have faith in the future and be willing to share, whatever awaits you.

 

Getting My Husband to Accept My Religion

Author: Scáithshúilóir

I have believed in the Wiccan Way since I was perhaps seven or ten years old. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I began to more wholeheartedly follow the Old Way. I hadn’t done much research, regrettably, and yet looking back on old writings of rituals and dances, songs, poems, that had, at the time, seemed to have nothing to do with the Craft, really did. It was as though the Goddess and the God had been in my blood from day one (for Christianity had always felt “icky” to me, as though I were living a horrid lie that simply wouldn’t go away no matter how much I told the truth) .

I knew what I was, who I was, and what I wanted to do to show the world my beliefs.

However, in my eighth grade year, I was pulled into a weird cult group at my school and while the path we followed as akin to Wicca it was not all the same time. The gods and goddesses we followed were more or less made up, and when I met my current husband at the end of ninth grade after Hurricane Katrina and his friend whom wanted to practice Wicca and turned to me for information, I gave my husband’s friend the information of my cult from middle school versus the true information of the Craft.

My husband went online to verify the information and when it didn’t match up, he went rather nuts. So to this day, I’m still living up to that “lie.” I’m tainted and as are my beliefs.

Now, though he lets me keep my altar up (rather ignorant I’m guessing of what it stands for) and lets me wear my Goddess pendant and pentacle medallion, I know he fights me on practicing my beliefs openly. He seems unable to understand that when one says Wiccans believe in magick, it isn’t necessarily that we believe we can make the wind blow, or flowers grow, or move things with our minds, but rather that we take negative energy morph it into positive energy and through Circles and rituals and spells and the like we channel that positive energy to influence our world and through our positive thoughts and the like change how we do things and how our world is around us.

Yet… I don’t know. It’s hard because every time I bring up Wicca, he tells me “you’re not Wiccan” but I think it’s more because he’s in denial. Like, I saved something from a website that had a good Mabon ritual that I wanted to use come next month and he said, “So you’re looking up Wiccan things to buy online.”

I said, “No, I saved the site because it had a good ritual.”

He didn’t seem mad and didn’t argue with me. So, I guess it’s more of a gradual transition. My friend from years ago, Cael, did a tarot reading for me and said that there are two paths before me and only one reaches home. I’m torn between which path is the right one to take but I’m too stubborn to give up the fight.

I’m not sure exactly what to do.

I’ve prayed consistently to the Goddess and the God to guide me, to allow my husband, whom I would give my life for, who I believe the Goddess and the God gave to me personally, to accept my beliefs. I don’t want him to practice with me. I understand and accept fully that he doesn’t believe what I do, yet… I wish he’d extend the same kindness to me.

I guess I’d be more truthful if I said that there are some aspects of Wicca that I follow. I believe that faeries are lesser, almost demi-gods that are more or less spirits of the Earth manifested in plants, flowers, etc. I’ve already stated my thoughts/beliefs on magick.

I’m an eclectic Witch, but more or less I guess I’d be traditional in the sense that I worship the Goddess and the God, I only call upon Them in my rituals. Though I acknowledge all the other gods and goddesses of the various pantheons, I feel as though it more respectful to speak directly to the “head honchos” of the Way. That may just be me. I don’t believe in love potions, healing spells on myself, or things like that.

I think it is horribly against the Rede to do anything that might be considered “personal gain.” I believe in working for the things in my life, not use the magick given to me in ways to make it a faster process, just to give me a hop in my step.

I’m beautiful the way I am, the Goddess wouldn’t have made me such if I wasn’t truly beautiful. I love women and men equally; I don’t think one sex is better than the other. The Goddess and the God manifest in each of us, so no one is more perfect than the other.

I accept others beliefs, for the Rede bids us “Abide the Wiccan Law ye must/ in perfect love and perfect trust.” I follow the Rede as best I can, but like all humans I mess up.

But I’ve digressed from my general point. I only want to be accepted. I wish I could reach a mutual understanding with my husband. I love my faith and I love the Goddess and the God, and to not worship them every night by opening a circle and simply meditating with Their presence beside me, it’s almost painful.

Goddess and God willing my husband will accept my religion as I have undoubtedly accepted his. But as I’ve mentioned before in above paragraphs, it’s still a debated issue. I hope the gradual transition works out in the end. And I hope it comes to a close soon. I can’t take much more of this. It’s killing me.