On Forgiveness

Forgiveness is an important concept in the Judeo-Christian ethos. Much of the impetus of those religions is gaining God’s forgiveness for sins committed by the human being.  The Wiccan/neo-Pagan ethos does not generally subscribe to this concept. Nor do we subscribe to the concepts of hell or sin.  I do not need my Gods’ forgiveness; as a result I am responsible for my behavior and my life.  There is no magickal absolution.  I am responsible for all of it, good or bad.  But that does not mean that the concept of forgiveness should not be a part of our culture.

In the Judeo-Christian ethos, the concept of forgiveness does not apply only to the human’s relationship with God but, to the relationships between human beings.  And this is where we could benefit from embracing the concept of forgiveness.

There are times when forgiveness is inappropriate, specifically when it results in the enabling of habitual abuse.  There are times when someone’s habitual behavior is toxic and we should not allow them to continue to affect our lives. 

There are times when our own choices about our lives will make others that we love unhappy.  We are responsible for our own happiness, for living with integrity, for following our own truth and sometimes that is in conflict with the desires of others in our lives.  We do not need forgiveness for those choices.  We do not need forgiveness for being true to who we are.

Just as I do not need forgiveness for making choices about my own life, for choosing to follow my own heart rather than comply with another’s desires, so too must I acknowledge that others have the right and duty to live with integrity and that I should not berate them for doing so, even when I have had other hopes, expectations, desires.  They are not responsible to live as I would want.  They are not responsible for my happiness, but for their own.

We do not always behave as our highest selves would dictate however. Sometimes we fall short and we forget ourselves and we react from a place of anger or frustration instead of responding from a place of love.  A friend reached out to me yesterday and instead of listening and offering support and sympathy, I reacted from my own hurt and frustration.  I ranted instead of listening with compassion.  I was not a good friend in that moment. 

I was angry with my behavior when I returned to myself.  I asked that friend to forgive my selfish behavior, and they have.  Because our friendship is important to both of us, because I am a good friend most of the time.  That friend has needed my forgiveness sometimes too.  We generally do not require an apology or a request for forgiveness from the other.  We make allowances for the fact that as human beings our own needs occasionally collide with the other’s moments of frustration. 

It is always healing to the relationship if the one who behaved selfishly can acknowledge their lapse; it is always easier to forgive those we love when they ask us to.  Telling those we love that we indeed regret causing them pain, that we wished we had behaved differently, that we think that they deserved to be heard and that we do indeed want to be there for them, that they are valuable, is especially important because we all sometimes behave in ways that say the opposite.

It is also healing to ourselves to ask for forgiveness rather that indulging in self-berating thoughts.  Forgiving myself for poor behavior is easier when I have asked forgiveness from those I have let down. That does not mean that I can habitually behave in that way, it means that I move forward and try to learn from it and try to react less and respond more.

This is true to all relationships; family, friends, coven, community, allies.  Even in relationships that are not based upon love.  Even towards people with whom I work or interact in the mundane world, I will occasionally behave rudely; I will sometimes be short with someone, reacting with impatience and frustration rather than respect and appreciation.  This is just bad manners. 

I believe that good manners are indispensable to the civility required to live peacefully with others in a society.  And I believe that honor requires that I apologize for such behavior immediately.  My own bad mood is not an excuse to be rude or disrespectful towards another, no matter the relationship, or lack of one.  I have yet to meet a stranger who is not immediately willing to forgive when asked. 

It is crucial to my commitment to living a life of honor that I not lose sight of this concept and that I apply it to my relationships and interactions with those closest to me and with those with whom I interact every day.

On Falling in Love

I have been thinking a lot lately about falling in love.  Not considering it, but rather reflecting upon it.  I have been remembering the times in my life when I have experienced falling in love with another.  A boy named Jimmy when I was 11 (I kissed him in a row boat).  A boy named David when I was 14.  Another David when I was 18.

A beautiful woman named Annie, barefoot in a red dress on stage at the Tower, when I heard her sing “Carpet of the Sun” for the first time (I was 19).  Harpo Marx, when I saw a scene of him playing the harp to a beautiful blond in a black and white movie (I think I was 9).

A cat named Spot when I was 5 (he lived till I was 19) A black puppy named Kansas City Jones when I was 20 (he lived till I was 31) A little black kitten named Scooter when I was 30 (he bonded with the dog)  A grey cat named George and a black kitten named Jack.  A tiny black kitten who was born in my bed at 1 in the morning and who lived for 51 hours (I named him Merlyn and buried him in the garden and cried for 3 days)   Most of all, my beloved Pwca who I found at the SPCA.  I never even noticed the others in the room.

My nephew and my niece the first time I saw their faces and every time since.  My son and my daughter when I first felt them move inside me, when I first saw their faces in my dreams, and again when I held them as babes, when I met them as 18 year olds, and every time I see them now.  My son-in-law the first time I saw how he makes my daughter smile, and every smile since.  My granddaughter when I saw her face in my dream and then in my vision. 

My closest friends, my recent lovers, my beloveds.  The God the first time I met him and every time since, the Goddess every face she has and every time I meet her. 

Falling in love is what happens when your soul recognizes the spark of magick in another soul.  Even when it is a brief glimpse of that spark in the soul of a stranger.  It is a moment when that part of you reaches out and connects with something outside yourself, when it instinctively understands the miracle that exists in another.

Falling in love can last a moment or a lifetime.  Life holds infinite chances to recognize the miracle.  Be willing to fall.

Integration...or blurring the edges

I like boxes.  I compartmentalize well.  I like the sense of order that it gives me to have things all sorted and separated.  Boxes within boxes, all neatly stored on shelves behind the closet door.  Even my computer has documents in files, within files, within folders all neatly stored in one folder, not on my “desktop”. (In fact there is nothing on my desktop but an empty trash bin which is only there because it will not let me hide it in a closet)

My alters are like that, neat, ordered, symmetrical, balanced, expressing one idea, one type of energy or a balanced pair.   They are a reflection of my inner structures.  I am very good at distinguishing the many subtle shades of my different selves, my different roles and relationships.  Even my relationships with one person can be compartmentalized into separate boxes. 

I am an analytical person.  Logic is a useful tool; it helps me to understand myself and others around me.  Structure helps me to learn and to comprehend.  Specific and clearly defined expectations, objective observation and communication, help me to navigate through my world and within my relationships.

Blurry edges make me uncomfortable.  Cluttered and disorganized spaces, confused and vague ideas, irrational and ambiguous emotions, are obstacles to my ability to live securely and successfully.  Chaos is a delicious but uneasy pleasure.  And yet, on my spiritual path I strive to integrate the disparate parts of myself into a fluid and beautiful whole.  From the Union of Polarities within me, to my recent experimental alter, incorporating many different objects, tools and symbols;  working with them to see how they interact with each other, a magickal spider’s web, creating a new pattern out of seemingly chaotic elements. 

Nature has an underlying structure and yet its profound beauty comes not from visible order or rigid form but rather from its free expression of life.  Family trees resemble living beings, not geometric grids.  My Gods do not fit neatly into a structured system.  They are complicated and unique persons.  Any system that accurately describes the human condition or the function of magick is as complicated as the equations used to describe the laws of physics or physiological processes; or the diagrams necessary to map a molecule or the genome of any species or; the musical score needed by an entire orchestra to perform a great symphony.   The structures and forms are necessary and beautiful but, they are not simple nor easily sorted and separated. 

I am learning how to integrate the complex and intricate internal structures that support life without imposing rigid external forms to separate and contain them. I am learning how to express them with more freedom and beauty.  I am learning to become comfortable with blurring the edges.

On the Magick of Buildings

The buildings in which we spend our lives are often overlooked when it comes to our thoughts on magick.  After all they are just man-made boxes to hold our stuff and keep the weather off us, rented or borrowed spaces to accommodate our rituals. Even when they are beloved places we own and decorate and in which we sleep, eat, cook, make love and raise our families, celebrate our holidays and visit with our friends, we rarely think of them as magickal beings.

We may cast spells to protect our loved ones, ourselves and our things, we may even cast spells to protect our homes from fire or lightning but, do we ever give thought to the buildings themselves?  Do we give thanks or make offerings of love?  Do we ever pause just to be aware of the support they offer to us and to our magick?

I love architecture, I love walking through an empty building and seeing the structure and form and potential of the definitions it creates.  I enjoy the energy they hold and the clarity with which it can be felt when all of the “things” are not in it.  The way light enters through windows with no curtains regardless of whether it is overcast or sunny.  They don’t just hold energy though; I think they can also have energy of their own.  We believe that stones and trees and animals have energy of their own, it stands to reason that buildings might as well.

In a workshop on magick that I attended in a house of a friend, incense was burned that caused a feeling of chaos (that was its intended affect) while the feeling was quite delicious, or maybe because it was, in order to dispel its affects I needed assistance.  I put my hands on a structural beam of the house in order to regain my balance, and became instantly aware of the building’s structure and strength and the support it provided to all of those within it. 

At a large public ritual in a rented Meetinghouse recently, I managed to find a moment of quiet in a kitchen that has been the working space for generations of women, washing dishes after church functions.  The window-sill over the sink had a number of lovely potted plants that were obviously healthy and it occurred to me that the energy of the Meetinghouse itself supported the plants on the sill as well as all of the church meetings held there over generations, and my Tradition’s rituals as well.  The church I grew up in felt that way too, the memory of it came flooding into me as I looked at that window and put my hand on the door frame.

I live in a second floor studio apartment in a house that is over 130 years old.  The house itself has two other tenants as well as my 88 year old landlady who lives downstairs and who raised her four daughters in the home with her husband. Other families raised their children in this house before her.  While I have decorated my little Treehouse to suit me and my feline companion and I think that it is beautiful, it is beautiful regardless of our efforts.  The house supports us and both of the men who live here as well as my lovely landlady.  It has warmth and light and strength and stability (even during the earthquake a couple of years ago, and during storms and power-outages) it is sound and safe and its structure protects and supports those within it.  I recently cast new spells on the space that we occupy (my companion and I) and while I did a competent job, the house itself seamed to interpret my unspoken intentions and manifested them in ways I had not consciously expressed (much to my delight).  The house taught me about what it was capable of and what I should have considered.  It took my slightly awkward spell and manifested it with so much more power and beauty and grace than I could articulate.

I recently had the profoundly powerful experience of receiving my second degree initiation from my Coven and Tradition.  The ritual itself took place in the home that one of my coven-mates was moving out of a week later.  It took place over three floors of the house and involved climbing the stairs from the cellar to the top floor.  Then and now I realize that the house itself supported my every step.  From the ritual bath to the eating of food afterward, the house was the one entity with which I was in constant contact.  My feet were always in contact, my hands often as well.  The house itself supported me and all who were present working to midwife my transformation.  It did so quietly and without being asked (although I did thank it afterward before leaving, knowing I would not get another chance).

I am beginning to believe that all things with structure have energy.  That the buildings in which we live our lives are beings worthy of our attention and awareness just as the “living” beings around us, just as the rocks and the rain and the snow and the tools we use in our magick.  How much more because we inhabit them.  The land upon which we walk is alive and should be respected and treated with gratitude and attentive care.  The buildings in which we live, sleep, dream, love, celebrate, grieve, laugh and work magick deserve our gratitude, care and respect as well.

I would ask you to take the time to get to know the buildings in which you live.  Get to know the buildings in which you hold ritual.  Take a little time to become aware of them and to consider all that they do. Maybe even give them a little of your love and gratitude and ask if there is aught you can do to honor their service.

“Bless this House and All who Enter Here”

The Ring

For two days now I have been wearing a ring on my left hand.  It is gold and thick with an oval faceted aquamarine, smaller squares of amethyst and topaz and a very small diamond set in a trace of silver.  It is not like any ring I own nor of a style that I would ever choose, and yet I cannot bring myself to take it off. 

I found it in a jewelry box on a dresser in a bedroom of a woman who died two years, four months and ten days ago.  It is not the only possession of hers that I left with.  There were books on the bookshelf in her sitting room that I took with me because she and I shared a love for the mysteries of life and a belief in magick.  And my oldest friend chose for me a broach that she said was supposed to be with me. (It is silver with rainbow crystals and a woman kneeling holding a crystal ball)

There were two prints on the wall on either side of her bedroom door  by an artist (now sadly also deceased)  whose work graces the walls of my home as well.  The woman who lived in the space suffered from the debilitations of MS and eventually withered and died from cancer and yet the energy in her rooms was bright and joyous and full of life.   Her parents have not yet packed things away, the only changes are the absence of things chosen by her many friends to take home as a way of having some of her energy with them.  

After over two years the life and love that was her soul and spirit shines brightly in that place.  There are still small spells of healing and love sitting on the shelf next to her bed.  I wanted to sit there and talk with her but, she is no longer there.  As her father said with a smile both sad and sweet in a voice full of love and admiration, “She is now a part of the mystery.” 

One of the reasons that the ring is so appealing to me is that it seems to have an energy about it that reminds me of the active principle that I have been trying to cultivate in my life.  The beautiful woman who owned it was not a passive person.  She loved actively; she put her energy into the world in an active way.  Not overtly but never passive, never idle, never self-absorbed.  Even while she was terminally ill she would go to visit the elderly “to cheer them up”.  She would go and sit all night in a chair beside a friend in the hospital.  When she could no longer work because of the MS she volunteered at the Botanical Gardens, surrounding herself with life and light and beauty, and actively sharing that with others.

That is what I want my life to be.  I want to be actively engaged in the beauty around me.  I want to love others in a way that shines light and love into their lives.  I want the spaces I inhabit, both my rooms and the places in others lives, to be so full of joy and  light that it will persist long after I cross over, so that others will want to spend time there enjoying the healing and loving magick that I create.

She was a beautiful woman and I know she is still shining.  I give thanks for her example and the inspiration she has given me.

On Being Female

I stood before the Gods, naked and with no veil around my eyes.  They held my chalice, a piece of pottery that I bought for $4 at a thrift store.  It leans a little and is rough and still resembles mud on the outside, the inside is a beautiful blood red with flecks of other colors.  I think the potter who made it considered it too imperfect to sell and so discarded it.  It is the most perfect thing I own because of its imperfections.  It is the tool with which I most strongly identify.

I am very fortunate in that my body has always felt like a true expression of my inner self.  My true identity has never been in conflict with the body that it inhabits.  Don’t get me wrong, there have been moments when I have wished my body were different.  When I was a child I wanted curly blond hair and blue eyes.  As an adolescent I wished that my breasts were larger. I have always wanted to be a graceful dancer and a strong and capable athlete.

It would be nice if I didn’t have scoliosis or one femur that is a half inch shorter than the other.  Diabetes is a bitch sometimes especially because I have a sweet-tooth and my relationship to food is not what the Gods might want it to be.  I have a few scars and stretch marks and at 47 there are times when the things I want to do will result in pain.  And I am still not a graceful dancer or a strong and capable athlete.

But my womb has borne fruit, my breasts have produced milk (though I do regret that I did not nurse my babes at my breasts, those were choices that I made.)  I have felt my children moving inside me.  My womb does not define me and yet, it has allowed me to accomplish the greatest thing that I can imagine. 

My body is imperfect like my chalice, and yet both are beautiful.  It is who I am.  It teaches me and allows me to engage with the world in which I live.  It has tattoos that mark the most profound moments of my life.  It is capable of giving and receiving great pleasure and of nurturing those I love and of healing others.  And it allows me to truly exist in the moment and be fully present.

So when I stood before my Gods to convince them that I understood the energy my chalice represents, the principles of form, stillness, silence, the feminine, I told them that it was everything that I am, all that I have ever done and hoped for and it was the truth.  They asked if I understood its depth, and my answer was that it is as deep as my very being, my blood, my heart, my womb, my body, and it is beautiful.

The Dark God, the Sage, demanded that I look into his eyes. He challenged weather or not I was willing to carry the light inside me and be seen, if I was ready to step onto the path, to form my life, if I deserved to.  I told Him that I was willing, that I was ready and that Yes, I deserve to be seen, that I am beautiful, and it was the truth.

When I performed the inner Great Rite, filling my chalice with the feminine energy within me was easy and natural (even graceful).  The energy was strong and full and flowed without any disruption.  Projecting the Masculine Polarity into my blade however was less graceful.  It felt awkward, unfamiliar, and less focused.  There was a moment when I was not completely sure that I had indeed accomplished the task.  But the energies did in fact unite and expand, though it was undeniably unbalanced in favor of the feminine, it did indeed become more than two separate things.  Like blue and yellow blending to create a lovely peridot green, but definitely not equal in their parts, not emerald. 

And that is ok.  I learned something.  I learned that as a human being, both exist within me. I learned that I need to practice strengthening and expressing the active principle within me. I learned that expressing something that is a part of me will improve with practice, will become more natural, more focused, more graceful, more familiar.   

Why, you might ask, should I need to learn to express the Masculine when I am so very content to be female?  Because it is a part of me and because it is a gift that can be used to serve others.  Male or Female, (weather our bodies agree with our true selves or not, weather we love men or women or men and women, weather we are men or women) we are all Human.  The Polarities exist within all of us.  They have very little to do with gender, and everything to do with living.  I may find the one easier to access but, I think that has more to do with my spirit than with my body and nothing at all to do with what the world thinks I am.

I am me.  And I am learning and I am beautiful.

In the Kingdom of Earth

In the Kingdom of the Earth, I met with the Father and the Mother.  They asked me about the keys and pointed out that I could lock or unlock anything I chose.  That all was within my own will to choose, Light or Shadow, the keys were simply reminders, the choice, the locks, the doors are within me. Then the veil was removed from around my eyes and I was confronted with my task, the Inner Great Rite, the Union of Polarities within myself.

First, I had to face the Goddesses, the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone. They held my blade and I needed to convince them that I understood the energy it holds, the principles of force and action and sound. In order to claim it, I needed to prove to Them that I was worthy and capable of wielding it. 

The first thought that entered my dazed mind was “They can’t expect me to wrestle them for it!” complete with the visual image that entails. I have a slightly dry sense of irony that serves as my sense of humor at odd moments.  So having discarded a physical act of force as inappropriate, as well as completely futile, I chose to show my understanding of the active, masculine principle through sound.  

In the next moment everyone present regretted my choice, me most of all.  I made a sound so completely dreadful that I almost wished to never make another sound for as long as I live…or at least for the next year or so.  It was loud and had absolutely no power and it broke off horribly at the end.  Despite my complete mortification however I could not turn back. (Besides I would never be able to wrestle my blade from the three of them.)  So, I tried again, and failed again. 

I had nothing left inside…there was no power behind my attempt because I had left everything I had upstairs.  That is when I again began to rely on daily practice.  I made myself still inside and took one long slow deep breath.  That one breath is the consolidation of something I have practiced every day for years now.  It is a practice of filling and connecting. 

Finally, I made a sound that didn’t make me want to crawl into a hole in the floor.  It didn’t have a lot of volume, and it was a slightly higher pitch but, it had power behind it and it held.  And again, and again it had power and again it held.  The Goddesses required that I claim my talents every day.  “I am good at words and truth and sometimes beauty.”  They granted me my blade and I turned to face the Gods and claim my chalice.