I've been living with a disconnect: My earth-based spirituality is influenced by the agricultural cycles of a different ecosystem than the one in which I live, and by customs originating from hundreds of years ago on another continent. My heart and ideals are in a mythical place with four distinct seasons and an agrarian culture. I dream about sustainability, organic produce grown locally, permaculture and community gardens. I prefer the cool shade of indoors to summer daytime heat. Conversely, I live in the Mojave desert of the western USA, where the temperatures can soar to the triple digits four months out of the year and can drop below freezing in winter. The alkali soil is not well-suited for cultivation of much more than succulents, the Joshua tree and creosote bush.
Once a friend asked how I connect with the earth, in this place, right here. I was startled and avoided the question. I connect with the moist, springy, cool earth of the British Isles, and with the dry, clean, harsh, yet fertile Rocky Mountains. I've never managed to cultivate a connection to the dirt beneath my feet here.
I came by this honestly. My grandmother on my mother's side was full Irish American, and proud of her heritage. As an adult I became curious about the ancient tribes and people of Western Europe and the British Isles. I read about the Celts, the Picts, Saxons, and the Jutes. This wasn't a disciplined, academic study. It was more like a fascination. I was particularly interested in what little is known about the religions of these people. I don't recall where I read this, but somewhere I came across a suggestion that if one is interested in understanding the religions of the ancient Europeans, look to modern NeoPaganism and Wicca for clues. It was from there that I found a copy of "The Spiral Dance" by Starhawk, which led to books by people like Pauline Campanelli, who writes of a deep and direct connection between local cycles, seasons, magick and divinity. The words of these authors resonate with me - but they live in a different plant hardiness zone.
The symbols of this ideal inform my spirituality: the maypole, the corn dolly, the yule log and all the rest. At Spring Equinox rituals with a local Pagan group, we planted seeds symbolizing our intentions. Of course, my little pot of seeds never grew into an actual plant, but it didn't matter because I was interested in growth on another plane. At the Fall Equinox we heaped the altar with fresh vegetables intended to symbolize our inner harvest of spiritual and personal growth. These vegetables are mostly trucked in from out of the region where we live. There is a small amount of local produce available, but the effort to find it doesn't seem worthwhile. A friend said she couldn't relate to a harvest festival in a place where little grows. I couldn't relate to a different spiritual paradigm and stubbornly clung to my ideal.
But there were early people in desert climates too. I came here over thirty years ago because there happened to be more jobs advertized here than the other places under consideration. Once here, moving away proved expensive and impractical. Perhaps this also happened to ancient people - wandering into a place where there seemed to be plenty of resources, only to find that at times the climate can be harsh and unlivable. Possibly some moved on, others stayed and adapted.
One year, we did try to grow a garden behind our home. We planted too much, too late, without researching or planning. It was a disaster. What wasn't decimated by aphids withered in the heat. This year, we are going to try again, but on a much smaller scale. It will be a small container garden, efficiently watered with an automatic system using a float ball and valve. Each plant will be researched for the correct planting and harvesting time in this region. Soil quality and pests will be managed. Perhaps we will find success with heat resistant plants, but if the garden must go dormant in summer, fine. We might harvest in early summer and again in midwinter.
I can never forgo the maypole, the dyed eggs of spring, the jack o lantern, and the yule log. But I might cultivate an interest in Mesopotamian poetry, and find a way to be connected to the earth through an irrigated desert garden. It is possible to find fertility here. There is a song called "Barge of Heaven" recorded by the Pagan group Reclaiming, from the tradition by the same name. It's on a cd called "Second Chants: More Ritual Music from Reclaiming & Friends." The lyrics come from a Sumerian poem translated by Thorkild Jacobsen.
Your crescent shaped barge of heaven
So well belayed, so well belayed
Full of loveliness like the new moon
Your fertile fields well-watered
Hillock lands well watered too
At your mighty rising
The vines rise up and the fields rise up
And the desert fills with green
Just like a living garden
In the heat of the sun, you are the shade
A well of water in a dry, dry land
Swelling fruits to feed the hungry
Sweet cream to quench our thirst
Pour it out for me, pour it out for me
Everything you send me I will drink.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Applying the Principles of Dedication
Last year, at Imbolg, also known as Candlemas, or to the more secular, Groundhog Day, I blogged about our little family ritual:
http://chasmodai.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2009-08-05T15%3A56%3A00-07%3A00&max-results=7
This holiday is called by many names, including Rite of Dedication. For me, this is exactly what it is. If the New Year is a baby born at the winter solstice, then this is the time of year when the baby opens his eyes and receives a name.
To me this is the time of year that I re-dedicate myself to my purpose. My purpose is my true will, as in, “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.” But “true will” is not just an impulse or a whim. In this context, it takes on a new meaning. In my opinion, my true will is the way Divinity moves through me. No one, not clergy, authority figures, ancient texts or television personalities can dictate my true will. No one can tell anyone this. It doesn’t reveal itself easily. It’s teased out in meditation, with open awareness and in the application of life experiences to spiritual ideals.
The challenge is not only to apply this to my life, but to find a way to make it available to my children. I take these concepts into myself, process them, and find a way to illustrate and share them. I hope I can create opportunities and availability without making it a heavy-handed imposition.
One of my goals is to teach that time and the cycles of life are precious gifts. We may choose to squander them, or we may choose to use them with intention.
Many people see the annual Rite of Dedication as a time to re-dedicate themselves to their spiritual path. I agree with this idea, but I like to broaden it beyond a spiritual focus into something more balanced and whole. We’ve all known people who focused on their spirituality to the detriment of their professional and financial lives, and people who focused on their careers to the detriment of their relationships. I believe that balance is a key to a spiritual life.
The exercise I plan to use for setting intentions involves dividing personal growth priorities into categories. Here they are off the top of my head, not in any particular order:
Health
Spiritual
Play
Academic or intellectual
Emotional, social or relationships
Ethical or personal values development
Financial
Creative
Professional
An individual might find that there are categories missing from this list and will have different growing edges in each of their categories. The trick is to articulate one or two achievable goals in each of the categories, and then devise an action plan for achieving them.
In order to provide extra “oomph” to the plan, we seek assistance from the elements. I’m not referring to the periodic table of the elements, but the five classical elements.
For a more concrete thinker, one could describe this as taking qualities that we believe exist in the physical universe and using them for inspiration. The elements are earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. Specific qualities are attributed to these elements. We possess these qualities inside ourselves and simply draw upon them to achieve our goals, using the elements as symbols of the qualities we seek. For example, qualities of earth include growth and stability. Qualities of air include communication and intellect. Qualities of fire include passion and creativity. Qualities of water include healing and intuition.
To help anchor this personal dedication, I am considering implementing an idea called the 100 Day Challenge. It’s simply a personal chart with 100 boxes on it. Next to the rows of boxes is a list of daily tasks. In my version of the exercise, each task will be small and achievable and will relate to growth and improvement. When the list is completed each day, a checkmark is placed in a box. When all of the boxes have been marked, the challenge is finished. After 100 days, perhaps a few new good habits will be developed.
However, dedication is for the year, not just for the next 100 days. Using the model of the agricultural year, which is also an important focus for my spirituality, one could say that this is the first planting.
Where we live, the celestial event of Imbolg/Dedication/Candlemas will take place on February 3, at 2:30 p.m.
http://www.archaeoastronomy.com/2010.html
If the 100 day challenge commences on February 3, the last day of the challenge will be on Thursday, May 13. If we stick with the challenge, by the end of the exercise we’ll be ready to reevaluate the goals and reflect on our growth. I think that whenever we enter into an agreement with our Higher Selves, we are well served when we follow through.
http://chasmodai.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2009-08-05T15%3A56%3A00-07%3A00&max-results=7
This holiday is called by many names, including Rite of Dedication. For me, this is exactly what it is. If the New Year is a baby born at the winter solstice, then this is the time of year when the baby opens his eyes and receives a name.
To me this is the time of year that I re-dedicate myself to my purpose. My purpose is my true will, as in, “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.” But “true will” is not just an impulse or a whim. In this context, it takes on a new meaning. In my opinion, my true will is the way Divinity moves through me. No one, not clergy, authority figures, ancient texts or television personalities can dictate my true will. No one can tell anyone this. It doesn’t reveal itself easily. It’s teased out in meditation, with open awareness and in the application of life experiences to spiritual ideals.
The challenge is not only to apply this to my life, but to find a way to make it available to my children. I take these concepts into myself, process them, and find a way to illustrate and share them. I hope I can create opportunities and availability without making it a heavy-handed imposition.
One of my goals is to teach that time and the cycles of life are precious gifts. We may choose to squander them, or we may choose to use them with intention.
Many people see the annual Rite of Dedication as a time to re-dedicate themselves to their spiritual path. I agree with this idea, but I like to broaden it beyond a spiritual focus into something more balanced and whole. We’ve all known people who focused on their spirituality to the detriment of their professional and financial lives, and people who focused on their careers to the detriment of their relationships. I believe that balance is a key to a spiritual life.
The exercise I plan to use for setting intentions involves dividing personal growth priorities into categories. Here they are off the top of my head, not in any particular order:
Health
Spiritual
Play
Academic or intellectual
Emotional, social or relationships
Ethical or personal values development
Financial
Creative
Professional
An individual might find that there are categories missing from this list and will have different growing edges in each of their categories. The trick is to articulate one or two achievable goals in each of the categories, and then devise an action plan for achieving them.
In order to provide extra “oomph” to the plan, we seek assistance from the elements. I’m not referring to the periodic table of the elements, but the five classical elements.
For a more concrete thinker, one could describe this as taking qualities that we believe exist in the physical universe and using them for inspiration. The elements are earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. Specific qualities are attributed to these elements. We possess these qualities inside ourselves and simply draw upon them to achieve our goals, using the elements as symbols of the qualities we seek. For example, qualities of earth include growth and stability. Qualities of air include communication and intellect. Qualities of fire include passion and creativity. Qualities of water include healing and intuition.
To help anchor this personal dedication, I am considering implementing an idea called the 100 Day Challenge. It’s simply a personal chart with 100 boxes on it. Next to the rows of boxes is a list of daily tasks. In my version of the exercise, each task will be small and achievable and will relate to growth and improvement. When the list is completed each day, a checkmark is placed in a box. When all of the boxes have been marked, the challenge is finished. After 100 days, perhaps a few new good habits will be developed.
However, dedication is for the year, not just for the next 100 days. Using the model of the agricultural year, which is also an important focus for my spirituality, one could say that this is the first planting.
Where we live, the celestial event of Imbolg/Dedication/Candlemas will take place on February 3, at 2:30 p.m.
http://www.archaeoastronomy.com/2010.html
If the 100 day challenge commences on February 3, the last day of the challenge will be on Thursday, May 13. If we stick with the challenge, by the end of the exercise we’ll be ready to reevaluate the goals and reflect on our growth. I think that whenever we enter into an agreement with our Higher Selves, we are well served when we follow through.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Yule for me is a time of paradox. As the darkness deepens in the waning year, I go deeper within. It is a time for solitude and reflection. And yet it is also a time for the community to come together.
Years ago, as an adolescent I loved gymnastics. Right before the start of a floor routine, I would experience a moment of perfect, poised stillness. With my breath the only movement, I mentally went over the routine, correcting previous errors, stretching to do better than before. Then the music started, and stillness was replaced with deliberate action. The winter solstice is like that for me, a moment of concentration right before the music starts.
The celestial event of the solstice occurred a little over two hours ago, so now the year is officially waxing, although it is still tender and new. It is pure and unmarked, a ski trail covered in fresh powder without tracks. We may write upon it however we wish. We may repeat last year's errors, or we may blaze a new trail. It is our own choice.
As we privately make these choices, we also experience the community aspect of Yule.
This morning, while reading The Story of the Yule Log to my children, as I do each year, it occurred to me that my definition of community has expanded a bit since I wrote that story.
At the time, the story was written specifically for the pagan community of which I am a part. We were, and still are, a group of people spread out over a certain geographic region, with tendrils reaching out all over the country and the world. While we are friends and mostly quite fond of one another, many of us connected mostly during specific auspicious occasions. Many of us did not experience in each other the type of close-knit interdependence of a tribe from earlier times.
What I was missing is this point: We are just as dependent upon community as ever. "Community" is simply more complex than it was. "Community" is also the business community, which brings in the goods that we rely upon on a day to day basis. It's also the public schools our children attend, and it's the medical community, and much more. A few days ago, one of my children had a procedure called a swallow study. A radiologist, radiology technician, speech therapist and occupational therapist met to obtain and interpret the results of the procedure. As they waited to begin the procedure, they chatted, catching up on personal news, sharing the latest ideas. They are definitely a part of community, and my son depends on them to help him begin to eat correctly and end his dependence on a gastrostomy tube. This dependence is no less profound than a small tribe's dependence on the hunting party to return with fresh meat. Where would we be without the hospitals when our loved ones are sick or injured?
Obviously, we would be just as lost without community today as ever before.
So at Yule, we exchange gifts, and donate to charities. We come together and express our care for one another.
Last year, my youngest child began to figure out the whole Santa Claus thing. He asked me if Santa Claus is real, and I said, firmly, "Yes. Santa Claus is real." I said that it's just that little children need to see things in a more concrete way. I told them that now that he is bigger, he is starting to be able to think in abstract terms. Santa Claus might not really be a man in a red suit, but that doesn't make him less real. Santa Claus, for grownups, is an idea, a philosophy and a choice. He is the generosity in the human heart. If we choose to, we can all be Santa - when we give to Toys For Tots, or when we bring food donations to a community pantry, or in a hundred other ways. When a child experiences the man in the red suit, it helps him to connect his own specific, personal inner generosity with the general, universal generosity of the human heart. For me, the archetype of Santa Claus embodies our amazing potential to help one another. One might say he is a symbol for community in winter.
Years ago, as an adolescent I loved gymnastics. Right before the start of a floor routine, I would experience a moment of perfect, poised stillness. With my breath the only movement, I mentally went over the routine, correcting previous errors, stretching to do better than before. Then the music started, and stillness was replaced with deliberate action. The winter solstice is like that for me, a moment of concentration right before the music starts.
The celestial event of the solstice occurred a little over two hours ago, so now the year is officially waxing, although it is still tender and new. It is pure and unmarked, a ski trail covered in fresh powder without tracks. We may write upon it however we wish. We may repeat last year's errors, or we may blaze a new trail. It is our own choice.
As we privately make these choices, we also experience the community aspect of Yule.
This morning, while reading The Story of the Yule Log to my children, as I do each year, it occurred to me that my definition of community has expanded a bit since I wrote that story.
At the time, the story was written specifically for the pagan community of which I am a part. We were, and still are, a group of people spread out over a certain geographic region, with tendrils reaching out all over the country and the world. While we are friends and mostly quite fond of one another, many of us connected mostly during specific auspicious occasions. Many of us did not experience in each other the type of close-knit interdependence of a tribe from earlier times.
What I was missing is this point: We are just as dependent upon community as ever. "Community" is simply more complex than it was. "Community" is also the business community, which brings in the goods that we rely upon on a day to day basis. It's also the public schools our children attend, and it's the medical community, and much more. A few days ago, one of my children had a procedure called a swallow study. A radiologist, radiology technician, speech therapist and occupational therapist met to obtain and interpret the results of the procedure. As they waited to begin the procedure, they chatted, catching up on personal news, sharing the latest ideas. They are definitely a part of community, and my son depends on them to help him begin to eat correctly and end his dependence on a gastrostomy tube. This dependence is no less profound than a small tribe's dependence on the hunting party to return with fresh meat. Where would we be without the hospitals when our loved ones are sick or injured?
Obviously, we would be just as lost without community today as ever before.
So at Yule, we exchange gifts, and donate to charities. We come together and express our care for one another.
Last year, my youngest child began to figure out the whole Santa Claus thing. He asked me if Santa Claus is real, and I said, firmly, "Yes. Santa Claus is real." I said that it's just that little children need to see things in a more concrete way. I told them that now that he is bigger, he is starting to be able to think in abstract terms. Santa Claus might not really be a man in a red suit, but that doesn't make him less real. Santa Claus, for grownups, is an idea, a philosophy and a choice. He is the generosity in the human heart. If we choose to, we can all be Santa - when we give to Toys For Tots, or when we bring food donations to a community pantry, or in a hundred other ways. When a child experiences the man in the red suit, it helps him to connect his own specific, personal inner generosity with the general, universal generosity of the human heart. For me, the archetype of Santa Claus embodies our amazing potential to help one another. One might say he is a symbol for community in winter.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Lives of purpose and meaning
A while back, we did a little family "faith development" session here at home where we showed the kids this video about consumerism and materialism:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLBE5QAYXp8
I was worried about my nine year old becoming frightened by the portrayals of planet wide pollution with toxins, but he seemed fine.
I asked him, "What did you learn from the video?" He said, "Just because I don't have new shoes, it doesn't make me a bad person."
"Good," I thought. He got something.
Lately I've been trying to find ways to expand on the lesson. It seems to me that excessive consumption is a way to keep people distracted. Right up there with alcohol, drugs, sex, and other potential addictions, it's a diversion that keeps us from staying focused on our will, (that is, our Purpose With a Capital "P",) keeps us from hearing what our soul is trying to tell us.
I tried to describe this to my nine year old this morning:
Me:
"So, do you remember what the next Sabbat is called?"
Him, closing his eyes scrunching up his face:
"Ummm, it's Halloween but we also call it something else."
Me:
"Samhain?"
Him:
"Yeah, that's it."
Me:
"You know that it's spelled Sam-Hane, but we pronounce it Sow-en, because that's how it's pronounced in the original language?"
Him:
"Yes Mom."
Me:
"Say it with me. Sow-en"
Him:
"Sow-en"
Me:
"Do you know the real reason we do these things?"
Him:
"No."
Me:
"We really do it to stay connected to Spirit, to try to listen to what our souls are telling us, to find out why we were put on this Earth and then remember that. You'll keep learning more about this as you get older."
Him, putting on backpack and opening the car door:
"Bye Mom."
Me, driving away:
"I hope one day this means something to him."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLBE5QAYXp8
I was worried about my nine year old becoming frightened by the portrayals of planet wide pollution with toxins, but he seemed fine.
I asked him, "What did you learn from the video?" He said, "Just because I don't have new shoes, it doesn't make me a bad person."
"Good," I thought. He got something.
Lately I've been trying to find ways to expand on the lesson. It seems to me that excessive consumption is a way to keep people distracted. Right up there with alcohol, drugs, sex, and other potential addictions, it's a diversion that keeps us from staying focused on our will, (that is, our Purpose With a Capital "P",) keeps us from hearing what our soul is trying to tell us.
I tried to describe this to my nine year old this morning:
Me:
"So, do you remember what the next Sabbat is called?"
Him, closing his eyes scrunching up his face:
"Ummm, it's Halloween but we also call it something else."
Me:
"Samhain?"
Him:
"Yeah, that's it."
Me:
"You know that it's spelled Sam-Hane, but we pronounce it Sow-en, because that's how it's pronounced in the original language?"
Him:
"Yes Mom."
Me:
"Say it with me. Sow-en"
Him:
"Sow-en"
Me:
"Do you know the real reason we do these things?"
Him:
"No."
Me:
"We really do it to stay connected to Spirit, to try to listen to what our souls are telling us, to find out why we were put on this Earth and then remember that. You'll keep learning more about this as you get older."
Him, putting on backpack and opening the car door:
"Bye Mom."
Me, driving away:
"I hope one day this means something to him."
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Our Family Autumnal Observance
The equinox happens here today at 2:18 p.m.
Sunday evening we had our family Autumnal Equinox ritual observance. It was mostly a lazy day. My youngest had been working on a book report, sculpting figures from the book in polymer clay. But with the exception of playing and exercising with the Wii, a bit of hand drumming and laundry, we were resting. I think this is appropriate right before the fall equinox, a moment of stillness before the turning of the wheel.
During the day there was a time when we encouraged the boys to watch some cartoons, like children do, and the four of us lazily stretched out on the big couch like a pride of lions, each of us touching at least two others. Heads on laps and feet on legs. We weren’t really cuddling deliberately, not wrestling or tickling. We were just connected. Even one of our cats got in on it, lying on the top of the couch back, his kitty paw resting on my elbow. He’s a member of the family too.
On Saturday I had given the boys a brief lesson about Mabon, showing them where the equinox sits on the wheel of the year in relation to the other days of merit. We talked about what this day might have meant in the “olden days,” and what it can mean today. I reminded them of why we do this – we do this because we never want to forget our relationship with our earth – that we evolved here, and for this reason we are made from this earth. It is a part of us and we are a part of it. We are inseparable from it. The holy days of the wheel help us to mark the passing seasons and acknowledge our relationship. I don’t go into anthropomorphization of deity in the Goddess and the God – they are too young for that. But I do believe that a person can benefit from being connected to these ancient archetypes, and this is an important part of my life.
Yesterday, when I began to gather the things we use for our family ritual my youngest son brightened. I could see the anticipation in his eyes. He loves these things we do as a family. What surprised me most was the pleased response from my husband when I told him that I had a full ritual planned. Sometimes I worry that he just tolerates the pomp and circumstance. But no, he seemed to enjoy it too.
For this time of year, our ritual involves simply eating a meal in sacred space. The ritual focused on giving thanks, appreciating where the food comes from, and the importance of family and community. We talked about how harvest time might have been a time to take stock of the success of the harvest. Today we harvest too, but we harvest different things in different ways. A person doesn’t have to work in the fields to enjoy the fruit of his labors.
I said, in the old days people might have said something like, “What about Widow Smith? I hear there was blight in her vegetable garden this year. Does she have enough food to get through the winter? Does she need help?” I said that we don’t experience that type of hardship as much in the middle-class life we lead, but in the old days most people were faced each winter with hardship and the prospect of a difficult survival. In modern America, some are outraged when they experience hardship, as though they are entitled to a life free of struggle. But the truth is that all of us, as humans, will experience hardship and struggle at some point in our lives. The thing to do is to prepare for it, rather than deny the inevitability of it. And, most importantly, to help others who are in hardship whenever you can. Because if you look around, you can always find someone less well off than you.
It was a good, simple meal. We had chicken quarters, and colcannon. I made a carrot and raisin salad and Brussels sprouts. We had picked up croissants and a strawberry rhubarb pie at the bakery. We topped the pie with good ice cream – I deliberately bought just a pint, so that there would be none leftover to tempt us. I browned and seasoned the chicken and placed it in a crock pot with chopped onion and celery. When the chicken was cooked, I took it out and set it aside, and filled the crock pot with shredded cabbage and cubed potatoes, and poured in defatted broth from the chicken and a can of evaporated skim milk. When the cabbage had cooked enough to reduce in volume, I placed the chicken back on top. When it was time to eat, I took the chicken back out, mashed the heck out of the vegetables in the crock pot, and when it turned out to be a bit too soupy, I stirred in enough dried potato flakes to thicken it up a bit. (I usually keep the dried stuff on hand for that exact reason. –Shhh – don’t tell my secret.)
Afterwards I asked the youngest if he enjoyed it, and he smiled and said he did – both the ritual and the food. I did too. The ritual was pleasant, and gave us the connection, the time to pause and reflect, that we sometimes need.
As we ate, we joked about how we were all going to hear about it when we stepped on the Wii balance board the next morning. I was surprised though – my weight was only slightly higher the next morning and today my weight was down by quite a bit. It is possible to feast while watching one’s weight – carefully.
This was our Thanksgiving. The current American Thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday in November, which was ultimately declared a holiday by President Abraham Lincoln, is more a national holiday steeped in American mythology than a true day of thanksgiving, at least to me. It’s a great opportunity for the family to do something meaningful together, but in my view it doesn’t have to be about turkey, a big meal and football. I’ll buy at least one turkey in November, since they will likely be on sale, and I’ll cook, but I won’t knock myself out preparing a Thanksgiving feast. We’ll eat well, hopefully without overeating, and we’ll talk about the American Thanksgiving, and the mythology that we were taught in school, and what we learned later. However, we will have already had our true thanksgiving feast.
Sunday evening we had our family Autumnal Equinox ritual observance. It was mostly a lazy day. My youngest had been working on a book report, sculpting figures from the book in polymer clay. But with the exception of playing and exercising with the Wii, a bit of hand drumming and laundry, we were resting. I think this is appropriate right before the fall equinox, a moment of stillness before the turning of the wheel.
During the day there was a time when we encouraged the boys to watch some cartoons, like children do, and the four of us lazily stretched out on the big couch like a pride of lions, each of us touching at least two others. Heads on laps and feet on legs. We weren’t really cuddling deliberately, not wrestling or tickling. We were just connected. Even one of our cats got in on it, lying on the top of the couch back, his kitty paw resting on my elbow. He’s a member of the family too.
On Saturday I had given the boys a brief lesson about Mabon, showing them where the equinox sits on the wheel of the year in relation to the other days of merit. We talked about what this day might have meant in the “olden days,” and what it can mean today. I reminded them of why we do this – we do this because we never want to forget our relationship with our earth – that we evolved here, and for this reason we are made from this earth. It is a part of us and we are a part of it. We are inseparable from it. The holy days of the wheel help us to mark the passing seasons and acknowledge our relationship. I don’t go into anthropomorphization of deity in the Goddess and the God – they are too young for that. But I do believe that a person can benefit from being connected to these ancient archetypes, and this is an important part of my life.
Yesterday, when I began to gather the things we use for our family ritual my youngest son brightened. I could see the anticipation in his eyes. He loves these things we do as a family. What surprised me most was the pleased response from my husband when I told him that I had a full ritual planned. Sometimes I worry that he just tolerates the pomp and circumstance. But no, he seemed to enjoy it too.
For this time of year, our ritual involves simply eating a meal in sacred space. The ritual focused on giving thanks, appreciating where the food comes from, and the importance of family and community. We talked about how harvest time might have been a time to take stock of the success of the harvest. Today we harvest too, but we harvest different things in different ways. A person doesn’t have to work in the fields to enjoy the fruit of his labors.
I said, in the old days people might have said something like, “What about Widow Smith? I hear there was blight in her vegetable garden this year. Does she have enough food to get through the winter? Does she need help?” I said that we don’t experience that type of hardship as much in the middle-class life we lead, but in the old days most people were faced each winter with hardship and the prospect of a difficult survival. In modern America, some are outraged when they experience hardship, as though they are entitled to a life free of struggle. But the truth is that all of us, as humans, will experience hardship and struggle at some point in our lives. The thing to do is to prepare for it, rather than deny the inevitability of it. And, most importantly, to help others who are in hardship whenever you can. Because if you look around, you can always find someone less well off than you.
It was a good, simple meal. We had chicken quarters, and colcannon. I made a carrot and raisin salad and Brussels sprouts. We had picked up croissants and a strawberry rhubarb pie at the bakery. We topped the pie with good ice cream – I deliberately bought just a pint, so that there would be none leftover to tempt us. I browned and seasoned the chicken and placed it in a crock pot with chopped onion and celery. When the chicken was cooked, I took it out and set it aside, and filled the crock pot with shredded cabbage and cubed potatoes, and poured in defatted broth from the chicken and a can of evaporated skim milk. When the cabbage had cooked enough to reduce in volume, I placed the chicken back on top. When it was time to eat, I took the chicken back out, mashed the heck out of the vegetables in the crock pot, and when it turned out to be a bit too soupy, I stirred in enough dried potato flakes to thicken it up a bit. (I usually keep the dried stuff on hand for that exact reason. –Shhh – don’t tell my secret.)
Afterwards I asked the youngest if he enjoyed it, and he smiled and said he did – both the ritual and the food. I did too. The ritual was pleasant, and gave us the connection, the time to pause and reflect, that we sometimes need.
As we ate, we joked about how we were all going to hear about it when we stepped on the Wii balance board the next morning. I was surprised though – my weight was only slightly higher the next morning and today my weight was down by quite a bit. It is possible to feast while watching one’s weight – carefully.
This was our Thanksgiving. The current American Thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday in November, which was ultimately declared a holiday by President Abraham Lincoln, is more a national holiday steeped in American mythology than a true day of thanksgiving, at least to me. It’s a great opportunity for the family to do something meaningful together, but in my view it doesn’t have to be about turkey, a big meal and football. I’ll buy at least one turkey in November, since they will likely be on sale, and I’ll cook, but I won’t knock myself out preparing a Thanksgiving feast. We’ll eat well, hopefully without overeating, and we’ll talk about the American Thanksgiving, and the mythology that we were taught in school, and what we learned later. However, we will have already had our true thanksgiving feast.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Spirituality In Transition
A year ago I began to pull away from the Unitarian Universalist church I had been a part of for over six years. My reasons were various, but mostly had to do with the realization that the social environment of the congregation was becoming increasingly toxic for me. Quality of social interaction is of critical importance to me. While there are plenty of very nice members in that church, my experience was dominated by social interactions heavily peppered with gossip, triangulation, behind-the-back sniping, and flat-out rude, thoughtless, obnoxious behavior. I had developed such an aversion to the place and to certain members that I would feel my stomach roil at the thought of it. It was bad for my spirit. To me, this was not church. In my view it was, to a large extent, a dysfunctional social club.
A few months later, the minister of the congregation sent a letter of resignation to the members, and at that point I decided to resign from the church. I don't fault the minister, and I'm still a UU. All groups of people, religious or otherwise, can develop a toxic element unless the group has the will to do something to prevent it. Unfortunately this is the only UU congregation in this area, so I've been without "church" for about a year.
We can choose. We don't have to subject ourselves to people and behaviors that lessen our quality of life. And so I chose. Things have been much better since, and my stress levels have been lower. I am more focused, because my energy is poured into what matters most to me and to my family.
Besides the church, I've been a part of a wonderful Pagan group for thirteen years. While they are like an extended family in a way, we only meet once every six weeks or so, and the feeling of community is a bit more elusive and less personal there for me. Each of the meetings is like a little reunion, but it's not a part of daily life.
As a result of my separation from the church a year ago, my spiritual practices have been in transition. At first, we intended to do almost exactly what we had been doing, but scale it down and do it for the family only. I had been a member of the CUUPS chapter within the church, and they gathered to celebrate the Wheel of the Year, to drum, and for part of the time kept up a monthly spiritual program around the moon cycles. For a while after leaving the church, I maintained a home Sunday faith development program for the kids and observed the full moons with my husband, but the programs and methods that we had developed for the public didn't meet the individual needs of my family members. At times it seemed there was something forced and insincere about it, and with exception of the home Sabbat celebrations, my "homeschool faith development program" eventually fell to the wayside.
We also joined the "Church of the Larger Fellowship" in a trial membership, but that didn't quite do it either. There was no interaction with the minister, no Sunday service, no annual congregational meeting that we were aware of, no democratic process, and no review of the budget. When they asked for money, I honestly didn't know how to respond. I realize that there are costs, and that the UUA needs money, but I'm accustomed to being told how the money will be spent when they ask for it. There were some some monthly articles and pod casts on the website, but they didn't take the place of real worship. There was a monthly newsletter that arrived in the mail, but the topics didn't seem relevant to our life. None of the faith development programs were appealing to us, and my husband and I realized that we can develop our own self-directed programs and get the results we want. In fact, we probably visited the CLF website three times in six months, and listened to two podcasts in that time. We never really felt connected, and it didn't do much for us.
More recently we decided to redesign our family room around faith development, study and crafts, and the work involved in that has sidetracked us. I guess you could say that painting walls and moving furniture has been our faith development work lately.
With the approach of Mabon and the anniversary of my "pullback" from the church, I realize I'm over the grieving and self doubt that plagued me for the last year after resigning. I would like to join another church where I can be a Pagan and be a part of a higher purpose, and it must be a community where the quality of relationships between members is very high. That isn't likely to happen any time soon.
In the meantime, I'll take another stab at giving some goals and purpose to the spiritual education of my children and my own continued spiritual development.
Family Sabbats are easy. It's a simple matter of sitting down with the children and reading the Sabbat stories to them, reinforcing the stories with little rituals, making crafts, and cooking foods of the season. I feel that when we observe the Wheel of the Year, we are celebrating our human relationship with our earth, and the old traditions that brought us to where we are today.
Lunar observations are a bit different. For me, these are highly personal. They are about finding one's sense of purpose, the reason we are here, and our own true will, and then, in addition to concrete physical action, working with nature and with spirit to help create our reality. This practice does not replace taking action, but reinforces it.
Weekly faith development is a simple concept. It's about teaching the kids the things they can't (and should not) learn in school due to the separation of church and state. In addition to teaching values, my goals in teaching our children is to help them have a foundation that prepares them for choosing their own spiritual path, and that will help protect them from cults and fundamentalist indoctrination.
Lately I've been working more to shed the compartmentalization of my spirituality. Everyone knows this, and everyone says it: Spirituality isn't just something you do in church. It isn't just something you do in a circle of friends under a full moon.
Peter Mayer says it well in his song. "Today the only difference is, everything is holy now." I would add to that, everything is holy now, all the time.
A few months later, the minister of the congregation sent a letter of resignation to the members, and at that point I decided to resign from the church. I don't fault the minister, and I'm still a UU. All groups of people, religious or otherwise, can develop a toxic element unless the group has the will to do something to prevent it. Unfortunately this is the only UU congregation in this area, so I've been without "church" for about a year.
We can choose. We don't have to subject ourselves to people and behaviors that lessen our quality of life. And so I chose. Things have been much better since, and my stress levels have been lower. I am more focused, because my energy is poured into what matters most to me and to my family.
Besides the church, I've been a part of a wonderful Pagan group for thirteen years. While they are like an extended family in a way, we only meet once every six weeks or so, and the feeling of community is a bit more elusive and less personal there for me. Each of the meetings is like a little reunion, but it's not a part of daily life.
As a result of my separation from the church a year ago, my spiritual practices have been in transition. At first, we intended to do almost exactly what we had been doing, but scale it down and do it for the family only. I had been a member of the CUUPS chapter within the church, and they gathered to celebrate the Wheel of the Year, to drum, and for part of the time kept up a monthly spiritual program around the moon cycles. For a while after leaving the church, I maintained a home Sunday faith development program for the kids and observed the full moons with my husband, but the programs and methods that we had developed for the public didn't meet the individual needs of my family members. At times it seemed there was something forced and insincere about it, and with exception of the home Sabbat celebrations, my "homeschool faith development program" eventually fell to the wayside.
We also joined the "Church of the Larger Fellowship" in a trial membership, but that didn't quite do it either. There was no interaction with the minister, no Sunday service, no annual congregational meeting that we were aware of, no democratic process, and no review of the budget. When they asked for money, I honestly didn't know how to respond. I realize that there are costs, and that the UUA needs money, but I'm accustomed to being told how the money will be spent when they ask for it. There were some some monthly articles and pod casts on the website, but they didn't take the place of real worship. There was a monthly newsletter that arrived in the mail, but the topics didn't seem relevant to our life. None of the faith development programs were appealing to us, and my husband and I realized that we can develop our own self-directed programs and get the results we want. In fact, we probably visited the CLF website three times in six months, and listened to two podcasts in that time. We never really felt connected, and it didn't do much for us.
More recently we decided to redesign our family room around faith development, study and crafts, and the work involved in that has sidetracked us. I guess you could say that painting walls and moving furniture has been our faith development work lately.
With the approach of Mabon and the anniversary of my "pullback" from the church, I realize I'm over the grieving and self doubt that plagued me for the last year after resigning. I would like to join another church where I can be a Pagan and be a part of a higher purpose, and it must be a community where the quality of relationships between members is very high. That isn't likely to happen any time soon.
In the meantime, I'll take another stab at giving some goals and purpose to the spiritual education of my children and my own continued spiritual development.
Family Sabbats are easy. It's a simple matter of sitting down with the children and reading the Sabbat stories to them, reinforcing the stories with little rituals, making crafts, and cooking foods of the season. I feel that when we observe the Wheel of the Year, we are celebrating our human relationship with our earth, and the old traditions that brought us to where we are today.
Lunar observations are a bit different. For me, these are highly personal. They are about finding one's sense of purpose, the reason we are here, and our own true will, and then, in addition to concrete physical action, working with nature and with spirit to help create our reality. This practice does not replace taking action, but reinforces it.
Weekly faith development is a simple concept. It's about teaching the kids the things they can't (and should not) learn in school due to the separation of church and state. In addition to teaching values, my goals in teaching our children is to help them have a foundation that prepares them for choosing their own spiritual path, and that will help protect them from cults and fundamentalist indoctrination.
Lately I've been working more to shed the compartmentalization of my spirituality. Everyone knows this, and everyone says it: Spirituality isn't just something you do in church. It isn't just something you do in a circle of friends under a full moon.
Peter Mayer says it well in his song. "Today the only difference is, everything is holy now." I would add to that, everything is holy now, all the time.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Grand Canyon
Two weekends ago the four of us went to the Grand Canyon. We had been cooped up too long with the summer heat. Michael came home early from work on Friday and packed the car. We picked the boys up from school and hit the road. The freeways were so jammed that it took over an hour to get out of the city.
We arrived at the campground without a reservation and got lucky. The weekend before Labor Day weekend was not booked solid. Michael and I pitched the tent in darkness, silent as ninjas, (almost) with our solar lanterns barely keeping us from tripping and falling on our faces.
The four of us were cozy in our snug little nest of a tent. The temps were warm at night and chilly in the early morning.
The next morning I watched my youngest son's face to see his expression at the first glimpse of the canyon. He was placid, and not amazed like I expected. He just said it didn't look real. He was right. It was so beautiful it was like we were looking at an illusion. Even though it was slightly hazy from the Los Angeles fire, it seemed hard to believe that anything so beautiful could be real. The child took it in stride, as if he could not be surprised by anything delivered by nature. Of course it's beautiful. What else would it be?
We spent Saturday and Sunday exploring the south rim, trying to see as many of the points of interest as we could. We didn't hike much due to the heat, but we went on a few easy walks and wore the kids (and ourselves) out.
Saturday afternoon we found some piles of wood for the taking where the forest was tidied to prevent forest fire, and we strapped some to the top of the car and took them back to the campsite. When we arrived, mule deer were calmly grazing through the campground, each casually keeping one eye on the campers who stood stock-still to watch them, mouths open in amazement. When the deer were about thirty feet away from our campsite, our youngest made a sudden dash to the car to get the camera, spooking the deer and sending them into a lightening quick flight. But they soon stopped again, as though nothing had happened, and let the child get close enough to take photos.
That night we placed the largest log we had found on the campfire, which was silly because it would have burned all night, while we unfortunately could not do anything but sleep. On Sunday morning when we broke camp, my dear husband strapped the remaining pieces on the car along with our gear. He knows me well. Wood found this way makes the best Yule logs.
We keep talking about the day when we can take the boys on a real backpacking trip, but for now these easy trail walks are sheer bliss.
We arrived at the campground without a reservation and got lucky. The weekend before Labor Day weekend was not booked solid. Michael and I pitched the tent in darkness, silent as ninjas, (almost) with our solar lanterns barely keeping us from tripping and falling on our faces.
The four of us were cozy in our snug little nest of a tent. The temps were warm at night and chilly in the early morning.
The next morning I watched my youngest son's face to see his expression at the first glimpse of the canyon. He was placid, and not amazed like I expected. He just said it didn't look real. He was right. It was so beautiful it was like we were looking at an illusion. Even though it was slightly hazy from the Los Angeles fire, it seemed hard to believe that anything so beautiful could be real. The child took it in stride, as if he could not be surprised by anything delivered by nature. Of course it's beautiful. What else would it be?
We spent Saturday and Sunday exploring the south rim, trying to see as many of the points of interest as we could. We didn't hike much due to the heat, but we went on a few easy walks and wore the kids (and ourselves) out.
Saturday afternoon we found some piles of wood for the taking where the forest was tidied to prevent forest fire, and we strapped some to the top of the car and took them back to the campsite. When we arrived, mule deer were calmly grazing through the campground, each casually keeping one eye on the campers who stood stock-still to watch them, mouths open in amazement. When the deer were about thirty feet away from our campsite, our youngest made a sudden dash to the car to get the camera, spooking the deer and sending them into a lightening quick flight. But they soon stopped again, as though nothing had happened, and let the child get close enough to take photos.
That night we placed the largest log we had found on the campfire, which was silly because it would have burned all night, while we unfortunately could not do anything but sleep. On Sunday morning when we broke camp, my dear husband strapped the remaining pieces on the car along with our gear. He knows me well. Wood found this way makes the best Yule logs.
We keep talking about the day when we can take the boys on a real backpacking trip, but for now these easy trail walks are sheer bliss.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
