PICU: What a Visit Taught Me About Polytheism, Prayer & Pragmatism

PICU: looks like a party, but it's not.

PICU: A pediatric intensive care unit (also paediatric), usually abbreviated to PICU (pron.: /ˈpɪkjuː/), is an area within a hospital specializing in the care of critically ill infants, children, and teenagers. A PICU is typically directed by one or more pediatric intensivists or PICU consultants^[1] and staffed by doctors, nurses, and respiratory therapists who are specially trained and experienced in pediatric intensive care. -- Wikipedia

Just over a week ago today we were unaware that we would be admitting the Changeling to the PICU for treatment of what would much later be diagnosed as "staphylococcal scalded skin syndrome" (SSSS). When you have SSSS, your skin splits open & sloughs off at the slightest graze of a fingernail or the tug of a band-aid. Rashes bloom, blacken & fall from your body. The entire surface of your being is red, enraged, blistering, on fire, like that of an overeager prom-goer who took too much time at the tanning salon. 

Staphylococcus aureus (in stain): looks pretty, but it's not.
Image courtesy Wikipedia.

All this thanks to a little critter called S. aureus who, if introduced deeply enough into the body, will release exotoxins which cause detachment within the epidermal layer. This skin-sloughing bacteria is a relatively rare breed in the staph family. But still, it is staph & staph is everywhere in this beautifully complex & dangerous world of ours. Once again, no one is special.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, we have already had a very lengthy round with the NICU environment, so we have acquired a solid battery of ICU coping skills. This was not new territory. In fact, the familiarity of it might have been the most immediately traumatizing aspect of our visit. Awash in fluorescent lighting, the smells & sounds of the PICU brought back that little bit of PTSD that I carefully packed away with the hopes of never revisiting. I had to grab my swooning, crumpling, tear-welling self by the horns & say: "Do or die. This is survival time, sister. You know this place. Make-it-work." Less than an ounce of grief, followed by days of make-it-work. 

Setting our Selves aside. Making it work. We do these things because we must. We do these things for Love.

What struck me very clearly the first night while gingerly curled around the Changeling in his bubble-bed was that my personal gods & collaborative spirits aren't so befitting to the crisis situation. I have actually run upon this before, but perhaps I was never lucid enough to see it for what it is. I also think this is where I have always had a wee bit of ambivalence with the whole "prayer" concept. (Yes, I am aware of the irony of this blog's title.) 

Unpopular as it is, I consider myself a polytheist of the more Parmesan variety (as opposed to say, Ricotta). In practice, there have been many times when I would have qualified as henotheistic or perhaps more accurately, kathenotheistic, except that I am never a complete purist or ever entirely exclusive & animism muddles things, so I suppose even in this, I qualify as an In-Between (once again). Lunar & Solar devotions are my most concrete, consistent & ritualized practice, but the Moon & Sun -- as I recognize Them -- are not "gods" per se, but venerable, life-weaving & live-giving beings with corporeal forms. That's animism, as I see it. The gods proper are (generally) incorporeal spiritual entities who carry with Them their own set of skills, interests, personality & agendas. That's polytheism, as I see it. Of course, it's complicated.

"Morpheus" by alexmartinez of deviantART

The pitfall of polytheism within my ICU-prone world is that the small handful of deities with whom I have a regular (or oftentimes irregular) relationship (but generally over many, many years) don't fall into the dulcet, pray-to, caretaker model. There are also no interventionists on my call list. Most of Them came to me in some strange, unexpected & abrupt fashion, while couple of Them I petitioned, stalked, flagged down or otherwise pursued myself. Regardless of how we came into relationship, none of Them are particularly apposite, at least in a conventional way, in an ICU. Oh, & I don't just go barking at gods I don't know when I suddenly need Them. So, how do we make-it-work?

Apparently I know by instinct. Once the situation settled, like an automaton I contacted the outside world asking for 'petitions, prayers, energy, good vibes, hoodoo, magick, whatever works...' I did this knowing that we would end up on my popular Christian-mystery author aunt's twitter prayer chain. I did this knowing that we would end up in multiple LDS prayer pools. I did this knowing that Wiccans would work us into their workings. I knew my mom would be exercising her Will (Thelemite? Must be something about psychiatrists). I knew that the Catholic, Druid, Jewish, Buddhist, Methodist, Atheist, Born-Again, Humanist folks & all those "Others" that comprise our friend & family network would be giving it their best go, in whatever fashion suits them. And really, if those people have a rapport with an interventionist sky-god like Adonai or JC or a mother-goddess like Toci or Brighid & they want to pray on our behalf, why should I object? Just make-it-work.

Even the 8:00 am prayer over the hospital PA system each morning was making-it-work. Never having stayed in a Catholic hospital before, the first day I awoke to the prayer, dazed & baffled. The priest's deep baritone & thick Spanish accent filtered through the isolation doors in a mostly unintelligible blur of voice, but I took it... & maybe even looked forward to it... a little bit. It came from Love. Make-it-work. 

/begin digression: This amuses me. When I was young & "fundamentalist" I would have balked at the idea -- I always found it offensive when someone else was praying or petitioning for my wellbeing because I interpreted their actions as a surreptitious attempt to impose their belief system upon me... somehow. I believe that inflexible, resistant, exclusive attitude stemmed from a defensive insecurity. Nowadays, I don't find discomfort in the well-intentioned spiritual efforts of others. As long as it comes from Love, I take it. I must be more secure, or getting older, or maybe I am just indiscriminate or something... /end digression

"Female Satyr with House, Child and a Putto" by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo.
My mind's eye vision of Fauna (& quite possibly my ideal body image too).
Image from the Norton Simon Museum.

But enough of other people's gods. After sending out the "Pragmatic Pagan's" smoke signals, I scrunched up, helpless & despondent in that tiny bed -- all the while remaining ever vigilant not to break any more skin on my little baby -- & I talked to my gods. Well, some of Them anyway.

I talked to Morpheus & I asked Him to use His pull with His Oneiroi brothers to give our tiny morphine-filled creature the peaceful, reparative sleep he needed in order to mend his devastated body. I talked to Fauna & Faunus & I said, something like, "I know You are not creatures of these hospital-places. You are creatures of the forests & wild places... We are too. My children are Your children & I want to make sure I can take them back into the bogs & the woodlands & the high deserts & teach them the secrets hidden there. Please, if You find any joy in the beauty of a babe reveling in Your sylvan secrets, if You have any strings to pull, please, please pull them. For him, for us." Then, maybe I asked Thoth (Tahuti, if you prefer) to give the still struggling-to-definitively-diagnose medical staff a leg up as I passed out from exhaustion, but honestly I cannot remember...

Oh, & I talked to the Moon of course. That Lady, our measured guide, the Gradual One. She Who Makes Change by Degrees. I thanked her. Because by then, Her work was already done.

Please do not mistake my words as dismissive of Those that I carry close to my heart, Those I whisper to in the greenwoods & in the Darkness. Theirs are among the greatest of gifts, but so much of that world is left unshared. Mostly, that world is about me. Absolutely none of this situation could be about me. It needed to be 100% about making-it-work.


Setting our Selves aside. Making it work. We do these things because we must. We do these things for Love.

Sometimes this means pragmatism over purism. The Who & the How is irrelevant. When it comes down to it, all that matters to me as a mother, lover, partner is that it works & that Love, something so Good & so big is allowed to triumph over the selfish smalls; like bacteria... & egos. 

Going home.
We made it work.
All of us, together.

How Shrines Begin.

Together, on the silver chaise, very late at night. 
You recline. I sit, perched on the rounded curve of its overstuffed edge.
Staring out the window at a tree strangely poised against the pinkish winter sky, I say,
"You know that secretary I 'inherited' from my ex-boyfriend's, acquaintance's grandmother?"
"Um..." 
"The one in the basement of the house in Utah... with the ball & claw feet..."
(I swear that tree knows what I am talking about.)
After a moment,
"Oh. Yes..."
Still fixed on the tree,
"I want something like that, but a little wider than a grandfather clock, with solid doors in place of the lattice & inside, places where surfaces unfold, like the desk, but different & places that cradle offering dishes like the one the Perrins sent me & I want to use the great big glass vanilla vials to hold flowers & I want to collect more baroque picture frames like the one with the painting of the Victorian lady & I would like to have drawers or a cabinet below but I don't know quite know how to keep The Changeling out..."
"Ok."
"In those frames, I want an image of each of the gods that have been with me in significant ways throughout my life... It's time."
You nod in acknowledgement. 
"...starting with Thoth."
You understand, even though you were not there.
"...& there should be Fauna & Faunus & a place for Freyja's seeds..."
You agree, with a wry smile I know is for Freyja.
(Is the tree out there musing over Freyja too?)
Then, I feel myself struggle with the words, almost choking,
"And Herne..."
You snort softly, knowingly. You know He is the One I keep close, with much discomfort. I know, He is the One who waits at the end of the road.
"...And Morpheus."
You do not know how important He is, but you will. Soon. I promise.
I stop. You smile, waiting but not expecting.
There is a long pause.
"Ah... & Bacchus, of course." 
"Of course."
And this is how shrines begin.

Well, this time, anyway.

Thoughts While Nursing: What's In a Name?

This post is a response to this week's theme on the website Pagan Blog Prompts -- a site with ideas that very often inspire me to ruminate, but for which I rarely find the time to respond in writing. 

What's in a Name?  

Do you have a witch/magic name(s)?

If more than one, is one reserved for ritual use, with another that you go by to everyone else?

If you do use a witch/magic name, how did you come by yours? Was it 'given' to you? Were you lead to it? Or did you pick it yourself?

If you don't use a witch/magic name, why not? 

I have always maintained a certain amount of ambivalence towards magickal names. Mostly, because too often magical names sound altogether unsophisticated, role-play-ish & well, just plain silly. Truth be told, I have been known to speak of them in a mocking manner via a long-running joke -- because I am a mean-spirited & diabolical person. Or, perhaps I am not diabolical, just good-humoured. Let's be honest, some magickal names are just funny.

Then again, there are always the exceptions. However, in order to avoid hypocrisy, I have generally avoided them.

Many, many moons ago, I worked in a circle with a small group of friends. We used magickal names amongst ourselves to delineate between our circle's work & our "mundane" lives together. Mostly, we used our magickal names for signatures on written documents. We never spoke those names outside the circle. They are burned into my memory forever -- I remember every one. My name was apropos to the time & was chosen to reflect my beginning, my emergence onto this path. I still think it is a good name the me that was then, but I have changed & grown & become a mother.

Until recently, that was the extent of my "magickal name" usage.

How confusing this all must seem as you read a blog written by "Moma Fauna." I find it a tad bit confusing myself. In considering the origins of that name, I am startled that I cannot recall how it came about. But, I can deconstruct its meaning & purpose. 

How I came to Fauna, or, how She came to me. (A very short & simplified synopsis.) A couple of years ago, I began having dreams in which forest spirits (usually in the form of satyrs) would gift me with artistic inspiration. I would wake in the night & struggle to write it down, or, more often, I would lay awake for hours expanding upon the ideas. After the deluge of dreams began disrupting my sleep, I did a bit of research. I discovered that people once sought communication with Faunus via their dreams in order to obtain oracular counsel & artistic inspiration. I also learned that 

"A goddess of like attributes, called Fauna and Fatua, was associated in his worship. She was regarded sometimes as his wife, sometimes as his sister. As Pan was accompanied by the Paniskoi, or little Pans, so the existence of many Fauni was assumed..." (Wikipedia)

"Hm," said I. Of course I had known about the god Faunus, but Fauna was a new concept for me. Thus, the obsession began (the details of which I will not discuss, lest I digress far, far, far off topic). For those of you with interest in Fauna, I offer a few references to consider browsing: Wiki's Fauna article, Fauna in the Obscure Goddess Online Dictionary, Star Foster's recent Faunalia article at Patheos.com, an interesting Feminist angle over at The Suppressed Histories Archives & there is also always Theoi.com, although I find their discussions more confusing than helpful for this particular deity.

Needless to say, I felt a resonance with this She; nurturer of the Earth's living creatures, forest dweller, oracle & patroness of women. 

As for the pseudonym, somewhere along the line, I must have needed a screen name & decided to make it a tribute to Fauna, personalizing it by adding the pet name Hubby & Little Lad call me as a prefix. 

Over time & particularly with the advent of this blog, "Moma Fauna" evolved into an affirmation: this name is a daily reminder of the mother I aspire to be. It's a digital mantra & it's gently telling me right now, "Enough blogging, sister, your children are waiting..."

Moma Fauna

...& yes, despite the lack of recent posts bearing the title, I am still nursing.