For the Files: Mother's Moon Memories (& a Few Thoughts on Offering)

Luna, at Moonrise over Breakfast Canyon, December 16, 2013.
Mother's Moon, aka Long Nights Moon.

How difficult it is to get back into the habit of writing regularly! Quite regrettable, really. But at least the time has been put to use along other creative avenues…

Below is what remains of my memory of December's Full Moon. It's mostly about Love & offerings & a cat who knows a little something about both. I record it here, for the files.

❉ ❉ ❉

Single parenting in the high desert, the children & I prepared for the Esbat, sans the Hubby. Alaska keeps him on a short leash nowadays. I wanted to make something the children could contribute to without irreparable mayhem -- we opted for old fashioned oatmeal cookies with chunks of milk chocolate. No chips. Chopped up bars, just as it should be…

I was really wanting said cookies anyway & that's the thing about giving in relationships: the best gifts are generally those you would really like for yourself . (Unless you & the recipient are hopelessly diametrically opposed & then I suppose that principle is hopelessly inadequate.) But since I Love(!) that Moon, I leave Her things I would serve my very best friend, or my Mom, or the sausage cat… were she a human (although, as a cat, it is actually best if she doesn't eat such things, but I am quite certain she would love them if given the opportunity). 

There is much debate regarding the subject of offerings, but were it appropriate, I would offer the Moon my favorite blankets & a down pillow. I would beckon Her inside & offer Her a cup of coffee, tea or wassail if she has a craving for sweets… I might not offer wine, only because I am dubious of the quality & condition of the bottles which remain lurking in our cellar. Would She like to curl up by the woodstove? May I offer my precious candy cane cookie stash? Better still, how about some homemade buttermilk bread with spiced, wild rose hip butter? 

In short, I would offer Her every last ounce of Love that breathes within these walls… were it appropriate.

Instead, we baked dozens & dozens of cookies. Way too many, really. We saved the cookies we wanted the most for Her, setting them carefully aside. Then we awaited Her arrival. 

The children didn't have it in them to join me outside that night. So I mixed up a Negro Ruso & stepped outside with the cookies safely nestled in little wooden offering bowl Hubby made. I walked over to the big log under the failed crow-feeder which, by some strange force of habit --or something -- has become the offering table. 

The Moon had already risen & loomed quite high in the sky. The light reflected off the snow made it look like some preternatural version of daytime. Despite my desire to stay in this dreamy world, I did not linger because I felt I should attend to maternal duties. As I pulled the door open, I found myself halted by an unexpected sight. There stood the semi-sausage cat formerly known as "the skeleton cat."  She wanted to join me.

This might not seem unusual, a cat wanting out, except for the fact that this cat has been so horribly ill that she has had little interest in doing much of anything at all, let alone venturing outdoors, in the dark, cold of the winter night. She is, after all, a career indoor cat undergoing a medical alternative to chemotherapy. 

So I let her out. 

Her peachy fur glowed curiously in the Moonlight. She snorfled all around the house, huffing & puffing scents I could only imagine (but would rather not). The carport in particular held many mysteries for her. She was so incredibly alert & alive. Electrified by the light of the Moon & heady fragrances of musk & urine & godz-know-what-else… she was luminescent, ethereal & yet still very much an instinct-driven creature of the Earth. 

As I trailed her, I was filled with relief, delight & so, so much Love. The entire unexpected circumstance reminded me of a lifetime ago; waking in the night from time to time when I was a child. In my memory at least, it always seems this happened when there was ample Moonlight. I would go skulking about the house or out into the yard, pretending -- nay, wishing -- I was a cat. I would sniff about the walls or shrubbery, making that classic cat "stink face" & peer about with a territorial gaze. I was always dying for a real catfight. How exciting that would be! (Or so I imagined. Nowadays, not so much.) As a wee lass, I had cat-envy, cat-awe & here I was, reliving those fantasies, only this time, I suppose it was more "real." What an honor to escort my beloved companion on a Moonlit, olfactory-driven prowl. Just me, my little grrrl & the Moon...

Besides, whatever that cat wants, she will get. Unless it will make her barf. 

That's the thing about relationships: when you Love, you want to give, to share, to nourish, to offer of yourself. I will offer what little I have, because I Love.

When she was done with her inspection, we walked back into the house together & I recognized that, as always, this night was exactly as it should be. 

❉ ❉ ❉

That cameo-coloured fluff sausage knows more than a little about offerings too. A couple weeks later, she brought me her first mouse since her illness. It was a lovely White Footed (Peromyscus), of course. Chirping gaily, she pranced into the bedroom & then scrambled around the bed to my side. What a beautiful prize! I would have accepted it with great ceremony except for one small detail -- the wee creature was very much alive. Ah, offerings. Symbols so fleeting. So we just keep on offering.

Lady Moon, Luna, December 20th.
She keeps giving too.

On Spontaneous or "Organic" Initiation (An Anniversary)

"We are each initiates, one by one." -- Janet Adler, Arching Backward

I. Initiation, Proper

At the utterance of the word "initiation" there is a tendency for our minds to summon images of blindfolded oaths made at swordpoint, or secretive, incense-laden temple rites. Perhaps we imagine branding, scarification or ritualistic poisoning by alcohol & other intoxicants. We understand that the structured ordeal is a necessary sacrifice in the process of becoming. With these types of initiations, there is a sense that the initiate is trained or prepared in advance, possibly over many years, for this dramatic eventuality. All of these ceremonies confer a special status or inclusion within a culture, sect or social group -- be it large or small, public or private -- upon the initiate. All of these ritual transformations are endowed with a cultural symbology & all are conducted by a human person or persons on behalf of another human. 

INITIATION: ini·ti·a·tion noun \i-ˌni-shē-ˈā-shən\
1
a : the act or an instance of initiating
b : the process of being initiated
c : the rites, ceremonies, ordeals, or instructions with which one is made a member of a sect or society or is invested with a particular function or status
2
: the condition of being initiated into some experience or sphere of activity : knowledgeableness
First known use: 1583 -- Merriam-Webster Dictionary

But what of the initiation which originates from something outside the human domain? 

"initiation" by fijalkowski of deviantART.

Some of us will be taken unwittingly, unawares. We will experience an initiatory process at the instigation or direction of something other-than-human. Be it precipitated by the Universe, a deity or deities, spirits, Nature, Fate, entanglement, natural phenomena, coincidence or any other known or unknown catalyst, this initiation will result in the same outcome as our more familiar & predictable human rites -- something described by religious historian Mircea Eliade as, "a basic change in existential condition." However harrowing or glorious the process, a spark of knowledge is conferred & transferred. We will walk away from this experience with our text forever & fundamentally amended. 


II. Initiation, Irregular

I call these precipitated-by-an-Other initiations, "spontaneous" or "organic." Whether they are sublime or traumatic, they fall into the "shit happens" classification. In all likelihood, the initiate will be taken relatively unsuspecting & unprepared. Initiation in this manner can leave the initiate feeling shell-shocked, estranged, isolated & misunderstood. Most of Western society is not prepared to validate this type of experience. We may grapple with unmanageable emotions, post-traumatic stress, cognitive dissonance, doubt regarding our mental faculties & countless other after-effects of the ordeal. With energies & attentions focused on the healing, integration &/or social re-entry processes, it may take time -- possibly a great deal of time -- to actually recognize that an initiatory process has taken place. 

Spontaneous & organic initiations can manifest in countless forms; high or low, fast or slow, euphoric or devastating. They can also fall in-between. 

"Organic" initiations, as I define them, generally relate to highly influential, "natural" or biological events. Childbirth is a perfect example of an organic initiatory process. No matter how we prepare for this event, we will always be taken by surprise in one way or another (or in many). It will not turn out the way we envisioned it. It will leave us a permanent members of a social group: the parents. You can never not be a parent once you become one, although some parents manage to sidestep the responsibilities. For most parents, they will find that after the birth of a child, their lives are profoundly & irreversibly changed -- their existential condition has been reworked.

"Devotee" by RAM75 of DeviantART.
Some spontaneous initiations are blissful. Mine, not so much.

Having an unmistakable brush with an unanswerable or overwhelming "force" be it natural phenomena, "otherworldly" influences or internally driven (of course, they could also be externally driven, appearing internal) events such as dreams or visions can precipitate what I like to call a "spontaneous" initiation. These too will leave the initiate permanently changed, but the social groups, for the most part, are not a clear-cut as those belonging to the organic initiations (excepting, say, becoming "born again"). This can cause a great deal of social discomfort if the initiatory experience falls outside the parameters of societal acceptability.

Many non-traditional initiations blur the boundaries of these two categories. For instance, a person who endures the painful process of testing, diagnosis & treatment for a chronic illness may (but not always) find this to be a process which causes a "basic change in existential condition." They also gain the dubious honour of membership in a social group; people with rheumatoid arthritis, diabetes, mental illness, multiple sclerosis, etc. In all likelihood, the process will change their view of themselves, their lives, their behaviour, their relationships, their reality... everything. These are undeniably biological happenings, but they fall outside the "biological norm." Parallels to the above scenario can be drawn for someone who experiences a profound state of euphoric possession, revelation or transcendence, perhaps unexpectedly & even repeatedly during a daily routine. So, are they organic or spontaneous? Probably, a bit of both, but really I think it matters not.

I could prattle on about a variety of potentially person-changing experiences -- the imagination could run wild all day considering the permutations (believe me, it has) -- but since I have been writing this entry for 12 days now, I think I will let it rest with this: initiation in its spontaneous & organic forms covers a wide spectrum of possibilities & crosses many boundaries. This, partnered with a lack of formality & preparation (possibly) is what makes it both surprising, compelling & exceedingly difficult. 

❍❍❍❍❍

Just over two years ago I was cast into an organo-spontaneous initiatory journey which lasted many months. It changed everything, utterly & completely. It also bestowed upon me many diverse gifts; some which were initially very painful, some which caused me to doubt my sanity, some which restructured my values, habits & priorities, some which shaped my relationships & all of which brought me closer to others, Others & to myself.

It also is what prompted, or rather, urged, the creation of this journal.

"I write because of a persistent 'knowing' that I must... Perhaps I do this to simply bring into form that which originates in formlessness. Perhaps I write words in an effort to help me contain the experience. Perhaps the writing is an expression of hope, hope of communicating, and therefore reducing the loneliness that such experiences create." -- Janet Adler, Arching Backward

At this anniversary, I am able to reflect back upon the journey with less discomfort & more gratitude. With hindsight, I see how radically my being has changed. I am not the same animal I was before I cast doubt* at the Moon & walked through the Fire.

During this anniversary period, I have reflected a great deal on the events preceding the ordeal. With hindsight, I am of the opinion, that I was being prepared, unknowingly -- whether by the strings of our tangled Web, or the gentle pressure of a subtle force -- to survive, to endure what I can only characterize as "hell." I don't subscribe to hell in the Judeo-Christian sense of the word, but if we use the following definition: 

hell |hel|noun• a state or place of great suffering; an unbearable experience : I've been through hell |he made her life hell.

2 he made her life hell: a misery, torture, agony, a torment, a nightmare, an ordeal;anguish, wretchedness, woe. ANTONYMS paradise. -- Apple Dictionary

I can honestly say that I have been there... & lingered. I also came out the other side & the gifts have been epic. Some of them have also been strange.

"The Dance of Spiritual Transcendence"
by ryan432 of DeviantArt

Before reentering the "real world," the social worker warned us that other people would not have the ability to understand what we had been through. No amount of explanation would suffice & we would simply have to understand this, accepting that the events of the previous months & the events of the months to follow were incomprehensible to the greater part of humanity. She also told me -- after a wee bout of PTSD -- that the only effective way to deal with it would be to find a way to communicate, to process the experience with language; talk, sing, draw... write.

So here I am, two years later. I recognize the gift manifested in my insatiable desire to write (even if it results in great struggle since my time for it is so limited) & also the uncharacteristic aspirations to sing & dance (really?). But there are many other gifts; deepened relationships, new connections, a marked ability to "listen," a mysterious openness, a rekindled craving to learn, greater chutzpah & confidence paired with a fresh vulnerability. I also have a compulsion not to dally or delay, not to linger in the doldrums, but to "make it so," to embrace life, right now: 

"Ennui is the death of the only soul worth having." -- Patrica Geary 

"That is my favourite quote. It is my personal motto," I used to say. Now, instead of saying it, I live it.

There is also weirdness which laughs at my rational self & teases my sensibility mercilessly. I am driven by instincts & inspiration, the sources of which are uncertain. I commit irrational acts of Love, Reverence & Freedom. I converse with the taboo. I manifest weirdness. Somewhere along the journey, the conduit was opened. I am conduit. But, not at my own expense -- I have not sacrificed self-expression or self-actualisation for this gift. I simply live it.

Living it. This brings me to a question I have been considering: Once the process of initiation has commenced, does it ever really ever end, or is true initiation just the genesis of endless unfoldment, evolution & growth? 

If so, I had better get some sleep.



*"Suspicion" might be more accurate.

Animist Blog Carnival: The Shape of Time & Other Things

...Why I never doggedly pondered you? Because I can see your shape & it is so familiar... within & without. 

"Double Helix Nebula" by ashiphire of deviantART. 

I have always found myself agitated by philosophical & theoretical discussions of Time. Time is, like the universe itself, incomprehensible to a large degree & (unlike the discussions) I am comfortable with that. I don't need to know how it works, or where it does not work, or how we puny humans might manipulate it, or where it throws out all the rules & works in a new, mind-bending manner. I need only know that it is working at this moment.

However, in thinking about this prompt* (which I have found faintly agonizing), I realized that my sense of time has always included a natural form, a visual understanding of its structure. In my mind, Time has a shape. It is a familiar, known formation. This is a notion I have carried with me -- almost entirely unaltered -- since I was a child. Given my strong belief that children's ideas & conceptions of the world are rooted in animism, I felt that some digging about in the memory stores was in order.

Prepare thyself for weirdness. Or something.

Χρόνος/καιρός

"What time is it?" by KAZ1167 of deviantART.

During the majority of my life, when people have referred to the recent past (that is, the past I have experienced, that which is within my lifetime) or the approaching future (also, within my lifetime) I clearly see movement around a platter-like surface. I am standing on this disc, this plate of Time. The dish has a gradation of sensory cues; changing light, colour, smells, temperature, humidity, etc, but no distinguishable figures. I always seem to view it from approximately the point of my birthday which places October to my right (in the South, as near as I can tell). Midwinter is then directly behind me, Spring curving forward along my left, Midsummer in front, etc. I still see it this way today. Little about it has changed over the years except for the markers or cues which are infinitely more numerous than they were when I was a youngling.

However, this scheme isn't as simple as prancing 'round & 'round the two-dimesional saucer of Time ad nauseam like Alice in the Caucus Race. From my position on the platter I can see the recent past & the near future. But what of the more distant laps around the plate? The past & future should have shape too, no? Just what is the shape of the length of Time & how does it relate to the little saucer of the relative now? By strange revelation, I came to know the extended shape of Time some time in 1980, thanks to a man as familiar, influential & beloved to my generation as Mister Rogers: Dr. Carl Sagan.

Except that Dr. Sagan wasn't talking about Time. He was talking about cells.

In the COSMOS series, Sagan visits & revisits cellular structure in great detail. Why? Cells are extraordinary, miniature universes. They form & drive our living world. They encapsulate & exemplify the vastness of inner space. They personify the intricacy of the everything & the nothing. Cells also contain limitless lengths of nucleotide chain. The double helix -- endlessly unraveling & rewinding -- is the shape of Time.

I clearly remember the moment I recognized it. While watching a cellular biology segment of COSMOS (quite possibly the segment below) I realized a disconnect (or was it a connect?), thinking, "This is Time. I am watching Time! He is talking about DNA & RNA but I just know this is Time!" I felt with a child's certainty that I was viewing a very faithful portrayal of the assembly & disassembly, the orchestration & dissolution, of Time... 

Carl Sagan Discusses Cells. 

If you don't like trees, you can skip to 2:11 to view the nucleotide segment.

Mostly however, I remember wondering with a vague desperation, "Who are these "enzymes" who weave & unravel this stuff?" (I remember feeling a peculiar fondness for them as well.) That is the big question, isn't it? I still don't have that answer. Not that I have any answers at all, just crystal clear pictures in my head.

Watching nucleotides being strung together gave me a new, three dimensional structure to my platters, each disc sitting on one layer of a an endless coil. For some time now, I have defaulted to this disc-filled slinky-like vision of extended Time, neglecting the important fact that the double helix is just that: double. I have simply ignored the other side of Time. 

While reflecting on Time for this piece, I have begun to consider that second strand. What is going on over there? Is that the side of all possibilities? Our reflections? Our dopplegangers? The timeline of the Otherworld? What? Or, perhaps I have always misunderstood a basic aspect of the structure. Could it be that instead of the past & present residing on opposite ends of a single strand, each one of them is a strand? Two strands, past & future being spun & frayed, replicated ad infinitum while we stand somewhere on a saucer, suspended between them in the intelligible present...

"Slinky" by Iridescent of deviantART.

In the mind-bending, I inevitably reach the essential animist's question: "Can we talk?" Ah, relationship. 

I tend to understand Time as a function with form, albeit an intangible form. Maybe. Or perhaps it is something of a function & a place. But is it within, or without? Or is it both? Or neither? Of course I naturally wonder, am I missing something? Everything? My marbles perhaps? Is there a being of Time with whom we can talk? Or does it just "go," like a Dr. Seuss verb?

I have never tried to talk to Time. Nor do I plan to. As I mentioned earlier: I need only know that it is working.

However, there is someone -- or some Ones -- I would really like to know. Maybe. The Time-winders. The builder, divider, replicator enzymes of the temporal chain -- wouldn't an attempt to know & understand Them prove to be a more fruitful & valuable endeavour than coffee klatsch with Time? Exactly Who are the weavers of Time & how do we talk to Them?

I don't have answers, just pictures. Understanding those enzymes of Time is a pretty distant reality & the truth of the matter is, I can live with that. I am very happy with the relationships I have here on this pretty little platter & the best part about it is, it is working.

"Creating Time" by intao of deviantART.

* This post is a part of the Animist Blog Carnival of March 2013. To read other animist perspectives on time, follow the link.


An aside (for the files): During my early school years, I had a relatively short-lived, yet concurrent, linear view of time which might be better described (in retrospect) as a plan or trajectory. I think I understood it to represent time, or more specifically, the future. In Salt Lake City, there are many parallel streets. I happened that my elementary school was located on a street that paralleled the street of what I believed to be my future high school (located further North). Additionally, the University I always imagined myself attending was on that same street belonging to the high school yet even further North. So, I had this picture in my mind's eye that I would be progressing Northward, over time, toward University. But then school boundaries changed as they are wont to do & I missed the district of the school to the North by one block & my whole image of direction & future was nearly shattered except that there was still the University, except that I ended up at a University in New England. Thus, I gave up my brief interlude with Time that looked like a straight line as wide as a city street.

For the Files: Autumn Equinox, Community Style

Freyja, by Arthur Rackham
image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Below is a much abbreviated documentation of our community Autumn Equinox rite. For the files.

Our community Autumn Equinox was celebrated in the Norse tradition of Hausblot, or Fallfest. I attended alone, much to my discomfort, but this particular celebration was not developed/adapted for children & my familiarity with these rites told me that the presence of our children would not be in keeping with the intent of this event. I knew however, despite my conflicting feelings, that of any & all the celebrations hosted by our pan-pagan family, this would be the one which would most speak to me personally.

My pagan roots were set among the Ásatrúar -- their rites are familiar, stirring, honest & potent. It has sometimes mystified me how I never came to embrace Norse Heathenry, but when I examine things fairly, I know that while their values, rites, lifeways & traditions draw me, their cosmology & more importantly, their gods do not. 

The event was planned & coordinated by our community's sole Norse devotee. It began with a blót* in honour of Odin, followed by a wonderful, warm feast. In certain regards, the blót seemed more formal & involved than the blóts-of-yore, but I think some of this is due to selective memory, while some of it is probably because this event was developed for a diverse & public audience. It seems to me my friends-of-yore were much louder too... in fact, I am sure of that, but we were a great deal younger then, a bit more rowdy & much more vociferous. Regardless of how memory matches reality, I must give kudos to Shanley for an artfully developed rite & in particular, for his verse & how he represented our house fires in this ritual. It was very beautiful, symbolically & literally. 

There was some song practice following the feast & we were blessed to have our talented & multilingual songstress sing the verses of Herr Mannelig for us so that we might only struggle with the refrain. I had the luck of being seated beside her & I had one of those moments of utter awe & appreciation for the gifts of our human faculties... the gifts of community too. 

A sumbel* followed feasting & song practice. This was a long rite, lasting nine rounds & two, maybe closer to three hours (not the longest in Heathen history, I am certain!) before we needed to end -- possibly prematurely for some -- due to time & other commitments. There is little I can share about what transpired. All speech in sumbel is sacred speech & it is not my place to repeat it.

I went to this event knowing that I would need to address my outstanding debt to Freyja. I decided to bring some of my apple seeds & restate my oath. I also wanted to read a poem in Her honour -- on behalf of myself & Heather Awen -- so I made certain that this would be in keeping with our host's intentions for the sumbel. It was an honour both to publicly extol Her before my tribe & to represent the voice of someone who has given me a great deal of inspiration. 

I chose a poem written by Hoen Falker of the Visigoth Tradition, Clan Falker & translated by Solange Stanquini. English is obviously not the first language of the author, nor do I believe it is that of the translator, so the poem has some translational idiosyncrasies. However, I found it so beautiful, so moving, that I chose to use it despite a few uncertain lines. I made a handful of small adjustments to assists the flow, but otherwise the poem is as I found it here: Chant to Freyja. My thanks to the author for such a sincere, emotive piece. 

Hail Freyja!

Poem in Honour of Freyja by Hoen Falker

Oh, loved goddess of Elfos, Humans & Valquiras,
that in the starry night,
reigns with replete kindness!
At the thresholds of the world
dressed of hawk
You overstep
giving a present with talents
the treasures where You pass through!
In the shining lands & meadows of the whole people,
celestial fire
it's her glance at rest.
Prostrated, to You I offer
amber & flowers,
tears & laughter.
For my Lady,
the clamours.
Show us,
the human homes in Your mesh.
Mounted on Her high boar,
She helps in the battles.
Your illuminated face in the winds of the heights
for who the fire,
front to the ice,
is like softness.
She is Lady,
of felines & hawks.
My ancestral Ones live close to You.
The half of my songs,
I offer to You.
Oh! Glorious!!
To You I offer
a burning fire of memory.
You are goddess Freyja,
of the Vanires,
the most beautiful woman!
The arches of Your eyes
like wings of swans.
A star.
Your eyes are sunny emerald seas.
Your red mouth is our blood on contemplated snow.
When falls the afternoon,
You become an invisible shine,
for Your destroyed lovers.
To choose,
for You my more beautiful desires,
I will order for the enchantments
intoning rage
& I will see then of the lonely death.
I will wake up.
It will be Your smiling
with all your beloved damsels...
The discovery of your forests
will bring the rain
& to my inert, cold body,
the life will return.

* There are many sources for information regarding the rites & traditions of the Ásatrúar, most of which I am sure are quite excellent. I chose Raven Kindred Online because it actually represents the spirit of my pagan family "of yore." Its authors were among my people & their ways were how I came to understand Ásatrú. You can find the rest of them (almost) at Raven Kindred North.

For the Files: The Perspectivist's Cure for Drama or, "Really, How Big Is It?"

A powerful storm rolls in...  How will you weather it?

The following visualization/meditation has saved my mental & emotional hindquarters more times than I remember. I was reminded of it recently while considering the stormy seas of a few friends. Circumstances being what they are in the world, I thought it might prove to be of value to someone who wanders across this page. It is also something I have wanted to save here for my children, for the files. It comes with an unusual backstory -- I received this tool, this insightful gem, from a most surprising & peculiar source. As I said before,

...wisdom resides in the most curious places.

Many, many Moons ago, I was a member of a women's "service organization" which today is considered by many to be a cult. (Indeed, it has the been subject of exposés both written & televised.) I personally never felt that I had been coerced, manipulated or brainwashed into participating, but I will confess that some of their members behaved as if they had. I involved myself by choice & took my leave, with some sadness, when other obligations demanded my full attention. I am thankful to the women who cared for me & taught me so many valuable, life-changing lessons & my hope is that those who were unhappy found the strength to walk away while those who had found their home remain there to this day, nurturing others.

In order to be accepted as a member of this organization, women (there is a men's version too) must attend a relatively expensive, weekend-long, sleep depriving, emotional roller-coaster of a conference which could be best described as EST joining forces with Mars & Venus (of the "men/women are from..." variety). The bulk of the women-only event involved an often inspirational & sometimes demeaning monologue by the organization's leader/guru (ironically, a man) who had spent most of his career as a counselor & therapist. 

As a result of his counseling work, he determined that a great deal of the unhappiness in human life results from lack of purpose & perspective. In a nutshell, he argued that when a person is serving only their own immediate needs, their personal struggles & problems appear very large. However, if a person chooses to serve a higher purpose (one that serves a cause beyond their own) their personal problems appear diminished. He further reasoned that the greater the purpose for which someone works, the smaller their own misfortunes will appear & they will experience them with less drama... Drama. It's all about perspective.

Despite its dubious origins, this meditation/visualization is a fabulous exercise in perspectivism (an approach for which I have much fondness):

perspectivism |pərˈspektiˌvizəm|noun1 Philosophy the theory that knowledge of a subject is inevitably partial and limited by the individual perspective from which it is viewed. See also relativism .2 the practice of regarding and analyzing a situation or work of art from differentpoints of view. 

-- Apple Dictionary 

First, a couple of notes: 1) This is written in my own words, from my own aged memory -- a memory which has been modified over time because I have been using this technique for upwards of twenty years. To say that this is the work of the "guru" would be untrue. What follows is a permutation of his exercise which has evolved over the years while loitering about somewhere in my psyche waiting to be dusted off & embraced whenever drama threatened to outstrip sound thinking. But, quite honestly, I think my version is better. 2) I learned this before we humans had the internet. Well, at least before we had the internet with pictures. Although I haven't done this yet myself, I suggest taking advantage of the Goo-goo Goggle mapping system to enhance the visuals of this exercise. Or, stay old-school & don't. 3) I used this exercise liberally when I worked in a neurotically idealistic cooperative. I did the same as a cog in a hopelessly bureaucratic machine. In both circumstances, it worked wonders... magick even.

• 
  

  
  

  The Perspectivist's Cure for Drama: 

  A Meditation/Visualization

  
  

  Make sure you are comfortable & begin by taking some deep breaths. Take a moment to look about you, where you stand, sit, recline, before closing your eyes. Ground & center if that is a familiar process for you, otherwise, relax & breathe slowly & rhythmically until you feel very calm & focused...

  
  

  Now, take some time to become very aware of how you feel inside your body. Be present & conscious of your physical person, your position & placement in your immediate environment. What is your relationship to the space around you? What surrounds you? How does your body feel in this place? How do you feel emotionally in this place? Think about this. What is is like to be right here, inhabiting this space, right now?

  
  

  Next, you will need to shift your visual perspective. Step outside of yourself & observe your body in situ. View yourself from the outside, taking note of your person in relationship to your surroundings. Then, shift your angle of view slightly to see yourself as if you were hovering beside & slightly above your body. (Those with experience in astral projection, lucid dreaming & various other techniques will find this comes easily. If this is an unfamiliar process for you, begin by imagining yourself as a mirror image, imagine your hair, clothing, posture, position & once you have formed that image, work on shifting your perspective to a slightly overhead location.) Carefully observe the details of your surroundings. Are you indoors, or outdoors? Do you see rocks, books, cats, trees? Furnishings & concrete? Carpet or grasses? Is there a body of water nearby? A hill or building? Think about them.

  
  

  Then, begin to rise. Slowly, comfortably, drift above your physical person, your body-self & view your position in place from about the elevation of atop a three, four, five-story building. How do you appear from there? Look at your surroundings. How have they changed? After a moment of consideration, rise further up to reach the height of a very tall building, a soaring bird or an airplane just prior to landing. Observe yourself in the context of neighborhood -- a local perspective. How do you look from here? 

  
  

  Begin to gradually pull yourself way back, gently, as if rising in a hot air balloon. As you do this, watch how the scale & pattern of everything in the environment continually shifts & adjusts to accommodate new perspectives. View yourself, or rather, your position & surroundings (your person will no longer be visible), from a regional view. You might be in an urban area -- look at your place in that city, look at how it spreads around & beyond you... a system with so, so many parts. The same applies if you are in a rural or a remote area. How does the greater region relate to your place in it? Where are you located & what does this mean for your position in this much larger space? 

  
  

  Continue to drift upwards & away from your self-in-place, taking time to consider larger geographic & political boundaries such as counties, forests, coastal areas... where are you, how do you fit in to the increasing large & complex places? How do your worries & struggles relate to this bigger picture? Drifting higher & higher, see your place in the world at the state or provincial level, if you are in a smaller sized country, you might be gazing down upon your political homeland. Alternately, if you are aware of a larger geographical unit, such as the Great Basin, Pacific Rim or the Sahara Desert, perhaps you would prefer to consider your place in this ecological context. What is your place here? How do you contribute to this larger entity, this network of numerous smaller webs & loosely related beings, space & events?

  
  

  Rise & rise & rise until you can see the outline of the continent or ocean wherein you reside. These are great, vast spaces, teeming with activity. They are alive, how do they relate to you? How do you relate to them? You are engulfed in a place with more species than we can identify, more beings than we are even aware. The systems are rich, complex & ultimately unknowable. Can you still pinpoint your position? Can you determine how your cares & concerns relate to the world on this scale?

  
  

  Keep ascending, floating back until you can see the blue curve of our beautiful planet Earth. See how the atmosphere touches the surface of this living sphere. It is our blue blanket, our lifeline -- a thin blue line which sustains everything we need. How is this possible? How can we rely entirely on something so expansive, yet fragile, so potent, yet intangible? Finally, pull back, separate yourself from our planet & view yourself, your position, from the vantage point of our lady Moon... What an extravagant arrangement of creatures & spaces... how & where do you belong here? In what ways do you participate in this system? Think about your drama. How does it apply to how you see yourself now? 

  
  Consider for a moment that the bulk of the universe expands much, much further beyond this vantage point. It is not necessary to attempt to reach these perspectives in this exercise, just pause & take note. When you are ready, descend gently, gingerly back into your personal space, into our physical body & breathe. Take some time to become very aware of how you feel inside your body. Be present & conscious of your physical person, your position & placement in your immediate environment. Complete any lingering thoughts & reflections before returning to your terrestrial human day. When you feel calm, focused & prepared, open your eyes & take a good look at your place. 
  
  

  

  The storm has passed... How have you fared, Small One?

  
  

The Little Book of BIG MAGIC (Comfort For the Files)

I waited many days for some news. Today it came.

It turned out to be kind of bad -- none of it was good, or quite what I expected.

Once again, no one is special.

So, before I drag out my Anatomical Supply Catalogue & start working out some medical magick, I am going to fret, grapple, wring my hands, ask existential questions (with much futility) & feel sorry for myself. 

Then I will lay back & read The Little Book of BIG MAGIC (vol. 2) by Luke. In all likelihood, I will read it several times tonight.

Hand-written, illustrated & yellow thread-bound sometime in the 1990's by my beloved friend (Of Yore) Luke, this endearing text has survived residency in a minimum of five homes & three states. Sometimes I forget I have it, but I always seem to remember it when I need it. This is one of those times. 

I only wish I had vol. 1. (Or maybe I just wish I had Luke.) But I suspect it is out there in the hands of a friend, also serving its purpose as a source of smiles, happiness & MAGIC.

The Little Book of BIG MAGIC # 2, by Luke (cover).

The Little Book of BIG MAGIC # 2, by Luke (dedication & page 1).

The Little Book of BIG MAGIC # 2, by Luke (page 2).

The Little Book of BIG MAGIC # 2, by Luke (page 3).

The Little Book of BIG MAGIC # 2, by Luke (page 4).

The Little Book of BIG MAGIC # 2, by Luke (page 5).

The Little Book of BIG MAGIC # 2, by Luke (page 6).

The Little Book of BIG MAGIC # 2, by Luke (page 7).

For the Files: And I Remember You...

Fire Pit "Of Yore."

I've been thinking back today, probably because it is a quiet, non-Bealtaine / Beltane / May Day. Although, we have found an astounding abundance of coupling ladybugs. So, maybe it really is Bealtaine after all. 

Today I was remembering my life in Massachusetts, probably because I have always missed the community & friends there. It is an awkward idea to have a festival alone & Bealtaine is particularly awkward. Solo Maypole? I think not. 

Anyway, these thoughts reminded me of the old photos I found while sifting for images for the "Guru Board" assignment. There was a small batch of prints from a home I once knew in Massachusetts. I don't recall taking them. A few years ago, we came across the undeveloped roll of film in the basement. When the prints arrived, I joyfully became reacquainted with that unique place.

Stones of the Fire Pit.

The house was tucked away in the forest & backed up against a wooded hillside. Behind the house we had a path that led up through the trees & into a clearing where we had a really lovely fire pit, ample seating & a small shrine to Thoth. It was a special place, a sacred space. Much magick happened there. 

Last week I had another piece published over at No Unsacred Place. In the story ("If These Walls Could Speak...") I described my experiences with this house I once knew:

"Years ago, I lived in a tiny cottage in a New England forest. Once a vacation cabin, it had since been converted into a student rental. I adored the tiny hut, but it returned my adoration with a noncommittal, unsentimental attitude. My impression is that it was ungrudgingly returning to the Earth (as evidenced by much rotting, sinking and mildewing). It never had any solid investment in providing shelter for an endless stream of transient humans. Why should it when there was a beckoning forest and so little reciprocity from its ephemeral residents?"

The house & it's environs are now part of who I am. Part of my heart remains tethered there. That house; a place of growing up, a place of many gains & so many losses. My beloved cat is buried there at the base of the penta-furcate tree which served as my shrine to Thoth. I have only been able to make one visit to that house & my cat's grave since I left over a decade ago. 

Curiously, after all the time spent there, I do not have a photograph (of which I am aware) of the house from the outside. However, I do have that small set of photographs which capture, as least faintly, the space we created on the hillside above:

 There was a path up which wound up the hill & under the arching trees.

For special occasions, we strung lights along the path & over the arches.

Tiny, bright lights beckoning us to follow, piquing curious spirits.

The path led to this clearing.

A space where we celebrated with friends.

A place where I could be alone,

almost.

Kindling ever-ready...

...its fires warmed us, inspired us, mesmerized us.

Those fires...

...how I remember them.

How I remember you.