What the Lizard Lounge Palm Reader Told Me, or Reclaiming Animism, Moma's Way

Mining the most fleeting of crystals.

Several weeks ago, (actually, more like months now as it has taken since October to find the time for this post) a girlfriend & I headed out, child-free & sans spouses, in search of anything remotely resembling a lizard lounge in Anchorage. This city has a proclivity for bars, but "the seedier, the better" seems to be the motto here (or, shall we call it "rustic"?). Of course, I must remember I am living in a city also dubbed "worst dressed" in the nation... Anyway, all we wanted was a dim, warm, womb-like space with overstuffed upholstery so we could curl up like the two cats we really are & purr over big, round, aromatic glasses brimming with the dark, leggy blessings of Bacchus. 

Knowing our desires, Hubby had proposed that we try the lounge in a relatively upscale restaurant not too far from home. He said, "Go in the backdoor." When I looked at him quizzically, he encouraged, "No, really." What we found there was blissful, satisfying nearly every requirement for ideal & had it been a shy bit quieter, it would have been rubbing elbows with perfection... 

But, enough gushing over lounges dubiously residing in the backsides of fancy eateries.

Through a peculiar series of coincidences (?), we were introduced to a woman named "Mary" who (apparently) makes the rounds in this establishment quite regularly. Mary is a palm reader & I was told much later in the evening, also a well-traveled, "good Catholic girl" who is somehow tied up spiritually with Mary Magdelene. Mary has peculiar grace & subtlety to both her demeanor & appearance. Warm & unassuming, she asked for me to choose a hand which surprised me because she had been sent to read my friend's palm, not mine. I began to correct her, but she stopped me & said, "No, I would like to read yours first." Dubious (& with a certain restrained arrogance), I handed over my vitals-etched-in-flesh.

Eyes closed, she did not read the lines in my palm. She read something intangible, invisible. I capitulated & listened to the words of this lounge-wading clairvoyant (what was this woman doing there?) because her woo-woo was undeniable. I could feel it as she pressed her hand into mine. Woo... From whence do these gifts arise? I will forever find the truly gifted utterly baffling. 

Mary spoke of many things, but mostly of art. This was strange & confusing to me. It still is. She also said, "You want to continue your education, but right now you must stay with your children. They have something more important to teach you. They have very important things to teach you that you can find nowhere else... but you know this, right?" 

Yes, Mary. I do.

-----------------------------------

Creatures of Earth.

The children.

Somehow, while writing my personal statement on animism, I overlooked the children:

"Some methods for reclaiming animism are fairly simple, others present complex logistical challenges. They all basically require some kind of active disengagement from our Western cultural & social status quo -- those systems that perpetuate rational thought... Among the many viable approaches to reclamation are: solitude, leisure, unstructured time, direct contact with nature, disinhibition & altered states of consciousness."

This is astounding because when I think about animism, I think about children. Children first. My children, your children, all the children. I find comfort in knowing that most children are out there, still connected, still engaging the Web in their special way. I think of the children dancing the Web as they do a Maypole. I lament those who become jaded, having their ribbons snatched from them prematurely. I celebrate that most are still grasping their colourful connections to the Whole, laughing, singing, creating patterns & chaos, communing as many & as one.

Children are innate freethinkers. If you take the care to listen & absorb their youthful wisdom they will provide you insights available nowhere else. The lessons are -- much like the children themselves -- fresh, spontaneous & inexhaustible. Children are the most willing of teachers; all they want in this world is for someone to hear them. Listening to children is an exchanging of gifts.

My children are always teaching me (& not just about how to be a better animist). They teach me about patience, compassion & the merits of simplicity. Their natural sense of aesthetic is so entirely wrapped up in their own internal symbology, I forget sometimes that what they create is purity, not profundity (& I tend to prefer the former). Almost daily, they illustrate to me the need for a life of authenticity. With boundless willingness, they just know how to relish life. Carpe diem, absolutely. Without books, crutches, mentors, or rules, they weave spells, find secrets & talk to the other than human world -- they intuit the all of it, all day, every day. When (& why!) do we unlearn all of this?

One of the many reasons that I am so in love with animism is that it is among the few spiritual traditions  which does not need to be neutered or simplified to be inclusive of children. In fact, it is quite the opposite. We are all born thinking as animists, but over the course of our socialization -- that is, those of us in "rational" cultures -- we have the animist's innate senses, skills & understanding worked out of us. (Presumably, so that we might be successful in modern society... What a sad an unnecessary sacrifice.) Children, on the other hand, are experts. They hold the ribbons. Regarding children & the spirit world, Hubby always says, "They are closer to the Source." Yes. Being younglings, they retain a grasp on their connate animism. They are naturals & there is nothing quite like discovering & sharing the magic of this world with a child.

Sometimes I feel ensnared by motherhood; tethered day after day to wee ones, limited in my endeavours as an individual, shelving my projects, suspending my freedom indefinitely. I forget that they are my in-house spiritual guides. Sometimes I need a reminder about priorities, values & the bigger picture. I have to stop & examine the gains, the blessings & beauty of this road I travel. Roll down the window, Moma & rejoice in a faceful of fresh air. At times of great frustration, I try think about something restated in abundance by that unlikely women's guru: "The greatest freedom is found once you make & embrace your commitments, fully." (I'm paraphrasing, it was a long time ago.) My commitments bind me to small humans who have a 24 hour life line to the great Web. I am their student, as they are mine. The bonus: I love these small humans more than anything on this Earth & they love me with the same fervor. We are bound by a sacred reciprocity. Love & Spirit, together, onward we grow.

"They have very important things to teach you that you can find nowhere else... but you know this, right?"  

Thanks for the reminder, Mary.

Cherish, trust, listen, wonder, share, explore, connect, respect, divine, unravel, discover, know. SO MOTE IT BE.

Setting Aside (but not sacking) Samhain

As I grow older, I see the overlap of Samhain & my day of birth as functioning to draw my attention to the frailty & impermanence of the fleshworld; of my own flesh & bones, as well as those of others. So much is made of ancestor veneration & the "beloved dead," but I find that the mental act of ticking off another year on a day reserved for honouring endings puts a different spin on "Happy Birthday." There are several other factors which stymie my Samhain spirit & I have been giving all of it careful consideration this year (while successfully avoiding the emotional pitfalls of last year). I feel I am reaching some conclusions & possibly some new directions.

All Hallow's Lanterns 2012.

Folks make much ado about Samhain & I confess that although I have always been enchanted by its mystique, there has always been something about it that eludes me. Last year, I grappled with Samhain more than ever before. During a planning meeting for our community Samhain celebrations, I had commented to another committee member that I had difficulty with the dumb supper & other more "ghostly" rites because I lean toward the concept of rapid spiritual recycling. To my surprise & relief, she said she also leans that way. (She is Hindu & a member of a rare sect of Hinduism of which I know nothing, nor did she elaborate.) In general, I just don't think the spiritual remnants of the deceased hang around all that long. I'm am open to the possibility that there are those individuals who will linger about for one reason or another, but I think the bulk of us just jump right back into the pool for another go-'round. Reincarnation, wheels turning, webs weaving, 'round & 'round we go, where we end up, we never know…

This is one of those inconsistencies in Wicca that has always bothered me. On the one hand, Wiccans generally subscribe to the concept of reincarnation, yet they also assert that the "beloved dead" can join the table at a Samhain rite. If, after death, we "return to the cauldron" how can this be? How do the dead make it to dinner?

Besides, I'm not convinced that my ancestors & departed loved ones would really appreciate or understand being honored in that fashion -- in ways that are not their own -- in contexts strange & woo-ey.

A few weeks ago I purchased a children's book about the Day of the Dead. Of all of us, I think I love the book best, but the Changeling likes it very much too & he walks about, shoving it into laps & faces insistently repeating, "Dedd! Dedd! Dedd!" What I like most about the book is that it captures the celebration of family & departed loved ones in a way that makes all the trappings & activities make sense. Being written for children, it tells about the rituals & rites without attempting to put on airs or create a mystery. It's Boo-Woo free. This children's book gave me a clearer, deeper understanding of the Day of the Dead than any other source I have previously encountered & I believe it was precisely because it was written for children. Honesty; no spin, no frills.

Pages from "Day of the Dead," by Tony Johnston & Jeanette Winter.

In addition to helping me understand the holiday & it's traditions, the book revealed something unintentional. One of my major stumbling blocks to ancestor veneration & honoring the dead is the lack of physical access to their remains. I cannot go to my humans' bones. In the book, the families process -- with all their parcels & flowerpetals & candles -- to the churchyard where their loved ones are buried. As a modern citizen of the U.S., my ancestors & deceased loved ones' burial sites are scattered all over the land. There is no close knit, ancestral burial ground to which we can process, no neighborhood churchyard at which we can celebrate, no village graveyard in which to visit & remember.

A Samhain Season Moonrise.

If we cannot cherish, honor & reminisce among their bones, if their spirits are already far flung, riding the Wheel elsewhere… then how? Where? What do we do to connect to & commemorate then? I have no answer to this. None. I am a creature tied to the corporeal & also to place -- I recognize this about myself & I believe my children are very much the same. How do we work with these limitations? I have considered looking more carefully at the Shinto traditions, but, as in so many of the older traditions, the ancestors are tied to the land. With ancestors untied from the land, how can we make Samhain make sense?

Then, there's the harvest side of Samhain. I have not the time nor inclination to discuss this at length (mostly, because life has become very complicated). Instead, I will make a short note: Agriculture is very limited in Alaska & so completely over by the end of October that it is a moot point. Additionally, I have many misgivings about celebrating agriculture (I will not expatiate here, except to point to modern agriculture as the root of most of our current ecological problems). Some say Samhain is the first frost. My bioregional self really likes that, but the first frost sometimes arrives in September & that's just awkward. Samhain in it's guise as the final harvest festival is equally problematic -- not quite satisfying or even making sense. I question our motives. Are we just celebrating this day because everyone else is doing it?

My conclusion for now is to ask the ancestors for input (or not) & give Samhain a break. 

An oversized Amanita Muscaria...
Our fruits sure don't fall far from the tree.

There are no losses here, however. Our children love All Hallow's Eve/Halloween & as a child of that day, I do too. We can continue to embrace All Hallow's & all the delights of the Halloween traditions while exploring the customs of the Day of the Dead & working out this quandary of remembrance. Of course, little things like the annual Samhain tarot spread will remain &as of this year, we are beginning a new tradition of ceremonially seeing in the month of November. 

November: our month of preserving/preparing our foraged foods. This Hallow's Eve we started up our first batch of wild-harvested black-currant liqueur, baked a tray of chocolate malt biscotti (to be vacuum-sealed & preserved for holiday gifting) & set up a couple litres for vanilla infused vodka (makes a great drink & also works in baking as an extract). So, setting aside Samhain (for now), we shift to an ushering-in of hunkering-down. Like squirrels. Or something.

November 2012 Infusions.
(left to right: organic strawberry, wild black currant, vanilla bean, wild highbush cranberry)

For the Files: Summer Solstice (Proper), Family Style

"Glad Midsommar" by Nicholas John Frith. Look! Morels!
Image found at a fave blog, A Polar Bear's Tale. 

Cook for the Sun, bake for the Moon. This is what we do...

It has never been an intentional or conscious gesture, but rather something organically derived, this cooking for the Sun. As we prepared our dinner foods that evening, it occurred to me that this is just how we do these things. All our Solar observances involve creating a special meal together & then of course, sharing it. For the Moon, there is nothing I enjoy more than devising a sweet treat & pairing it with just the right libation, but now is the season of the Sun. Cook we must.

How this inadvertent way of doing things came to pass, I cannot know, but this is what we do. It works.

Half eaten.
Our Summer Solstice meal 2012.

This year, chile-lime shrimp skewered & grilled with fiery-coloured sweet peppers, pineapple & onions. Perch them on a bed of saffron rice & it all becomes sublime. A sip of chilled Vouvray for me, a Firefly cocktail for hubby. Just the four of us in the light of this blazing, tireless Alaskan summer Sun. Just right.

Summer Solstice cakes, 2012.

We talked about the Solstice, the gifts of the Sun & the mechanics of it all over our dessert -- angelfood adorned with fresh mango slices & a raspberry coulis. Little Lad was delighted with the Summer Solstice magnet I had found for him (last winter, ironically) at the Anchorage Museum. Simple & relevant. Together. This is what we do.

A small token for the Little Lad.
Illustration by Alaskan artist Bruce Nelson.

Children do not like to mind their bedtimes when the Sun does not set. I had every intention of completing the aforementioned working that evening -- after the wee folk were asleep -- but hubby had to return to work for an unexpected round of testing. In the interim, our babies behaved like fiends & by the time my better half arrived to help me build the fire, I was spent. Too aggravated to do productive work, I accepted the limitations of this life & embraced the joys. The working would find its perfect time later in the week. So, Hubby & I shared some mead & together we placed the offerings in what functions as our "garden." Freshly brewed dandelion tea & a cup of mead for the Sun. No foods, of course. This is Alaska. This is what we do... & don't do. 

Offerings in the "garden." Summer Solstice, 2012.

For the Files: His Own Cosmology

I wanted to write about a dream I had last night, but the Little Lad who claimed he was "so tiiiired" stayed up very, very late. This led to a conversation which I do not want to forget. It caused me to have one of those curious, child-inspired moments where surprise & a touch of awe blend together to make you cock your head & flash them a crooked smile while you stall-out in wonderment. It made me think & think again. So, the dream discussion will have to wait. This is one "for the files."

I read to the Little Lad from "A Little Book of Fairy Tales, Rhymes & Riddles," a small book which arrived in this special package: In the Drip of an Eave (something I intend to discuss further if life ever permits). He has been very enamored with the various rhymes & stories in this book. In fact, he startled me today by unexpectedly reciting one of the rhymes verbatim -- I had no idea he had memorized it. I did not think I had even read it enough times for him to have learned it.

By this evening, I had already read everything in the book with the exception of "The Maiden Without Hands" which I specifically avoided because it relies very heavily on certain concepts: "God," the "Devil," evil, piety, angels, etc. I knew this would require much question asking & answering -- not really the attributes of a sleep-inspiring bedtime story. Besides, we work very hard to leave concepts of cosmology open-ended, so concepts such as these require careful, delicate explanation. Honestly, sometimes I am just not in the mood, especially when I must explain belief systems which contain -- in my experience -- a great deal of objectionable content.

Anyway, we came to a part of the story in which the King employs the assistance of a priest who was to speak to a spirit for him. Of course, this precipitated a deluge of questions, beginning with, "What is a priest?" "What do they do?" In the course of this discussion, I tried to make it clear that there are many different names for people who are variously ordained to provide services to many, many different kinds of "churches" & that all those different people believe very different things about how the world works. I even gave him examples of people he knows personally who believe different things, attend various churches, or don't subscribe to any of it at all. All of this, of course, was explained in child-speak. 

Once he seemed satisfied with my overview of human belief systems, he asked me if I knew what he thought about it. "Do you know who my god is?" "No," I answered. "You," was his reply. To this, I said, "I am not a god, I am just a human." Then he said something like, "Well, I believe in a goddess, like the one you sing about." I said, "Oh, like an Earth mother goddess..." He thought about that a moment. Then, his face transformed, like suddenly he remembered something he had long forgotten:

Dreamily, he looked over at me from the pillow, "You know what I think?"
"No, what?"
Smiling, faintly, then mirthfully, "I think there's thousands of gods... thousands of them."
Looking dreamily across the ceiling, he continued, "This whole universe is made up of them. They're all out there in the universe, curled up."
"Curled up?"
Now, with a broad smile & great certainty, "Yes, curled up out there, like in eggs. Like all the solar system is filled with gods all curled up in eggs." 

He went on to elaborate on size & scale & how they can be small & large. Like Jupiter, or Canis Majoris. I confess I failed to absorb a certain amount of the elaboration because my mind was reeling with images of colourful, curled up space gods whirling through the Milky Way in their eggs. Neither did I ask any further questions of him -- to insure that I would remember his words, his vision, just as they were & save them here. When years have passed, long after these entries have been printed & bound, I hope he has a chance to read this & consider how his cosmology has changed. Or hasn't.

Later, I will ask him to tell me more about it.

In the meantime, I wish for dreams with deity-filled eggs of the comos, big & small. All of them, out there, just being... & making up everything.

An egg. What god resides within?
Photo by Little Lad, taken with his own camera.

Spring 2012: Let the Foraging Begin!

I have so much I want to document, but I have so little time to myself. How so many mothers do it alone full time & year round without going mad is beyond me. I have been working diligently on Tennessee's "Spiritual Warfare" remediation. Somehow, I let it get out of hand -- I think I need to give myself a word count limit or something. I also have at least ten other projects in progress -- it is no wonder I cannot concentrate. 

This Thursday's prompt at Pagan Blog Prompts (a worthy project, but one in which I rarely get to participate) is "Foraging." Since I have wanted to write a bit about what we have been up to, I decided to preempt the remediation program (yet again) & write some notes on what the Wee Ones & I have been finding. 

In the "Dreaded 'Guru Board'" post I made this assertion about foraging: 

"As I learn more about food & foraging (& do more of it) I realize that the act of searching for & procuring food, for myself, for my family, for friends or for barter is a rich & deeply spiritual process. (The same applies to recreational fungi hunting.) It requires a shift in mindset, an opening up to your immediate surroundings in a way we don't generally do in the day-to-day. It requires an awareness -- a mindfulness similar to what we seek through meditation. Perhaps this is part of what I find so entrancing about it. It also requires a certain amount of magick & I am pleased to have found affirmation of this from another mycophile. In her book Mycophilia, Eugenia Bone has this to say about the foraging experience: '...I felt like finding mushrooms was a kind of conjuring: If I concentrated hard enough, if I longed to find one deeply enough, the mushroom would reveal itself to me...' Exactly."

As I wrote that passage, I realized how much I wanted to make foraging a more significant, year-round part of my life & also share it with my family. I wasn't sure how to begin here during the high desert's spring, especially since all my foraging activities up until now have revolved around Alaska's autumn season. I opted to set about with that which I know & is close to home.

Keeping it Simple & Close to Home: Dandelions, Dryland Fish & Devil's Eyelashes


Dandelions (Taraxacum officinale)


One of new favourite haunts is Forageporage's Blog. I think I might have found it in connection with my Now, Forager fetish. I really cannot begin to cover the scope of this blog here, so I suggest you just go see it yourself but I will give you a taste of her take on foraging:

"Foraging is work. It’s a lot of work. Foraging is fun work, dirty work, long, tiring work; albeit ultimately satisfying work. It will take you further than than you thought possible. Foraging is a time thief. Hours dissappear. Months fly by. It’s consuming and addictive! Foraging begins with a question; as in: 'Hey, what’s that weed?'" -- Forageporage

Sometimes just starting simply is best, especially when one has children in tow. When "Porage" offered up a tutorial & her recipe for Liquid Sunshine, I knew it was something that would work for all of us -- even The Changeling. 

Dandelion petals (Taraxacum officinale)

I don't think it is necessary to get into the details of dandelion foraging, health benefits, etc. here because it has been so beautifully done over at Forageporage's Blog. Why be redundant? However, I will mention that because dandelions are found close to home, aren't prickly, don't have poisonous parts & don't stain anything too terribly, they are great for foraging with kids. Also, like Amanita muscaria, they love schoolyards, so if you have an in with the groundskeeper like I do, you can convince him to delay mowing for a few days while you gather up your bounty. My other piece of advice is don't forget them in the car on a hot afternoon. I know this from experience. Saggy, shriveled, tragedy is what you'll get for all that time spent picking. 

Dried dandelion petals.

So far, we have filled & dried three baking dishes worth of petals & filled one old fashioned Mason jar with them -- we have yet to make the tea. It has been fun & we figured out a couple of tricks: 1) To quickly remove the petals from the bracts, pinch the base of the bract & roll it between your forefinger & thumb. If done properly, the petals should just fall out of the bract. 2) If you live in a dry area, a hot attic or black car (decrepit Volvos are nice for this) with the windows cracked will work wonders as a dehydrator. Since I began writing this, Porage has posted a recipe for Dandelion Rice Pudding, so more flower picking is clearly compulsory.

Dryland Fish (Morchella spp.)

"Dryland Fish" is a clever name for the Morel mushroom & it just happened to allow me to indulge in alliteration, a literary device I find simultaneously annoying & irresistible. The Morel is among the most beloved of mushrooms. I personally find them slightly unsettling, but I have yet to figure out why. Morels do whatever they want. They follow no rules. Just when you think you have them figured out, they appear in the last place you would ever expect to find them. For several years I have made trips up a certain canyon after the rainstorms to check burn sites for these beasties & have never, ever found any. But go check my lawn under the Siberian Elm trees & there you will find them. Are Morels known for loitering under such trees? Absolutely not.

Our surviving 2012 Morel (Morchella spp.)

In 2010, the first of these mushrooms arrived in our yard. Weird, I thought. But I did not expect them to return. In 2011, The Changeling arrived & I was unable to water. No Morels. This year, we got an irrigation share & I have watered like a maniac (comparatively speaking). Six Morels have seen fit to line up in a row in the lawn. Awesome. But before we realized it, the lawnmower crushed them. Not awesome. Is this foraging? I don't know. Can Morels be cultivated? Yes, but I didn't do this intentionally. So is it really cultivation, or very, very local foraging? 

2012 Morel (Morchella spp.)
Ready for some heat & pasture butter.

Last year, The Godfather took a trip up north & came back with an enormous bin of morels which he gave to me because he likes collecting, but hates mushrooms. Sadly, The Changeling weighed about 4 pounds & was attached to an oxygen tank & various monitors. There was no way in Helvella I could be cleaning & prepping those babies, so they shriveled & some even rotted. But I kept the bin because it was too painful to give up. Without much hope for results, we tossed them about the yard a few months ago in the hopes of seeing some opportunistically appear in the future. We shall see. I was encouraged by a recent post at the Mushroom Blog entitled, "Growing Morels by Accident":

"...morels spontaneously grow in the yard where he used to clean them. They just grow in the grass. There are lots of fruit trees in the yard, and more of them grow under a sugar pear tree than anywhere else, but I am not sure if that has to do with the tree or because that is the place he most often stood to clean them..."

Excellent. If it works, I won't call it "very, very local foraging" anymore, I'll call it incidental agriculture.  


Devil's Eyelashes (Tribulus terrestris)

If I was a believer, I would call these plants "Hellspawn." But since I am not, I call them "Goatsheads." (I used Devil's Eyelashes purely for the alliteration.) Other folks may call them Puncturevine, Tackweed, Devil's Thorn, among many other monikers. By any name, it is still a daemon in plantform.  

Goatshead plant & flower (Tribulus terrestris)
Courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

The Goatshead plant looks innocent enough & even produces diminutive, somewhat attractive flowers & fernlike leaves. What makes them so contemptible is their seeds, or "nutlets" which bear a remarkable resemblance to the heads of tiny, malevolent, sharp-horned, pointy-chinned creatures. The plants produce these nutlets in droves. Anywhere these seeds are present, all fleshy parts, inflated objects & anything capable of being impaled, are at risk. Kudzu is a menace, but this plant is downright mean. In our town, if you see a dog, cat, human, llama, or anyone else limping along the road, there is an easy explanation: Goatsheads. If you see someone picking at their feet, their dog's feet, a friend's feet, they are picking out Goatsheads. Folks with blowtorches on the right-of-way, in their yards, in their neighbor's yards? Goatsheads. Sudden bouts of profuse cursing among the bare & stocking-footed? Probably Goatsheads.

So why on Earth am I collecting these vile little nutlets? 

Goatsheads (Tribulus terrestris) nutlets

Well, I am not gathering them for the plant's traditional medicinal uses which generally revolve around increasing testosterone levels. Intrestingly, recent studies have shown that extracts from this plant administered to animal subjects do in fact effectively increase testosterone (& other related hormone levels) which in turn, produces aphrodisiacal effects. Interesting, but really not my angle.

I am collecting them for Sciento-Magick, of course. I have a theory I am working with which stems from the thoughts I wrote in the "Sciento-Magick: Re-thinking Correspondences I" post. It follows this reasoning:

"Authenticity of the present lore, symbolism & correspondences aside, I have been developing a different approach... by combining the discoveries from personal connection... with knowledge of its role in mythologies, its occurrence/importance throughout history & (here we get Sciento) the knowledge (as applicable) we have of its biology, physiology, chemistry, etc. combined with its role within ecological systems, we can develop a comprehensive set of associations that truly reflect a thing's rich, complex nature." 

So I'm onto these punks & I think they can have a place in certain types of sympathetic magick. 

Besides, the fewer there are to germinate, the happier everyone in my neighborhood will be. Community service, right?

A Final Note: There is a fantastic professional forager's (how does one get that job?!?!) blog called Fat of the Land: Adventures of a 21st Century Forager. I highly recommend it -- for a variety of reasons including its striking images, novel ideas & wonderful, innovative recipes.

Sorting out Samhain, Part 1: Children

This year I am struggling with Samhain -- what is means to me, how it should be celebrated (or not celebrated), how it fits into my world view, how it brings with it my fortieth birthday...

Today I came across this post by a Heathen mother of two: Parenting: Making Faith Choices for Our Children. While I personally prefer not to use to use the word "faith" (for very specific semantic reasons), the article & its topic was perfect for helping me put my thoughts together for the "parenting" piece of the Samhain puzzle. Her discussion begins like so:

"Friday Morning I had a series of tweets back and forth with someone that has gotten me thinking. The idea was put forth that raising children in the Pagan faith is wrong because it is forcing faith on them...
To me my faith is entirely about community and to isolate my children from this is completely wrong. Heathenry is a pretty down earth practice, it’s a faith of community, family and relationships at it’s heart..." 

I cast my comment into the already well filled list of responses. It looked, to some degree, like this:

Yesterday I helped lead a co-created Samhain ritual & celebration which was designed for & worked by the children. I think most Pagan parents grapple with whether or not, or how much to expose of their religion to their children. I do. This is fair, especially since so many Pagans came from an upbringing where they felt religion was forced upon them. Of course, there is also the concern over what social complications it might create for them.

However, I think we need to ask ourselves: If we do not share our religion with our children, will ours forever be a religion of converts? If so, are we comfortable with that?

Children are community too. There is a richness of tradition that can be developed by including the young ones in our observances. I think this can be done delicately, including children when they are amenable & thus maintaining the integrity of our communities as whole, multi-generational organisms. 

At yesterday's event, all the children were offered the opportunity to participate -- some did, some did not. They were all assured their choice was the right one. They were also told they could change their mind at any time.

The focus of our ritual was on the elementals & the changing seasons, not complex concepts of the divine, ancestors or death. It was designed this way to engage them in a concrete celebration of the natural world. This is the angle that I tend to take with my own child (the one who is old enough to be invited to participate), offering him open-ended ideas & observations, leaving him to discover, intuit, determine the rest for himself.
 
Our community is very diverse & includes Asatru/Heathens, Hellenics, Vedics, Druids, Wiccans, Witches, Pantheists, Discordians & many other permutations of Paganism. I am sure that each child's parent/s have differing feelings about how & to what extent to share, or not share religion. As a community with so many diverse paths, we need to focus on values. Shared values.

What we all share in our community is a reverence for our natural world. This is an ethic that we can engender in the children without ambivalence. The values of caring for our planet & being aware of the cycles of nature are basic. I feel we can give this to the children without fear of feeling like proselytisers. It is the role of every parent & community to instill core values -- wouldn't respect for our shared planet qualify among them?

There are ways to engage children, teach them, nurture them, share with them what we value, without preaching or forcing the issue. If we don't teach them, they will get their values somewhere else (i.e., television, the neighbors, peers). Ultimately, the decision of religion is their own to make, but hopefully the core values will remain with them always. If you are opposed to that, you might need to examine the source of your objections. 

May you be true to yourself, your kin & your community. Honor your values as you honor that which you hold most dear. If you look closely, you will see they are one in the same. 

Children are Naturals (A Healing for Baby B)

I have hemmed & hawed for a good while about how to work the children into spiritual life. I believe that they will need to find their own paths (or none at all) on their own. At the same time, I do not want to exclude them from mine -- I very much want to share it. So I decided to just be very matter-of-fact & do my thing, leaving an open invitation for hubby & kidlet(s) to join me whenever. More often than not, they want to participate, especially the Little Lad. I teach him what I can. I explain things & answer his questions in a very open-ended manner, leaving room for many possibilities, many interpretations. I aim to leave him to find his own understanding.


But kids are naturals. They just get it. Intuitively, they know exactly what to do. My husband said something about how they are closer to the All-Source, not so gummed up with people-think. He must be right, because sometimes I feel like Little Lad is teaching me. Well, actually, he is.


Last night, I sat down to do a little working on behalf of a preemie baby in the NICU. It was bedtime, so I did not invite anyone to join me & frankly, I liked the idea of working alone. Little Lad got wind of my intentions & immediately wanted to join. This is what he did: 

Lil' Lad sends love to Baby B

He asked to light the incense & he placed the lit stick in a holder set in the seashell he found at the park the other day. I suggested that he move it to the East. No, it needed to be with the offerings to Lady Moon. Then, he went to get water, "So that 'Baby B' will be well enough to drink water soon." He brought in his own offerings from the fridge, "A snack for the Moon in case She needs it during the night." We talked about baby's medical condition & what kinds of healing she needed. Then he got up & pulled out his special paper & artist box. He drew 'Baby B' without the invasive therapy, but with the next step down -- interesting because I never mentioned the next step, but he knew it from his own baby brother's experience. He told me he was drawing all the love he wanted to send to her. He placed the finished drawing on the altar & went to bed. His work was done.

 I could not have done it better myself.

A Simple Prayer Will Do: Hurrcane Irene

Our Irene candle illuminates Athena's Owl.

Sometimes a simple prayer will do, especially when working with children. Yesterday, Rowan & I lit a candle & sent a prayer to our friends, loved ones & others in the path of hurricane Irene. 
Really, would anything more elaborate be any more sincere?

On Children & Independence

Last night, just before bed I wandered into the kitchen & found the counter covered in spilled instant breakfast powder. Initially, I felt deeply annoyed since I spend so much of my time struggling against the Tide of Mess. But then I looked again, heart defrosting -- was that an Earth symbol carefully penned in the grains of milk by a deft little fingertip? Yes. Yes it was. My concern for Mess dissolved as I marveled at this clever imp's culinary glyph. A coded message left for a kitchen explorer to discover.

Today is Independence Day & we took advantage of our freedoms as fortunate citizens of this good country. Inspired by a child, we took our free selves to a free & open public beach to exercise our freedom of speech by drawing Earth symbols in the Cook Inlet mud flats. Perhaps an odd choice of pastime, when other Americans are at home nursing beer bottles around the bar-b-que, but a very gratifying one. With so many harebrained American politics & scandals, it is easy to overlook the precious liberty our homeland affords us. Freedom of religion. Freedom of speech. I am very, very thankful. Thankful that, without risk of prosecution or persecution, we may trace symbols in the sand. Miles & miles of symbols, if we had the inclination. Thank you America.