Beloved Dead a Love Story - Sort Of

On Sunday I went to a memorial service for a friend who passed over.  I've only been to a few funeral/memorial services in my life and for some reason this one was really frustrating.

On one hand it was great, but on the other hand I wanted to tell everyone else that they were going about this all wrong!

My friend was a beautiful, vibrant, spiritual woman just shy of 80 years old.  She loved life and she made connections with people everywhere she went.  She understood that life was about love and truly touched everyone who ever met her.  As we sat there in this funeral home, I felt like we were doing her spirit a disservice.

Instead of sitting in this bland, dull, boring mortuary space, we should have been somewhere lush and beautiful.  We should have spent our time honoring her in a place that honored her spirit.  Instead of playing watered down versions of her favorite songs, we should have been playing Nat King Cole and dancing; like her daughter said she loved to do.  We should have been celebrating her vibrant life and sharing stories that brought tears, laughter, and memories of her bright inner spirit.

I know that everyone needs to grieve in their own way, but this didn't feel like a service to honor the woman that I knew.

The good news is that what is remembered lives and it was clear that everyone in that room knew her the same way that I did.  Her vibrancy, light, and love of life will be carried on.  For that I am grateful.

Boredom The Art of Transformation

I primarily practice in the Reclaiming Tradition of Witchcraft, which is considered to be an ecstatic tradition.  This means that our rituals have a lot of singing, dancing, and intense experiences in them.  I love this about my tradition.  It is alive, exciting, and juicy.  But there is also something to be said for boredom and in an ecstatic tradition this can get overlooked.

I have heard plenty of ritual feedback over the years where I was told, "that one part of the ritual was boring".  Waaahh!  (I don't mean to be snarky, okay, maybe I do, a little bit.)  As ritual goers and participants sometimes we can get caught up in the flair and the drama.  Sometimes we can miss the point of the inner work because we are waiting for the moment when the fireworks go off.

Guess what people?  In life, fireworks don't always go off.

If there is one thing that some of the other non-mainstream religious practices can teach us, is that the ecstatic can often be found right on the other side of that boredom.  We are so used to going at the speed of light; checking our email, catching up on Facebook every ten minutes, and tweeting our hearts out, that if we don't have flashing, lightening, and high intensity we feel like we are missing out.

The truth is, just beyond that place of being bored and distracted is a place of powerful transformation and transcendence.  Sometimes all you need to do is sit with that boredom to experience something more powerful than even the most dramatic fireworks show could ever offer.

It sounds crazy, I know this.  But life is paradox and this is just another example of it.

So, the next time you are at a "boring ritual", I challenge you to keep at it and see what is waiting for you on the other side.  It might just blow your mind.

Avalon or My Secret Obsession

I'm not really sure when my relationship with Morgan LeFae started, but it has been a long and mysterious journey.  In my late teens she tapped my shoulder and took me under her mantle.  For many years I heard the whispering of the Fae ones, not really understanding what that meant or even what was happening.

Because of my connection to Her I was introduced to the Mists of Avalon, (I mean c'mon what Pagan girl doesn't love that book?)  When I lived along the Russian River I read each and every book that Marion Zimmer Bradley had written connected to the Holy Isle and the Priestesses that were a part of it.

I dreamed of walking up the Tor.  I wished to walk on the holy grounds where I felt my spiritual ancestors would have called home.  I was desperate to taste the water of the Red and White Springs.  And  luckily I got  my wish...

Several  years after my foray into the fantasy world that Marion Zimmer Bradley had created I found myself on an airplane on my way to England. 

After many magickal discoveries that I was not expecting I finally got the one that I was.  As the bus turned a corner and revealed the valley below I got my first glimpse of the Tor off in the distance and I knew that this was home.  This was the place where I belonged more than any other place in the world.  Once in the town I walked down the narrow streets that all seem to wind their way to the top of this magickal peak and it felt like I had done it a million times.

At the top of the Tor I sat and looked out over the land.  My partner made a joke, asking if I was in the process of calling the mists.  Shortly thereafter the mists started to fill up the valley and I felt as if Morgan herself was welcoming me home.

Every step that I took around the town of Glastonbury felt like I was treading on familiar ground.  There wasn't one place I went where I felt lost, confused, or out of place.  On my last day I felt as if my heart were breaking.  I didn't want to leave.  I wanted to stay there forever.

And now my longing remains.  It has been several years since my trip to England and every single day I have a longing to go back.  I check the weather in Glastonbury often, I pull it up on Google Maps to get a peek at  my homeland, and I look at pictures to remind me of what I am missing.

So yes, it is my secret obsession.  Everyone knows that I want to live there, but the intensity of my longing is something that words cannot express.  I don't live there right now for a lot of reasons, but I know that I will, and in the meantime I love Avalon from a distance and hold Her hand while waiting.

Agreements

Agreements.  This is a word that gets a lot of use in my spiritual community.  We talk openly about the agreements we have in our romantic relationships.  We share agreements with our magickal circles.  We explore and discuss the agreements that we make with Deity.  All of these things are freely talked about and shared with others..."what are your agreements?"

I might be missing this, but I don't think I've ever heard someone talk about their personal agreements. 

What agreements do you make to yourself?  How do you hold yourself accountable to keeping those agreements?  How do you honor your need, wants, desires, and still push your edges and grow?

This blog is one way that I am answering that question for myself.  This is the first in a weekly, year-long, agreement that I have made.  A series of synchronicities led me to taking on this challenge; which is why I know it's right.  I know that it is going to be hard.  I know that it is going to challenge me and probably annoy and frustrate me at times, but I made the agreement. 

I made the agreement with myself and I intend to keep it.

Why I Don't Shave

When I was a kid my mom's full time job was a Jazzercise intructor.  (Ask me later to show you the routine to Neutron Dance.)  She taught a ridiculous amount of classes per week; something like two or three a day.  In Jazzercise there are always two students (mostly women) who are registrars.  This means they come to class for free and handle all the money and checking people in.

I clearly remember one of my mom's registrars because she didn't shave under her arms.  I totally remember the first time I saw the dark hair in her armpit as she lifted her arm up in some crazy movement of dedication to the cardio god.  I was shocked, I didn't even know that women could grow hair there.  I was intreguied.  Why did this woman have hairy armpits when no other woman in my world did.  Is it a choice to be hairy?  And if so, why would she choose to look so different.

Fast forward a million years later and I am unshaven.  There are actually several reasons that I don't shave. The first (of course), is becuse I am crazy lazy.  But there is more to it than my unfailing dedication to one of the deadly sins....

When I got my first piercing at the age of 18 (because mom aforementioned Jazzer loving mom would not let me get it done "under age"), I did it because I wanted to stand out and look different.  I've colored my hair pink and blue.  I have tattoos.  I wear my pentacle necklace loud and proud.  Yes, I like to make it pseudo-obvious that I am not like everyone else.

But now, virutally everyone in my age group and under has started to do the same thing.  I look around my town and see piercings, tattoos, and randomly colored hair everywhere.  It no longer stands out as someone choosing to not fit into the dominant paradigm.  Bummer....

This is the main reason that I don't shave.  I get some amazing reactions from people when they see my hairy pits.  On the surface I probably look pretty mainstream.  I don't dress all the crazy or odd.  My hair is now a "normal" color.  My nose ring is so small that often people don't even know I have my nose pierced.  I wear makeup and live in the suburbs.

Not shaving under my arms is my secret little way to stick it to the man!  It is my little way of saying that I don't fit in and I don't want to.  It is my little way to take back what is sexy and feminine.  It is my way of saying this is how my body is and I want to keep it that way.  So there!

I will never know why Jazzercise registrar lady didn't shave, but it is one of those moment that stands out as a pivotal point in my life.  Which just goes to show you, you never know when you are making an impact on someone.

Plus, not using razors is better for the environment.

Dealing with Poly-Cystic Ovaries

It has only been four months since my phone call to the radiology office.  That day I heard a woman's voice on the other end of the phone tell me, in a matter-of-fact tone, that I had poly-cystic ovaries.  She said it like a.) I should know what that means, and b.) like it was no big deal.

The wrongness began about four years ago, when I started getting what I called, a 'pre-period'.  I would bleed lightly for a few days and then a week later I would have my more typical seven days of moonblood.  It was like a little pre-view of what was coming.

Back then my doctor found a rather large cyst on my right ovary.  She wanted to remove the cyst, and as she put it, "take out that ovary at the same time".  Like my ovary was some superfluous part that was just taking up space.  

I was unwilling to let her remove my ovary, so I tried some alternative methods first.  I saw a naturopathic doctor who had me try herbs and some other natural remedies to get the cyst to go away on its own.

But it didn't.  In fact, my friend Sam, as I named him, started getting bigger.  I felt like my body was trying to send me a message and so I opened dialogue with Sam, but he never really could explain what was going on.  Or I never really learned how to listen to him.

Either way, four months later I had surgery to remove Sam.  My ovary remains intact.

After the surgery things returned to normal.  I've never had 'regular' menstrual cycles.  They are about 60 days apart, a few days heavy bleeding, and a few days of cramping.  Typically I can deal with the pain or ibuprofen knocks it out.  At least that was the case until this past May.

In May I had the worst menstrual pain, no the worst pain period, that I have ever experienced in my life. This pain was worse than childbirth, worse than anything I had ever felt before.  The first day I stumbled out of the shower, almost passing out on the bathroom floor.  I crawled into my bed and lay there waiting for the black shadow to recede from my vision.  I was worried that I had another cyst.  I felt nauseous, I felt scared, and I worried that something was seriously wrong with me.

No matter how many pills I swallowed the intensity of it never wavered; and for three days I lived in fear of this pain taking over my life.

So I went back to the doctor and had the latest, in a long line, of sonograms.  The sonogram revealed that I have poly-cystic ovaries.


What this really means is uncertainty.  When my moonblood starts, I don't know how bad it is going to be.  One month I had no pain at all, another month I had one full day of excruciating pain.  This month I am so afraid of the pain overtaking me that I am self medicating at the slightest twinge of discomfort.

I have always viewed my moontime as a gift.  I honor, love, and respect my reproductive system.  Having these ovaries, this womb, and bleeding is a special power that I have been given.  But now I find myself afraid of this gift; like it has turned against me.

I have to make a whole new relationship with my body, but I'm just not sure where to start.

The Popularity of Witch Hunts

Ok, maybe I am just too sensitive, but I am really annoyed with how often people throw around the term "witch hunt".  Most often this term is connected to someone (for the sake of argument lets just say John Edwards) who did something really stupid and then proceeded to lie about it.  Once the truth is revealed his political adversaries (and the sham we call a media) go after him for it.  He is thus, witch hunted....

I'm not really sure why this irritates me, but it does...a lot.  You see, the historical witch hunts were made up of people under the influence of mass hysteria.  During these witch hunts people accused each other of what was unforgivable at the time, namely: being a minion of Satan.  The people slaughtered were (mostly) innocent people.

In fact, people are still being literally witch hunted.  If you pay attention to the world news, people in small villages across Africa, New Guinea, and India are killing each other every day over alleged witchcraft.  (I have my theories on this too, but don't want to get too off track.)

The bottom line is that John Edwards, Anthony Weiner, Larry Craig and the dozens of others embroiled in one sex scandal or another, are not innocent.  They are liars.  Don't get me wrong, I could give a hoot what any of these people do with their sex lives, but once you get caught with your pants down  lying about it is the dumbest thing you can do.

As someone who identifies as a witch I don't think this term should be used so lightly.  Hundreds of thousands of people were killed because of mass hysteria and these numbers increase every day.  This is not equitably comparable to some jackass who couldn't keep his junk in his pants, or worse yet, lied when caught.

Again, maybe I am just too sensitive, but this phrase bothers me.  Why doesn't the media use the term crucified more often?  It is just as offensive and equally inaccurate.