Why I Picked Up The Call

Posted on by Katalin Patnaik

As I have explained in my previous post (The Calling of Shiva), I wasn’t born into a Hindu family and hadn’t had any exposure to Hindu culture up until I met my husband. My father still doesn’t really understand why I chose Shiva over the Christian God, so this post is as much for him as it is for the regular readers of the site.

To understand why I (and many others I have met later in my life) wholeheartedly chose Hinduism you need to take a look at its teachings of responsibility.

Personal responsibility

Hinduism does not have a Savior in the manner Christianity has. Yes, there are stories of gods and goddesses saving mankind and the world in general from various dangers. But on a personal level, one is not considered a good person simply because they are worshiping a particular god. One will not get a better next life, achieve moksha (no more births) or ‘go to Heaven’ simply because they worshiped a particular deity.

One needs to get a grip over one’s own life and actions and lead a mindful existence, paying attention to every action one makes and thinking over how that action will affect one’s – and others’ – karma.

This theory of personal responsibility is what I like the most in Hinduism. Expecting salvation from outside is, at least in my opinion, futile. In my opinion gods, angels, saints, all the beneficial spirits can give us help, they can give us strength and encouragement to do the best we can, but if we ourselves are not working on it, then it is not worth a peanut. In a simple example, think of a drug addict. They can attend rehab, go to meetings and listen to people who came clear, get help from specialist doctors. But if they themselves don’t want to come clear, none of these external influences will help them. We ourselves have to want to be ‘good’. We have to work on our faults and make the most of what we have. No worries if the most is not much. There are many lives ahead of us, we don’t need to do everything at once. But the most it should be.

Reincarnation aka Samsara

This brings me to the second thing I really like about Hindu philosophy: reincarnation and that eventually everyone will reach perfection and attain God. Hinduism teaches that we are born here to experience human existence as a whole: in all its darkness and glory. In my view, every soul comes here to Earth to experience a certain set of things in each life. In one life it might be being a serial killer who had abusive parents, in another to be a perfect mother of ten children, and anything in-between. A soul needs to experience every aspect of Life, and every emotion available to us humans. When one has experienced every facet of light and darkness then nothing ties the soul to earthly existence, it has no desires left, and it can peacefully return to the Creator – to draw an analogy, it can go to Heaven.

For some it might take just a few lives; for some, hundreds and thousands. But eventually, everyone will reach salvation, where they don’t have to be born again and can join the Creator once more, in perfect peace and contentment. Everyone.

That means even The Worst Person in History has the potential to achieve union with God, through hard work on themselves, possibly in the course of many incarnations.

That makes so much more sense to me than having Heaven and Hell and chucking everyone into the latter who wasn’t mature enough to lead a ‘good’ life at their first go. And it just isn’t fair to expect everyone to be on the same level of ‘good’, irrespective of their circumstances. Yes, some Christians believe in Purgatory so there’s that. But the expectations are still very high, knowing human nature.

Karma, dharma, and lessons

Another reason I like Hinduism is the theory of karma, dharma, and lessons we need to learn through lives. It ties in with both personal responsibility and samsara but I wanted to talk about it separately. I might even write a post about it later, who knows. But to cut it short, here’s what it all means to me.

Karma means in very simple terms the law of action and reaction. You are a jerk, you get people treating you like one. Now put a twist on it: you are a jerk in this life, but that’s what you came here to do, that’s how you advance on your journey and that’s how you help others on theirs: it’s your dharma, your life task. Therefore, you go on being a jerk and people who expect karma to work like a policeman are surprised that you lead a happy life despite being a horrible person. Alas, karma is not a policeman, but after you die, you might be assigned the task to suffer from a similar ‘jerk’ in your next life – and learn what you have to from it: humility, standing up for yourself, or active rebellion.

Again, this does not mean that you don’t have to try and become a better person because being a jerk is “your life’s lesson”; if you realise that you hurt others by being a jerk, and change your behaviour, then it might just save you a life’s worth of lessons right there.

I think that overcoming our basic nature is one big step upward on the ladder of samsara – but I’ll write more about this later. What I like about all this is that there are countless opportunities for us to see behind the curtains and understand why things are happening and accept our lessons with grace.

Polytheistic world view

Hinduism has millions of gods. To a Hindu person, one god extra does not make a difference, and that is why initially early Christians, Persians, and Muslims could live in India in peace. No one cares what you believe in, or if you believe in any god at all. If you are a good egg, you can stay and you will be welcomed. Of course, by now this notion has been corrupted and many people forgot how to be tolerant towards others. Why, now there are Hindu Extremists out there! What a laughable notion! Only a Buddhist extremist would be further off the edges of sanity. Anyway, this is Kali Yuga, the age of darkness for you. I do find it refreshing that none of the gods say that he or she is the only one people should worship. In Hinduism, only demons say such things, and they are punished for their audacity at the end. Not that I want to draw a parallel with any other religion. And this is why sometimes you can even find statues of Mother Mary on Hindu altars, like for example in Skanda Vale in Wales? If you haven’t heard of Skanda Vale yet, you must google them.

I believe that from every religion, each and every god exists, and each and every one of them are facets of the one creator that has no personality nor a name, who we cannot imagine or describe by human words. Which facet you worship makes no difference.

The gods

Until now I wrote about philosophy and things that are more or less understandable why someone like me would be impressed by them. But here’s the thing: Hindu gods are weird. They have extra limbs, extra eyes, extra heads – sometimes that of an animal – they dress strangely – if they are dressed at all… it’s all very confusing to someone not versed in art history or art interpretation. One day my dad called me up and asked me why does Shiva have four arms and snakes all over him. My first, somewhat dumb reaction was… why not? He’s a god, he can look like anything he wants to! Or rather, any way the artist sees him.

It doesn’t really matter how an artist has painted the portraits of gods; they don’t really have bodies the way we do, therefore they don’t really have a form the way we do. They can appear to us humans any way they like, be it a man with four arms or a talking pillar of scorching fire.

And especially Shiva is said to be formless energy – that’s why he is represented by the lingam, or a pillar of fire too. Of course, his four arms on pictures have a meaning, as have all the other weird stuff, too. That belongs to art interpretation, and I will get to it in another post. So to ask why Hindu gods look the way they do is the same thing as asking why the Christian God is an old man with a beard sitting on top of the clouds. It’s because this is the image that over time has been widely accepted to represent that particular spirit. Nothing more, nothing less.

But why did I choose one of the weirdest of the weird gods, the one full of contradictions? Why not the (seemingly) simple Vishnu with his protective nature? Why not cute Ganesha who would remove all obstacles from my way? Why the dangerous Destroyer?

Well, as for myself, and many other ladies as I came to know later, the energy of Shiva has a magnetic effect on us. There is a certain primordial strength radiating from him, the suggestion of power, control over himself, a feeling of ancientness, of wisdom and fairness, of serenity and boundlessness. He is beautiful, inside and out. Some might even say, the perfect man – in India, girls pray to Shiva for a good husband because he is considered to be the best husband there is even though his true form is pure energy. More on this in a later post. As I said in the “Calling of Shiva“, his image as Nataraj grabbed me by the collar from early childhood, and the more I know about him the more I love him.

I have never got the same feeling of safety and peace from any other god what I have now with him. This is something no one can take away and something I would never want to give up. I may work with other deities, I might even keep an icon on my altar (I do actually). But Shiva has his place deeply embedded in my heart, for this life and the rest.

©Katalin Patnaik 2019

Sleep & Its Spirits

Posted on by Blue Huntington

Sleep. We all need it, sooner or later. And, like any other shared human experience, it’s subject to its share of myth and magic. There are a few deities across cultures who rule sleep and/or dreams, but there are also spirits who disrupt it; we’ll look at a few examples of both here, starting with the good…

Baku
Though not deities, these helpful Japanese spirits go around devouring peoples’ nightmares. Appearing as a composite creature with an elephant’s head and tiger’s feet, the Baku can be called upon to protect from nightmares before going to sleep or to devour a nightmare after waking up from one so that it won’t return upon falling back asleep. The petition for Baku to eat a nightmare must be repeated three times.

Caer Ibormeith
This Irish goddess ruled dreams and prophecy. Her main myth involves her appearing in the dreams of another god of the Tuatha Dé Danann, who sought her out upon waking to marry her. Also according to this myth, she spends most of her time in the guise of a swan. If you’re having trouble with disruptive dreams, try leaving her some food or drink offerings before bed; based on the ancient tradition of Celtic offerings being buried or thrown in bogs, I’d recommend tossing these offerings outdoors the next day.

Hypnos (Roman Equivalent: Somnus)
Probably the best-known god of sleep and powerful enough to put even Zeus to bed, Hypnos is the son of the night goddess Nyx and twin brother to the death god Thanatos (who is his frequent companion). And luckily for us, the ancient Greeks always considered the youthful, winged Hypnos to be gentle and wrote several surviving prayers to him (including one written by an insomniac who lamented apparently having offended the god). So if you’re having trouble falling asleep, try pouring Hypnos some wine, or keeping a bouquet of red poppies for him.

Oneiroi
In some myths, Hypnos and his wife Pasithea are the parents of the Oneiroi; in other versions, they are siblings to Hypnos (as children of Nyx). The Oneiroi collectively refers to the innumerable gods of dreams. In the poet Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the three named Oneiroi are Morpheus (god of dreams), Phantasos (god of surreal dreams), and Phobetor (god of nightmares).

A Nighttime Prayer to Hypnos:
“Beautiful winged Hypnos, I call to You. Gentle Hypnos, son of Nyx, twin brother of Thanatos, I honor you. Youthful theoi who dwells by the river Lethe, surrounded by crimson poppies, I ask for Your assistance. Hypnos Epidotes, grant me a restful night’s sleep, that I may awake renewed; when your dominion falls over the beasts of this land, may I find respite from the day as well. On my behalf, ask that your kin of dreams Morpheus be kind to me, and that your kin of nightmares Phobetor pass me by. Gracious theoi, beloved of the gorgeous Pasithea, I thank you.”

Statue of Hypnos, 2nd century AD (National Archaeological Museum of Spain, Madrid)Statue of Hypnos, 2nd century AD
(National Archaeological Museum of Spain, Madrid)

Unfortunately, not every spirit of the night has our best interests at heart. Some spirits will attack in dreams, or strike at a vulnerable sleeping body. These attacks often manifest as recurrent nightmares or sleep paralysis.

Succubus & Incubus
Likely the most recognizable spiritual threat of the night in modern times, the succubus (female) or incubus (male) are known for attacks that tend to be sexual and/or violent in nature, often using the guise of an attractive human in dreams to deceive victims. They feed off the life energy of their victims, causing fatigue. Given their rise in Christian times, such as their description in Demoniality by Sinistrari, religious protection would usually be recommended to dissuade them from targeting a person.

Penanggalan & Manananggal
Its name, meaning to “detach” or “remove”, describes the Malaysian Penanggalan pretty succinctly; this vampiric creature, though appearing as a normal woman during the day, is believed to fly through the air at night as only a head, though with still-attached organs and glowing entrails trailing after, as well as an accompanying odor of vinegar. (In other areas, the Penanggalan is also known as Krasue.) And with both names coming from languages of the Austronesian family, Manananggal can also be translated to refer to removing; this time, it’s the entire upper torso which can detach itself and, sprouting bat-like wings, fly off at night through the Philippines. Both spirits allegedly favor pregnant women as their targets, feeding on their blood, and the Penanggalan especially favors newborns or women who just gave birth. Their attacks are sometimes blamed for things like disease, miscarriage, or deformities at birth. The Penanggalan is deterred from entering a home by the scattering of thorny leaves and wrapping of thorny vines from local plants, which injure the creature’s exposed organs; sleeping with scissors under the pillow also deters attack. The Manananggal, like a typical European-style vampire, can be discouraged with garlic and salt.

Hag/Boo Hag/Witch
Here in North Carolina, the term “witch” didn’t always necessarily refer to a human magical practitioner. There are many older sources, such as the Life of William Grimes (a runaway slave who details his experience with a “witch” around page 29), where a witch is described as a creature that rides and exhausts human victims at night, in some versions leaving their skin behind at home when going out to do so; some old ghost stories even describe a witch transforming victims into horses to literally ride. Also known throughout the American South as a Hag, this ugly and terrifying spirit attacks at night by sneaking into a victim’s bedroom and sitting on their chest. Victims would awake to feel the pressure on their body, or even see the creature atop them; given their tendency for repeated attacks, it’s believed that a hag could eventually cause its victim’s death. Given that a Hag was believed to enter through a door’s keyhole, something like a sieve/colander would be hung on the doorknob so that the Hag would become confused going through all the holes (or that the spirit would compulsively try to go through every single hole); alternatively, the sieve/colander was kept near the bed. Playing off the same belief in the Hag’s compulsions, a broom could also be kept laying by the bed, where the Hag would be driven to count every single straw on the broom. These methods essentially occupy the Hag, wasting time until the would-be victim wakes up in the morning. Sulfur around the bed or an open pair of scissors under the pillow will keep the Hag away.

Specific examples can be a good starting point for focused thinking about the subject, but when it comes down to the practical application, your quality of sleep will likely be improved by the presence of any form of spiritual protection. However you ward your home–be it amulets or tools, or purely energetic barriers–it is likely that it will keep out much of the spiritual nuisances out there. Also, any friendly spirit can provide protection and comfort during the night, if you only ask.

Boo Hag
(unknown artist)

And of course, magical efforts must always be helped along with practical, physical efforts. So if you’re having trouble sleeping, read up on “sleep hygiene” and what you can do to help yourself along. As a lover of teas, let me recommend a blend of chamomile, lavender, catnip, passionflower, linden flower, lemon balm, and/or peppermint. You can mix these with each other as you please (they are among the more palatable herbs), or mix them with other naturally non-caffeinated herbal teas of your choice. All these herbs are sedatives and/or relaxants. These herbs are also among the safer herbs to take regularly and don’t tend to interact with any medications you may be taking. As always, be aware of any herbal allergies you have; I would also note that there is some controversy on taking non-commercial herbal teas while pregnant due mostly to the lack of data on certain herbs in unmeasured/copious amounts, although these specific herbs listed are commonly used commercially and considered safe in reasonable doses. (You can always look through the ingredients list on commercial tea bags to find what you need; most of these companies adhere to FDA-approved herbs in safe quantities.)

The Quest I Didn’t Know I Was On

Posted on by Jacoba Michal - Writer

All of my pagan life, I’ve been on a Quest. Not just a quest, but a QUEST. One of those big journeys that is supposed to culminate in some huge lesson, similar to the Quests that knights would go on in the old tales. Quest for the Grail and all that.

Strange right? I mean, I didn’t even know it was happening at first. I just studied wherever and whatever my heart led me to. I didn’t really have any goals in mind, any one thing that I was supposed to be learning. I just went where my heart led me.

It wasn’t until recently that it all began to come together. We’re not talking about a couple years of searching though. I mean, twenty years is a long time to be searching for something you didn’t even know you were searching for.

But that’s what happened…  Let me back up and explain a little of this journey…

I became pagan at the young age of 12. Yup, 12 years old. And yes, I knew what that meant then. I was the only one I knew, sort of. See, my grandmother was really New Age. As far as I know, she was Christian (at least nominally). Yet she had her own deck of Tarot cards (Rider-Waite) and a bag of runes. I remember sitting there somewhere between 10 and 11 years old, and playing with them. I read the little books, and tried to figure out what they meant, but just couldn’t grasp it at that point (it honestly took me years to be able to read Tarot, and I’m still only beginning my journey with runes).

After watching my efforts, my grandmother took me to the local bookstore she frequently haunted and let me roam the shelves of the New Age section. Nestles tightly between books on angels and crystals were spell books and books on REAL TRUE WITCHCRAFT!!!  Imagine the shock that went through my young mind to learn that witches were real! It was hands-down that most eye-opening moment of my life. I never struggled with the thought. Instead I embraced it, and began down the road that led me to this moment in my Quest.

At the age of 19, I began to study in earnest. I was finally able to understand what I was reading and I read everything I could. As it was the only word I knew, I called myself Wiccan, even knowing that it wasn’t the right word for what I did. More often than not, it was just Pagan, even though I was regularly having to explain what that was. It wasn’t a word that most people knew then. The internet was still a baby at that point, and shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Charmed were just beginning their foray into the wonderful world of witchcraft.

Moving forward a few years, I was in university and my studies there led me into the Arthurian tales, as well as myth cycles such as Y Mabinogi. I didn’t then realize what an impact they would have on me. One tale led to the next, which led to some historical work, and eventually led me to the edges of Druidry. Along the way, I was still studying magick, but I was becoming more and more disenchanted with it. Something was missing…

That search for the missing whatever it was became a search for my “real” spiritual path. I explored so many things, among them Heathenry, Druidry, Irish Celtic, Kemetic, and an Avalonian Tradition. None of them was right for me in it’s entirety, although I learned a lot from them. I learned more about who I’m not than I did about who I am, which led me into a deeper confusion. I was searching in earnest now, but still didn’t know what I was searching for.

All this searching was leading me into a crisis of faith. I mean, if I couldn’t find my right path, how could I truly call myself pagan in any way? I realize that that question doesn’t exactly make a lot of sense, but it’s how I was feeling. My entire identity had become wrapped up in who I was spiritually.

A decade of searching led me down many paths, none of them what I truly needed. I finally gave up. I started coming to terms with the thought that I would always have this really, REALLY, eclectic practice. I felt incredibly alone, like no one would ever understand how I felt and what I was looking for. After all, I didn’t know myself.

It took some time, but I was finally able to just relax and accept that my practice was really different from the rest of the pagans I knew. I knew that in the end, it didn’t really matter, as long as my practice, such as it was, meant something to me.

Then lightning struck…

I came to realize that my faith matched up with my Arthurian studies from so long ago. What I had begun then was the forerunner of where I was to end up. Suddenly, everything began to make sense to me in a new way. It was like putting together a puzzle face down, and then turning it the right way and seeing the whole picture! I had the answers all along, I just didn’t see it!

My path is in search of Awen, which is the Welsh word for divine inspiration. You see, in my mundane life, I am a writer. Not just here, but in multiple places. I recently had a book of poetry published and am currently working on two new ones. I was so close to my spiritual path with my writing that I couldn’t see it.

I work now primarily with Welsh deities, although it’s still very new to me. The words, the language, the myths, I am taking baby steps down this path, soaking it all in bit by bit. The term for the path, for those who are like me and like labels to define things, is Awenydd. Those who seek Awen, and strive to bring it into every day life, who work with the gods and spirits of Brythonic culture, attempting to bring them forward again.

I have found more peace within myself since coming to realize that the signs have always been there. I will continue to work with the gods I’ve already established relationships with, but now my Quest has become more pressing than ever. I feel like I am 12 years old again, reaching for those books that taught me about this world in new ways. I have come full circle, and move now into a new journey.

©Lauren Michelle 2019

The Black Bird Buffet

Posted on by terraakhert

There is a fast food place not terribly far from where I live, which I suppose can be said for most people living in the United States. Around the side of the establishment is a fenced in dumpster area, usually overflowing with leftovers from the buffet. Recently I’ve begun noticing a large number of black birds swarming the area and feasting on the morsels within. In the days after I first saw  the avian feeding frenzy I’ve had trouble getting it off my mind. My initial thought was a lamentation of just how wasteful our species can be, followed shortly thereafter with “well I’m glad someone is eating it”. Neither of those thoughts are what this article is really about though.

Those birds out there exist within the same space as us but still in their own world, separate and alien from ours. The two are of course related, completely interdependent on one another. What we do effects them and what they do effects us even though our worlds are different. As someone who practices two traditions that both put an emphasis on the spirit world and the connection between theirs and ours, it was impossible for me not to see a resemblance.

In my own faith and practice I believe that there are two main divisions or worlds in which we exist, the physical world and the spirit world. These worlds exist side by side and influence one another. In Wicca or Wiccan inspired beliefs we often refer to the existence of a “veil between worlds”. The terminology is interesting here because it heavily implies that these worlds are not as far from one another as they may appear. A veil is a very thin cloth, basically porous. This reflects the idea of spirits passing from one world to the other and back again in a constant loop.

The tldr here? Your house is haunted. Everyone’s is, some places are just way more active than others.

Now back to the birds. They have their own complex behavior, pecking order and forms of communication. Heck, who are we to say they don’t have their own form of culture as well? Throughout history, humans have been fascinated with the idea of a culture for wild animals and we see this reflected in the extensive mythologizing of them. Mythology and folktales are told throughout the world of animals speaking,  living in tribes or other societies, having laws and codes of ethics. This fascination hasn’t stopped in modern times either, just look to the wildly popular Warriors series by Erin Hunter for evidence of that.

I suppose what I’m really trying to get at in this rambling mess is that those birds served as a reminder that more exists in this world than what we see in our daily lives. It’s easy to get stuck in this rut of doing the same thing over and over and missing the bigger picture. Kemeticism and Wicca help me to see glimpses of this grand scheme (whatever it is exactly) in the small everyday things. All you have to do is look up occasionally.

 

©Terra Akhert 2019

The Bedrock of Roman Polytheism: Pax Deorum

Posted on by neptunesdolphins

My polytheism centers on my efforts to maintain the Pax deorum (the Peace of the Gods), which is the center of the Religio Romana (the Roman religion). This is the harmony between humans and the Gods. Affirming the Pax deorum is the basis of pietas (Roman piety). What does this mean? Piety entails ritual purity, doing the rituals correctly, making daily offerings, and saying daily prayers. It is rooted in deep respect for the Gods.

Another part of piety is ius divinum (sacred law). This recognizes what is rightfully the Gods’. A part of keeping the right relations is understanding what the rights of the Gods are. Do They have the right to be as They are? Do I insist that apolitical Janus, the Doorkeeper of the Gods, be involved in the affairs of humans? Do I tell Ceres of the Aventine Triad to ignore the rights of the poor and downtrodden? To ignore Their Rights is an act of impiety and promotes ira deorum (the Anger of the Gods).

Another part of pietas is do ut des (I give that you may give), which is the reciprocity between the person and their Gods. This is a cycle of gratitude for each other. I give to the Gods expecting that They will return in kind. I give in gratitude for what They give to me, and so the cycle of gratitude continues between us. Since the tradition of Religio Romana is having a client-patron relationship with the Gods, I do for Them what They cannot do for Themselves, and They do the same for me.

These three principles – Pax deorum, ius divinus, and do ut des govern my Roman polytheism. It may seem restrictive and businesslike to some but it suits me. I embrace the Gods as They are, and They me. Order and structure in my polytheism gives me the freedom to love Them.

One of my practices is to follow the Roman festival calendar. From that, I developed a system of “Gods of the Month” to focus on for that month. It helps me to keep my devotions for the month and to celebrate the various festivals. I would include the Gods of the Month in my morning devotions and afternoon ones, repeating various prayers that I wrote.

Of course, from “Gods of the Month” comes “Gods of the Day.” Each day, I would write a short prayer for the God of the Day, after my breakfast and before morning devotions. My prayers do include Gods from other pantheons, Who have requested that I make offerings to Them such as Marduk of the Babylonians and the Gods of my Anglo-Saxon ancestors. For example, September and October, when squirrels are active, I write prayers for Ratatosk, the Squirrely One of the World Tree.

For me, being a Polytheist means daily devotions to the Gods. Like many modern Polytheists, my Gods do not all belong to the same Pantheon. Although I consider myself a Roman Polytheist, I do venerate Other Gods. Because of my brain injury and devotional work with the Dead, Anubis, Hekate and the Morrigan have requested devotions. Meanwhile, my Anglo-Saxon Ancestors want their family Gods honored. Finally for reasons unclear to me, the Gods of Babylon and Canaan have asked me for devotions.

To accommodate all the Gods Whom I honor, I had to set up a schedule. How did I go about doing this? First, I read the lore, and then did divination which days would be appropriate for which Gods. Finally, I broke my day into three parts – morning, afternoon, and evening for my devotions. Since we all have our daily rituals such as brewing coffee or checking our phones, including one for devotions seemed reasonable.

Mornings are devoted to the Household Gods. Before breakfast, I light a candle and offer incense. I offer to Janus (who always receives the first and last offerings) for his service in guarding the doors. Then to Apollo for the health of our family, and Juno Custos for guiding my family. Vesta, the Eternal Flame who warms our home, receives her offering and prayers next. Finally, the Genius of the Paterfamilias is thanked for guarding our family.

After I do this, I do my weekly devotions by splitting the various Gods into mornings and afternoons. My schedule is as follows – Monday – Anubis and Hecate (morning), The Lady of Beasts and The Morrigan (afternoon). Tuesday – Freya (morning), Anubis and Hecate (afternoon). Wednesday – Odin. Thursday – Hercules, Neptune and the Roman Pantheon (morning), the Gods of Babylon and of Canaan (afternoon). Friday – Frigga. Saturday – the Penates and Lars. Sunday – the Dead.

Why these particular days? Monday is “moon” day, and those deities prefer that association. Tuesdays is traditional for Freya, Wednesdays for Odin, and Friday for Frigga. Anubis and Hecate asked for Tuesdays, and the Gods of Babylon and of Canaan for Thursday. Since Thursday is Thor’s day, Hercules reminded me that it is his day also. The Roman Gods requested Thursday as well. Saturday is grocery day, which is when the cupboards are replenished. Sunday is for the Dead, since it is a day of reflection for me.

The evening is reserved for the Gods of the Month. Nightly, I say prayers to Them before going to bed. It is a part of my evening routine like brushing my teeth.

©Virigina Carper 2019

Interpreting Sallustius: Part II

Posted on by Kyaza

Continuing on with Sallustius and his treatise “On the Gods and the World,” we come to his third chapter and his second major point: fables – aka myths – are divine.

He states:

This is the first utility arisng from fables, that they excite us to inquiry, and do not suffer our cogitative power to remain in indolent rest. It will not be difficult therefore to show that fables are divine, from those by whom they are employed: for they are used by poets agitated by divinity, by the best of the philosophers, and by such as disclose initatory rites. In oracles also fables are employed by the gods; but why fables are divine is the part of philosophy to investigate.

This is fairly straight-forward, as Sallustius essentially says that myths and stories are useful because they make us think. They keep us engaged with the world, and they help to keep us alert, awake, and inquisitive.

He also states that there are three types of people who use myths in the pursuit of their arts. Specifically, he mentions poets, philosophers, and priests. Poets, he says, find their inspiration in the stories of the divine. That, to me, immediately conjures up the knowledge that the Eddas – both the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda – are fantastic examples of a poet divinely inspired to impart myth.

Because of his need to see the old poetic style preserved, Snorri composed the Prose Edda, and, in doing so, preserved many of the ancient Norse myths. Without the effort he put forth, we would have far less knowledge about the myths of the ancient Norsemen than we possess today. It may very well be that Snorri felt divinely inspired to preserve the stories of his ancestors, but that is a question only the gods can answer.

Sallustius also states that the best of philosophers use myths, and that it is the job of philosophers to determine why myths can be considered divine. That is what Sallustius, a philosopher in his own right, seeks to do in this treatise, so we can expect him to answer this question in time.

As for priests, Sallustius says that priests use myths to disclose initiatory rites. What he means by this is that a priest of a religion needs to know the complete mythos of that religion, as it is the myths themselves that reveal the secrets of that religion. The mythology of a religion is not simply a collection of stories but the stories interwoven in a composite whole. To become an initiate in a religion is to come to that understanding, and it is the duty of a priest to set a person on the path that will allow them to gain that knowledge.

Sallustius’s next point follows thusly:

Since therefore all beings rejoice in similtude, and are averse from dissimiltude, it is necessary that discourses concerning the gods should be as similar to them as possible, that they may become worthy of their essence, and that they may render the gods propitious to those who discourse concerning them; all which can only be effected by fables.

Here, Sallustius basically says that we embrace similarity and have trouble embracing difference – a truth that is, unfortunately, one that has caused our world to become far more divided than it needs to be, considering our shared humanity.

Sallustius explains that the discourse – communication – about the gods needs to be as similar to people as possible, so that people may better understand the gods and see the gods as benevolent and worthy. To accomplish this, it is necessary to employ myth.

Essentially, the myths show the gods as similar to humans because it allows us, as people, to better relate to the gods and see them as good. It is not that the gods themselves are like us, but that we need to understand them as if they were, in order to be able to relate to the gods in any productive way.

Sallustius continues:

Fables therefore imitate the gods, according to effable and ineffable, apparent and unapparent, wise and ignorant; and this likewise extends to the goodness of the gods; for as the gods impart the goods of sensible natures in common to all things, but the goods resulting from the intelligibles to the wise alone, so fables assert to all men that there are gods; but who they are, and of what kind, they alone manifest to such as are capable of so exalted a knowledge.

Here, Sallustius says that the myths imitate the qualities of the gods that they possess. Since they are imitations, however, it is important to understand that imitation is nothing more but a pale echo – the myths, therefore, cannot capture the full essence of a god, no matter how poignant the myths may be.

He also says that the gods gift the shared senses to those who inhabit the world, but the gods only impart intellect to the wise. I find that this sentiment echoes in the Havamal, the Sayings of the High One (i.e. Odin):

54. Wise in measure let each man be;/ but let him not wax too wise;/ for never the happiest of men is he/ who knows much of many things.

Wisdom, after all, comes at a price. It is not a price everyone will wish to pay, and it thus makes sense that the gods would only impart it to those that seek it. It seems, after all, that only those who seek wisdom hold the capacity for it, but that is my own perception of the world I have seen.

Going back to Sallustius, he also offers a sage piece of advice. He says that while myths assert to everyone that there are gods, the meanings of the myths are not made apparent to everyone. Basically, he asserts that there are people who understand myths on a level others cannot, and this serves both as advice and warning – the myths are not simply what they seem.

Sallustius then states:

In fables, too, the energies of the gods are imitated; for the world may very properly be called a fable, since bodies and the corporeal possessions which it contains, are apparent, but souls and intellects are occult and invisible. Besides, to inform all men of the truth concerning the gods, produces contempt in the unwise, from their incapacity of learning, and negligence in the studious; but concealing truth in fables, prevents the contempt of the former, and compels the latter to philosophize.

Here, Sallustius says that the world itself can be seen as a story, as it contains corporeal existence in the form of bodies and other tangibles. The reality behind that story, however, is the eternal existence of souls and intellects, as they are intangible and noncorporeal. We are all, in the end, just stories.

He then states that it would be unwise if the gods simply informed humanity of the truth of themselves. Sallustius seems to say here that the unwise would find the gods contemptible because they would turn their inability to learn and understand that truth against the gods themselves. Similarly, those with a passion for learning, would turn away from their studies and make no attempt towards understanding the gods, as the knowledge would exist already.

This, to me, says that the world would be a place full of contempt and unease if the gods simply revealed the truth of themselves to all of humanity. It would take the fun out of the life we live for those of us who enjoy the pursuit of knowledge, and it would cause nothing but ire and ill-will to burn in the hearts of those who suddenly find themselves faced with beings they can never hope to understand.

That said, Sallustius completes this chapter thusly:

But you will ask why adulteries, thefts, paternal bonds, and other unworthy actions are celebrated in fables? Nor is this unworthy of admiration, that where there is an apparent absurdity, the soul immediately conceiving these discourses to be concealments, may understand that the truth which they contain is to be involved in profound and occult silence.

Of all the things Sallustius has to say in this chapter, this is my absolute favorite. In essence, he is saying that the myths that demonstrate unworthy actions on the part of the gods still require the admiration of the gods. He suggests that the actions are only unworthy at first glance, and that we will understand that the actions that seem bad only seem so – that, in fact, there are deeper truths to be found, if only we are willing to dig beneath the surface.

The Greeks believed that the Gods were inherently good, and we will eventually get to the part of Sallustius’s treatise that discusses that. For me, this particular section of this chapter of the treatise lightens my heart because it affirms something I have always seen as true.

The myths that paint Loki in a negative light, the ones that cause people to label him as evil or a frith-breaker or the bane of the gods – these are the myths that have the deeper layer. The ones that have more occult knowledge hidden within them than can ever truly be spoken. His stories are some of the deepest ones I know, and I am glad to find a treatise by a polytheist that explains why such seemingly cruel myths delve into sometimes unfathomable depths.

Sources:

Sallustius. “On the Gods and the World.”

Havamal Verse 54 from the Poetic Edda, Oliver Bray translation.

©Kyaza 2019

The Calling of Shiva

Posted on by Katalin Patnaik

I was born in Hungary into a not too religiously Catholic family. I was baptised at my grandmother’s insistence and loved religious studies (that mainly consisted of study of Jesus and no other religions were actually mentioned) in primary school, although I have to admit it was mainly because of the pretty stickers and mini-pictures of icons that the nun who taught us distributed amongst the children who paid attention. I was one of the few who received these because I always loved stories. Good old days.

Hungary is not big on ‘exotic’ religions. If you are a Mormon, you count as an alien. One is expected to be an atheist or belong to one of the well known, good old forms of Christianity. You can be a Catholic – Greek or Roman. You can be a Protestant. Even a Baptist or a Methodist. But Jehovah’s Witnesses are frowned upon by everyone other than the witnesses themselves, and the few Mormons who have reached Hungary to preach and convert are mostly looked upon as comic relief. I actually like them because they are very polite and take the effort of learning our language in order to be able to preach, but I wouldn’t prod that sect with a two-meter-long pole. (A saying we have here, meaning I don’t want anything to do with it.) What I want to say is, when people are asked about other religions – like, not-Christian stuff – they first list the Muslims and Jews, and only then do they remember Far Eastern stuff. You know, Buddhism and whatever the “Harekrishnas” believe in.

So, you might ask, how did I get into Hinduism in such a monotheistic environment? I like to say it was fate. That it called to me and the gods led me down the rabbit hole. They are very good at finding the way for us when they want us to do something, as I have learned later on.

Anyway, you know the Nataraj statue? The Dancing Shiva? Yes. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Powerful, enigmatic, magnetic. I always loved that statue but never knew what it was. It popped up in movies and video games; remember Disney’s Aladdin PC game? The Genie’s lair had similar statues in it. Yes, after 20+ years I still remember, that’s how much I loved it!

Now, one day in History class we opened the textbook and there it was! That statue! Written under it the vital information of what, or rather, who it actually was! I was so happy! After class, I ran to the school library and got all the books I could find on mythology. And I read and read and just gobbled up everything there was to know about Lord Shiva. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much – Hungary just came out of Soviet rule so esoteric or occult books were still very rare, and even then, Hinduism was so obscure that the few mythology books that existed haven’t bothered to go into big details. Still, it was enough for me to start worshiping Him.

My mom was chill about it, she was never big on monotheism anyway. My dad, on the other hand, might still be a bit upset about my transition after all these years. I had a perfectly useful god just on the doorstep, why do I have to worship such a strange, four armed, three-eyed thing? Then, my granny doesn’t really understand the concept that there are many gods other than The God of the church. So when she asks whether I believe in God I say yes, and that’s enough for her peace of mind and I don’t have to lie, nor do I have to try and explain myself. Win-win.

Since then, I have seen what I have seen and experienced what I experienced and my belief, no, my trust in Shiva has multiplied manyfold. I worship Him daily and have a deep, unchanging love for him that I could not feel for anyone else, be it a Hindu, Christian or any other Pagan god. Only the Norse Trickster Loki comes close but I don’t worship him and he’s an entirely different cup of tea anyway.

Well, in a nutshell, that’s it! This is how I got into Hinduism: through Shiva. He called, I came, and I love Him.

©Katalin Patnaik 2019

 

Abnormal Anecdotes

Posted on by mahlua

The one thing that keeps life from staying in a constant state of droning and doldrums is when things don’t go according to plan. And, believe me, when you’re a Pagan, there’s a lot that does not even begin to pretend to go according to plan. Chaos is all a part of the natural order. That’s one thing I feel that most practitioners can agree on. Most of the ones I’ve met, anyway.

In any case, I figure that I’ll start my lovely little blog with some such events that have happened in my life. Buckle up, kids; It’s gonna be a bumpy ride. Some are short tales, some a little longer. All are mysterious and some, annoying.
—
I’ll begin with one of the first odd occurrences I can remember. When I was a child, probably before school age, I remember a night. I remember it so vividly, despite not being able to recall any circumstances surrounding it. I was presented with a choice. A weirdly deep and philosophical choice for a small child. It was like one of those moments when you start up an RPG and you have a weird question to answer that will affect how the story progresses. I knew even then that how I answered this question would affect many things in my life. One of those weird things that I just kinda know.

The question was a simple set of paths: Power, Knowledge, and Love. Here’s how my childhood logic went. “Well, Power easily corrupts people, and on its own, it doesn’t really do much. Knowledge sounds like a really fun path. I’d like to learn a lot of things. That’d be really cool. But…Love. Love has something that the others don’t. A type of passion and fervor that makes the other two pale in comparison.” Of course I wouldn’t have had those pretty words back then, and movies gave me quite a skewed interpretation of how love works. But hey. I gotta give my child self credit. Truly a perceptive little snot. The life I’m living now actually reflects a lot of that. Unfortunately, in this life, I only got to go to the character creation skills menu once, and I didn’t put nearly enough stock in the Power department. I’m kinda wishing I didn’t tie my metaphorical and metaphysical shoelaces together with what I said about it. Oh well…

Then in middle school, a friend and I played around with the idea of ESP. Psy balls. Training yourself to be telekenetic and stupid stuff like that. I might’ve been a little too into Naruto. Totally just kids’ stuff. Or, really, my first experiences with energy work.
—
Aside from the whole Wicca phase in high school (followed by a Baptist phase), there were a few other happenings to note. At some point, and I’m not sure why, I was just…overcome with this dire need to study ancient Egypt. So, when I went to visit the school media center to check out the next issue of the House of Night series (what? Okay, what edgy teenager doesn’t have a vampire obsession? Get off my back.) I would also tear through the history section with an equal amount of thirst. I think it started when I went to some weird shop in downtown Salisbury that was burning incense. Looking back, it might have been frankincense. In either case, I started getting this weird mental image: a torch on a wall. That was it. But I knew it was in Egypt, and I knew it was night. I kept tearing through books on Egypt and the pharaohs. I remembered that when I was a small child, before my grandfather on my mom’s side succumbed to Alzheimer’s, he would read me old Life Nature Library books from like, the 50s. They had a lot of pretty pictures. My favorite one was the one on Ancient Egypt. I inherited those books from him, and that was the first one I read through. I felt a feeling that I couldn’t place as I read through them. A kind of nostalgia, almost. And then, one day, a thought hit me like a semi-truck doing 70 down the highway.

“I want to go home.”

Turns out the feeling was homesickness. Go figure. That was my first clue of what was to come.

Another one that comes to mind is the time an online friend of mine had the grand luck of getting an attachment to an incubus. I tried to dissuade him off her, but that only got me a slew of threats and I did not sleep that night. My girlfriend at the time was something like a…I don’t really know, but the closest word that comes to mind is “shaman”, but I don’t think she was rooted in any Native American practice. Point is that she managed to get him off my back. And saw him slip on the ice outside her house. Apparently he was low level and often made a fool of himself. We nicknamed him Geoffrey. Geoffrey’s singed hoofprint never exactly got out of her kitchen linoleum, to my knowledge. Kept coming back. Boy, I wish that were the last I saw of demons.

That brings me to a good friend of mine. It’s always awkward and difficult to talk about her to those who don’t know about her. The circumstances in which we met weren’t exactly pleasant. In fact, I’m pretty sure if my mother ever had any inkling of what was going on, she would have called a Catholic priest. She’s Protestant, for the record. Baptist, pretty sure.

Anyway, this friend of mine. You may call her Joan. The first time I met her, I was listening to music and fell into a trance (not exactly an uncommon occurrence). I became trapped in a labyrinth of my mind. I kept following the stone corridors, even as I passed a mural of blood on a wall, a clear warning to turn back. I entered an antechamber of sorts, half-rotted corpses chained to the seats and walls. In the center of the stage was…me. Starved, hair long and matted, covered in lacerations, burns, probably infected. It wasn’t pretty. She lifted her head to look at me, and her eyes were black, all the way through the whites. Her teeth were sharp, like a shark’s. When she spoke, I heard her as if she were right in my ear, even though I was at the top of the chamber. I ran. The corpses in the room came to life to follow. I stumbled back through the maze and passed the mural of blood. The exit came into sight, but I felt my shadow-self, as I thought she was, materialize from the blood on the wall behind me. I tripped, and she reached for my heart. I could feel her cold hand grasping around the organ with each heartbeat. Somehow, I managed to touch the door, and a strong light flooded in, disintegrating everything like ash. I thought that was the end of it. Joan and I are kinda-sorta “married” now. After a few incidents of channeling her and an identity crisis or like three later. And I wish that were the last of my relationships that got off so hard on the wrong foot that I rolled my ankle. More on that later. We’re still in my high school timeline here.

Dreams have always been a major part of my practice, even before I really had what you’d call an organized “practice”. What probably led to that was something so small and simple, and yet, so deep and profound that it is etched into the core of my being. Well, not really something. Someone. The first woman I ever loved. The woman I would have performed small miracles for, if I had the chance. May she rest in peace. She was what she called a “dreamwalker”. She said it was common for her to show up in other people’s dreams when they needed help or advice. And boy, did she show up in mine. Still does, on occasion. The first time it happened and we realize that we had shared a dream, it really changed how I viewed the whole dream realm. I’ve shared dreams with other partners since her as well, but, like with Love itself, you never truly forget your first.

So, what eventually led to my conversion from Wicca to Baptist Christianity. It was a little before the incident with the incubus. I hadn’t met that girlfriend yet, I don’t think. It was actually not long after I unfortunately had to leave the love of my life. I converted to Wicca, all by myself, in that stupid internet-informed way that angry teenagers do. I was never associated with Wicca proper, but I called myself a Wiccan. That kinda thing. After a while, I started becoming more aware of my own energy, and the energies around me. It freaked me out a little. My left arm in particular seemed to pick up on it, even when I couldn’t process things. It could get so bad that it would clench, twitch, and generally feel like it was being electrocuted on the reg around foreign energies. Then my mom had the bright idea to send me to church camp. I agreed to go because I thought I could find a cute little Christian girl to woo my way, easy as pie. (Hey, I never said I was a good person. Don’t trust an angry teenager who converted to Wicca via the internet to make good decisions.) That plan went to crap. Because I was becoming aware of energy, what do you think happened when I was suddenly exposed to the presence of a Deity again after not having gone to church in years? I’ll wait…

…Yeah, it was intense and it freaked me out enough to start crying, confess to everything, and even tear all the pages out of my so-called “Book of Shadows” that I had been keeping. Right in front of one of the camp counselors or whatever. Still wanted to ask her daughter out, but that’s another issue. I had a cross necklace that was a gift from my father. I wrapped it around my left arm and prayed that God would bless it so that my Devil Arm would stop acting up. Love and Light and the Shield of God and all that. Read my Bible every morning up through starting school again. But then I met my not-quite-shaman girlfriend and well…let’s just say I learned the connotative difference between “Forgive me father, for I have sinned” and “Sorry, Mommy, I’ve been bad.” Except I was Mommy. But whatever. Still kept trying to go to church despite my sins, right up until the pastor started using hymns as an excuse to demean other religions. Saying something about how the name of Jesus was more beautiful and then provided “examples” by singing the same hymns but with the names “Allah” and “Buddha”. I felt so…transgressed? that I almost walked out then and there. Haven’t looked back since.

I should say here that I have nothing against Christianity. It is a complex and thoughtful religion when properly practiced with its tenants fully understood and upheld. It is said many times in the Bible to meditate upon its lessons. I simply wish that many would heed that call before running their mouths with their megaphones and hateful signs.

After I dropped off that, Joan had started showing up again, under a different name back then, and there were a lot of things with my not-quite-shaman girlfriend. But, the most important goes back to the Egypt thing. I slipped into a trance after some…shenanigans with my girlfriend. Totally a PG way to word that. We’ll roll with it. Anyway, in this trance, I was led up some stairs and through a stone gate. Once through that gate, I found myself lying on a daybed of sorts. It was ridiculously hot. I got the feeling that I wasn’t on the first floor of whatever building I was in. I was wearing white. I was a woman. These things just flooded into my senses, and I knew. I rose from my daybed and walked over to an open balcony. The streets sprawled before me. It looked like something out of a storybook. Mudbrick buildings and, across the bay, a massive tower. I knew where I was. Alexandria. It had to be.

Later, I reiterated that tale to a historian friend of mine (who I later dated. Are you seeing a trend in my life yet?). She asked me questions about the streets’ layout, and where I figured what buildings were. I could answer easily, since the memory is almost photographic in me. When I asked her what was up, she asked if I had ever seen a map of Alexandria. I had not, and I told her so. She was shocked, and I could hear her voice drop on the Skype call for a few moments. Then she sent me a link and said in a shaky voice, “Well, there’s only one real place you could’ve been, given the angle from where you saw the tower of Alexandria.” I was floored. She was right. It was the palace. It made no sense to me. There’s not a drop of royalty in me. I still grapple with this vision I had. Was it a past life, like I have believed? What else could it be?
—
Ah, yes. College. I thought high school was a rough set of awakenings. Things do not go according to plan. Not my plan, anyway. There were a lot more rude wake up calls–like the time one of my friends barged into my dorm room and woke me up from a particularly pleasant dream involving the Hex Girls. When I remember that incident and he is present, I make a point to punch him between the shoulder blades and growl, “That’s for the Hex Girls.” But, that’s another kind of anecdote.

Pagan Student Association. An interesting find for sure when I was stumbling around the Club Expo like the herded little freshman I was. Within my first month, I had attended at least two libations in the woods and a Pagan Pride convention in…Raleigh, I think? And I had been introduced to the Egyptian gods. Much to the surprise of no one. Homesickness? The vision? Yeah. My first encounter that I can really for certain say was in a dream. I was led up a mountain, and at the top, there was a sort of plateau. From a cave, a woman emerged, dressed in plentiful gold jewelry and white linens. I cannot remember her face, only her black hair and that her eyes were ethereal. Her energy forced me to my knees, like gravity was suddenly five, no, fifty times stronger. She took me by the wrist and turned my vein side up. Tattoos emerged, some faded, some more vibrant. After she examined it, she looked to my face and said, “You are a child of the sky”. That’s it, dream end.

Since then, my altar has collected an odd number of Netjer. Sekhmet, Het-hert (Hathor), Djehuty (Thoth), and Khepra (Khepri) are permanent residents. Through PSA, I was directed towards the Kemetic Orthodoxy. I graciously underwent their beginner classes and have successfully obtained membership.

Once, I was sitting on a ledge appreciating the moonlight when I heard a man’s voice chuckle and sternly say, “Child, you are going to fall.” So I moved. I knew it was Djehuty. I simply did.

A couple years later, I met a certain Lokean who introduced me to Loki. In a way, he invited himself to one of my rituals, and he has been with me ever since. I appreciate his patience with me as I set up his altar and gathered materials for him.
—
There’s another story or two that are worthy of their own blog post, but since I left the foreshadowing hanging about my relationships that get off on the wrong foot, horribly, I suppose I’ll share one more.

About two years ago, Pagan Student Association managed to house an incredible guest: writer and priest John Beckett. With him, we held a ritual to the Morrigan. Sometimes I feel as if I should never have attended that ritual. I didn’t take the ramifications seriously enough. I paid the price for that recklessness. Dearly. During the ritual, I felt as if I was enveloped in flames. I could not stand up after the ritual had closed. Someone had tried to touch me, and I tried with my everything to scream at them not to do it, but I just wasn’t fully connected to the physical plane. The Morrigan had other plans for me. It felt like my back was being ripped open to reveal black feathered wings. A lot of what we discussed was private, but I will never forget what it felt like to watch as one of my possible Fates burned up before me. It was like, there was a set of pathways that led to the future, and the Great Queen saw the one I was focusing on, laughed, and pulled the plug on it. I was on her terms from that moment on.

Horrified, as soon as I was back with the physical plane, I rushed to speak with Her Priest. I asked him about the wings. I knew they meant something. I was frantic and covered in sweat. Even speaking Her name sent fiery shockwaves through my back. He began to explain to me about being called, and about what it’s like to serve the Morrigan, and how sometimes she can be a little rough on her followers. I couldn’t quite process what I was hearing. At the time, it just sounded like a doctor was sitting across from me in that moment, and the word that just left his mouth was “terminal.”

Not long after, I performed a small ritual to the Egyptian gods, and was met with an equally horrifying vision. I was standing in a chamber full of statues of the Egyptian gods, and each and every one had their backs turned on me. I felt like I was going mad. I still couldn’t say Her name because the burning where my wings tore through almost sent a tear to my eye. Anything even closely related to her started to trigger my anxiety. Tight chest, labored breathing, sweating profusely, almost halfway to a full-fledged anxiety attack. And She was around often. I reached out to Beckett, and finally did the only thing I could think of. I wrote a petition. I asked her to back off. I told her I could not work for someone I feared like this. That the loyalty would never hold like that. She protested furiously, and called out all the ways that I was holding a double standard. But, eventually, She did leave.

In Her absence, I was able to connect to the Egyptian gods again, and when I perceived my back, instead of the scars of wings, I saw on myself an energetic tattoo of the wings of Ma’at. It was a seal. I know that much, but that was all I knew.

Then came October of last year. My life was falling apart. I was doing two internships on top of a full courseload at university. I couldn’t handle the stress. I was dangerously suicidal. I began having regular anxiety attacks where I was rendered completely speechless for up to an hour. Finally, I gave in and took psychological withdrawal from university. One of those sleepless nights where all sorts of violent images flooded to my mind, a familiar and horrifying voice crept from the back of my head.

“If you’re not afraid of dying, what do you have to lose?”

I threw up every shield I knew in a pathetic attempt block the Morrigan out. I even tried to convince Joan to help. Joan laughed and said as much as she liked me, she wasn’t about to step between this mess. I fought, and fought, and fought, until I was running on fumes. I could barely stay awake. I knew what the Morrigan wanted, and I just did not want to give it over. But, finally, as people do when they are in total panic, I began to say crazy things. And then, that was it. I gave in. My eyes hurt from all the crying, my body felt like it weighed a ton, and I finally went to sleep. And the Morrigan was back in my life. I set up a small altar space for Her. I’ve set up a time to work directly and solely with Her. Every month, during my regular cycle, when I am considered impure for certain Egyptian rituals and rites, I serve her.

I still would rather not have had anything to do with Her to begin with. I am not a warrior. I want nothing to do with Her war. But, at least now, I know my place. I have accepted my Fate. It took a long time for me to come to this. I meditated with myself, and even with the Egyptian gods. After Her stint and blocking them from me, I was surprised that they gently explained Her place in Ma’at, and that though my fear makes sense, I should not let it stop me. They confirmed that all is once again right.

Sometimes on the back of shoulderblades, I still feel a familiar burning sensation. But, when I see a group of three blackbirds together, I know that it is time to make an offering. I am comforted by the sight of ravens and crows. Just like I always used to be, before my brief reign of terror.
—
These little things are just parts of a greater whole. It’s my belief that sometimes the most miraculous things are the things we don’t see, caught up in the mundane. When we break free of the mundane, that’s when the big miracles happen. But, that doesn’t mean that they aren’t always there with us, waiting to be discovered. After all, when any plan goes right–that is just another face of a blessing.

©Kahleo 2019

Popular Veneration in the West

Posted on by Blue Huntington

Popular veneration is the term usually used to denote home-grown cults of spirits that aren’t officially recognized by the organized religions of the area. For the largely-Christian West (here referring to Europe, North America, and South America), this usually comes in the form of either Catholic folk saints and/or elevated human spirits. While spirits such as these are incredibly varied, they have one very important thing in common that has allowed their cults to grow/persist without much need for assistance from major religions: they do good work. In fact, many of these spirits are, or have been, actively persecuted and slandered, but when it comes down to it people are going to continue venerating and asking favors of a spirit who works. Here I’ll explore just a few of these interesting spirits, with a quick discussion of the most well-known, but keep in mind that they each have their own practices and are usually strongly rooted to the culture their veneration originates from (meaning that an understanding of the culture will be needed if you should wish for a better understanding of the spirit). With respect and honor to the innumerable folk spirits who have served their locales over the years, many of whom are forgotten or may never spread beyond their home, let’s look now at some more famous folk spirits of modern times:

Black Hawk
Coming to us from the Spiritualist Churches of the United States–a denomination that began in the mid-1800s and utilizes mediumship (focusing on communication with deceased human spirits)–is the cult of Black Hawk, a Native American war chief of the Sauk tribe. Already boasting his own hymns and services within the Church, his popularity as a spirit guide has spread beyond the Spiritualists and into many American folk practices, such as hoodoo. Some people venerate him as an accessible way to honor any Native heritage they have, though he seems open to respectful veneration from any who need his protection regardless of descent. There is a common household practice of “putting Black Hawk in a bucket”, a method of making a spirit bucket to house his power, and offering him fruits.

La Madama
This spirit, and family of spirits, developed among North American folk practices. Believed to be the spirits of enslaved African conjurewomen, La Madama has become a patron of diviners and conjureworkers. In hoodoo, she has come to grace many a home and professional altar with old-fashioned memorabilia of a black worker dressed in red and white, with her tools nearby for her use (usually including items such as a broom, scissors, chalk, a cross, and a knife). In return for offerings of food and drink, she aids in and teaches conjure of all kinds, as well as assisting card readers and bone throwers in particular. For her devotees, she is a protector and trusted advisor; many devotees develop very personal relationships with their particular Madama.

Marie Laveau
The famous “Voodoo Queen” of New Orleans, Louisiana, Marie Laveau needs little introduction. This magical practitioner of mixed-race descent has, in death, become a spiritual ally for modern American voodoo and hoodoo practitioners, including those who visit her tomb to leave offerings and marks of “XXX” as a sign of petition. Other practitioners work with her on personal home altars, where she assists with practical magic and petitions.

St. Expedite/St. Expeditus/San Expedito
Possibly the most widely venerated saint of the Western world, St. Expedite actually is recognized in the Roman Catholic Church, but at the same time has developed his own unique folk practices and cult. He is the subject of multiple legends, both new and old, with a cult spanning many centuries and countries; Denise Alvarado has written both book and blog posts detailing his practices in the American South. For instance, St. Expedite is offered slices of Sara Lee pound cake with three pennies pushed into the cake–a practice that is unusual in that most official (and some folk) saints require no food offerings in exchange for petitions. However, his favored offering for completed work is the public sharing of his cult and invocations; plenty of testimony can be found from those who’ve received all manner of help from the “saint of speedy solutions”.

Santa Muerte
One can hardly discuss the veneration of non-sanctioned folk spirits without discussing the skeletal Catholic folk saints of Mexico and other Latin American countries below it–spirits such as Doña Sebastiana of Mexico, San La Muerte of South America, and San Pascualito of Guatemala and Chiapas. Though almost unheard of just two decades ago, the now-famous Santa Muerte (or Holy Death) has become likely the most recognizable folk saint in North America, and certainly the most well-known skeletal saint, with a cult that has grown astonishingly quickly. This is doubtless due to her responsiveness in assisting with any type of petition put forth, with no judgment being placed on the devotee; statues are now dressed in a variety of colors denoting the focus of the petition, such as green for legal matters. An all-purpose “rainbow”-robed Santa Muerte has even emerged, featuring seven colors, likely influenced by the Seven African Powers of Santeria as Caribbean practitioners mingle into Mexico. Some believe Santa Muerte to be a modern manifestation of Mictlancihuatl (the Aztec goddess of death), while others another side to Our Lady of Guadalupe. Regardless of her origins, and of official condemnation from the Roman Catholic Church, Santa Muerte’s adherents consider her a Catholic saint (made evident in much of her iconography) and find no contradiction in venerating her as part of their Catholic practice.

Juan Soldado
“Soldier John” in English, Juan Soldado lived in the early 1900s by the name of Juan Castillo Morales. While little is known about his short life and accounts of his death vary, the general story is that, while an army private, he was convicted of the rape and murder of a young girl and executed via shooting. Many believe he was wrongly accused, framed by a superior officer who was the true perpetrator of the crime; this idea was likely only furthered when residents of the town in which he was buried reportedly began witnessing paranormal phenomenon at his gravesite. Buried at his place of death in Tijuana, his story of anonymous figure to framed martyr made him a relatable and approachable folk saint for the people of the large and often-turbulent border city. He has been credited with assisting devotees in petitions ranging from legal and emigration issues to family matters.

Maximón/San Simón
The syncretic cult of Maximón, found primarily in Guatemala, blends both Biblical and Mayan influence with considerable variation from one location to the next, with traditions that seem to go back farther than most Latin American folk “saints”. His devotees, primarily of Mayan descent, present his effigies with cigars and alcohol in exchange for his powerful protection and assistance in any area of life. He has a complex and dualistic personality, and is portrayed with many different appearances and legends.

Santes Dwynwen
Although her once-church on Ynys Llanddwyn, a tidal island named for her that lies off the coast of Anglesey in Wales, is now ruins and her cult had begun to fade into obscurity in recent history (with suppression of it having begun around the 16th century), this Welsh folk saint has made something of a comeback in the last century. Due largely to geological spread and isolation from official Catholic oversight, and developing in a time when the canonization process for official Catholic saints was essentially non-existent, St. Dwynwen’s cult was one of many Welsh folk saint cults that were never officially recognized by the Roman Catholic Church. The subject of a legend with many variations (involving herself, her lover Maelon whom she couldn’t marry, and an angel with a magic potion)–as well as smaller myths, including walking on water–which seem to have been originally passed down orally, are reminiscent of older Celtic myths in theme. Once a known saint as attested in poetry and literature, St. Dwynwen has returned as Wales’ primary patron of lovers with her feast day of January 25th now celebrated in a similar fashion as most other countries celebrate St. Valentine’s Day; today, Welsh lovers give each other cards wishing “Dydd Santes Dwynwen Hapus” or “Happy Saint Dwynwen Day”. This celebration has grown considerably in Wales in recent years, and was one of many aspects of concerted efforts to preserve Welsh culture. Modernization aside, St. Dwynwen’s church was an important pilgrimage site in the Middle Ages, her holy well contained fish whose movements divined lovers’ futures, and she is mentioned in both a surviving Latin 16th century mass and some early genealogies.

St. Guinefort
During the 13th century, the local people of Lyons, France had developed a healing cult around the figure of St. Guinefort that focused on the protection and healing of infants in particular. Upon arrival to the area, a Dominican Order preacher was happy to begin the canonization process for this saint, until he found that St. Guinefort was not a deceased man but a deceased greyhound; despite threats and prohibition from the Roman Catholic Church ever since, this cult persisted into the early 1900s. While the story of St. Guinefort’s unjust death is a variation on the well-traveled tale of The Brahmin and the Mongoose, it is interesting to note that his cult was more than that; the area of his burial was made into a shrine with stones placed and trees planted, and the Dominican official who condemned the rites that had developed there (publicizing it in De Septem Donis Spiritus Sancti, of which an English translation of the portion pertaining to St. Guinefort can be found here) reported digging up the gravesite and indeed finding the bones of a dog. Also, while the report of an official who actively seeks to condemn the practice–as well as it being a man viewing what was apparently a woman’s rite–must be taken with a heavy grain of salt, it seems that the healing rites of this cult were in part influenced by the European belief that faeries could replace human babies with changelings.

These hard-working spirits developed and persisted in their own cults, even amid the power of major religions, and attest to the fact that we aren’t limited to working with the “big names”. Work with the spirits who work with you, even if you’re the only one working with them; any seemingly-small spirit could be a mutually beneficial spiritual relationship waiting for the right person to happen, or maybe even the beginning of another folk cult if a spirit’s hard work creates results worth sharing (even spirits have to start somewhere).

The Death and Beautification of St Guinefort - Chris MusinaThe Death and Beatification of St. Guinefort by Chris Musina

Confidence in Paganism

Posted on by Jacoba Michal - Writer

I have a huge list of topics I want to cover, but decided to start with one not on my list: confidence in paganism.

It seems to be a common refrain as of late…  “Well, they all know so much more than me.” “I don’t feel like I have anything to contribute to the conversation.” I struggled with the same thoughts, before signing on to write this column. It was a lot of “who am I to think that anyone wants to hear what I have to say?” in various forms.

This is why I decided to cover this first. It seems to be a prevalent attitude that we don’t have anything of value to add, so why should we try? It’s not something that is restricted to paganism, of course, but due to the fact that it’s the community that I am the most involved in, it’s where I see this the most.

Even a friend of mine, who recently went on a retreat felt the same way. She hadn’t met any of the other participants in any way other than through their online community before she went. Upon getting there, she spent most of her time listening to everyone talk, rather than saying her piece as well, as she felt that everyone else there had way more experience than her.

Well, I am here to tell you….  SO WHAT???

Yes, okay, maybe some people have more time as pagans. Maybe some people have spend more time in study, or have a more active practice than you. Since when does that really matter?

Each of us grew up in a unique set of circumstances specific to us. Each of us comes to the table with something new to offer, even when we don’t think so. We all have different experiences, different views, different methods. It’s a big part of what makes our community so great! We all come here from different places and it adds strength to the community.

Don’t be afraid to speak up. Don’t be afraid to add in your two cents! You always have something of value to add to the conversation. And who knows, maybe, just maybe, what you have to say will actually help someone else…  It can open the eyes of everyone else there…

I struggled with this. I really did. “What if no one wants to read my posts?” “What if my writing style isn’t good enough?” What if, what if, what if….

Finally, I told that inner voice where to go. I decided to go ahead and do this, because I can. Because I want to. Because I have a unique voice, and lots to say.

Paganism prides itself, as a whole, on our ability to bring unique thoughts to our practices. The most common label I see is “eclectic.” We all have some element of personalization to what we do. Each of us has to find a way to fit our practice into our lives, and we have that experience to share. We may all read the same books, blogs, or websites, and be a part of the same groups on social media, but we still bring an element of ourselves to what we do.

What better way to see that than to share our experiences? We all bring something new to the table. It doesn’t matter if you’ve got years, months, or only days of it. What matters is that we keep contributing to the community. That we keep adding our voices. That is the way to the strongest community we can create.

©Lauren Michelle 2019