Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," plowing through the old mid-life crisis one freakout at a time! I'm the crisisee, Anne Johnson. No, I did not make the name up. My mom gave it to me (embellished a bit). I'm named after a princess.
For some time I have been considering my options for continuing education. School teachers are expected to seek master's degrees and such, in order to better their practice. I myself am enrolled in a master's class in teaching right now. And the shoe doesn't fit.
Nor am I particularly interested in trying to shove my creaky feet into a master's degree in English literature. And I literally sprayed selzer water across the keyboard ten minutes ago when I opened my email and saw a message for an online master's degree in creative writing. For the love of fruit flies and first drafts! Can anything be taught online these days? Oh, snap. Not for me.
On Sunday I went to an ADF Ritual. I've visited with this Grove for a few years here and there, but they're sort of hard-core, camping and such, and my camping days are behind me. However, the ADF does have a formal program of study. Reading, writing, reflecting, doing Ritual, improving spiritually.
Voila. I'm going back to school! Requesting ADF study materials. Don't mind doing this online, or even penning the work onto vellum. If I am to pursue continuing education, it must warm my soul in the autumn of my life.
This study will not be undertaken to improve my employment opportunities or to inflate my grandeur. Quite the opposite. It's high time to get serious about studying, in an effort to understand myself, the deities, and other people better.
Don't worry. "The Gods Are Bored" won't go all Druid. There are too many other bored deities who need praise and worship! But you gotta pick from what's out there ... and ADF is out there.
[begin optional edit]
Some of you come here for laughs, so here's a previously unpublished tale from the Annals of Anne.
Back in the previous century, when the Heir was a little girl, I enrolled in a Bible study class, mostly just to get out of the house twice a week. It was part of a large pursuit called "Precepts" that billed itself as being scholarly but, in my observation, was not particularly scholarly in nature. To whit, there was only one correct answer to every question. Nowadays this doesn't even work in math.
The first 90 minutes of "Precepts" was a tedious trudge through a specific book of the Bible. The one I enrolled in was the Book of Daniel, which (thank goodness) is a splendid read. But of course, anything parsed verse by verse in 90 minute trudges is going to get tedious. Can't avoid it.
The final hour of "Precepts" consisted of watching a videotape of some female evangelist. Her name completely escapes me, but she was absolutely fascinating. For one thing, her clothes were to die for, week after week, tape after tape. For another, she was a mesmerizing speaker. It didn't matter that her "one plus one" didn't add up to two (at least in my opinion). She was just dynamic. Didn't convince me, but it was entertaining to watch her try.
Here's the funny part. Sometimes when I'm teaching, and I feel like I'm losing the audience (which is easy to do if they're 15), I tap into the old memory cupboard and bring out that evangelist. She taught with her whole body, lots of gestures. Guess what? It works! Pep is a real asset to a teacher.
Who knows? Maybe I'll be a Druid preacher with lots of pep. I'll ditch that part about only one correct answer, though. Can't build a civilization on that.
[end optional edit]
It's exactly time for me to go to my master's degree class. The class begins at 5:15 and ends at 8:15 ... and it's held in a classroom 15 miles from my house. After a long day teaching teenagers, this holds no appeal.
Pick your battles, pick your books. The time of life is short.
Showing posts with label Druid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Druid. Show all posts
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," today honoring the varieties of religious devotion in the great state of Washington! Never been there. Would like to go some day. Send money. (Just kidding.)
Among the most fantastic phenomena in the Pacific Northwest is the run of spawning salmon. Unlike Atlantic salmon, who spawn and move on, Pacific salmon swim upstream to the place where they were spawned. There they breed, and there they die. Considering the importance of this food source, its not surprising that the Native Americans of the Pacific Northwest have many Scriptures of revealed religion about the Salmon, from how It got into their nets to how It behaves with Its fellow Salmon in the great briny depths.
The ancient Celts also have a whopper of a Salmon story, and its star is here with me today. Please give a warm, wonderful, "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Fintan, the Salmon of Wisdom!
Anne: Fintan, the Native Americans of Washington State say that Salmon act like humans when no one is watching them. Could this be so? I mean, other than You, of course. I've always considered You a special exception, considering the fact that you had the good sense to eat the hazel nuts of Wisdom, rather than chow down on some schlub named Jonah.
Fintan: Speaking on behalf of My Fishes, we do not wish to reveal Our ways to humans, other than what you see on Animal Planet.
Anne: Why not?
Fintan: You would be envious of our superiority.
Anne: Yes, I sure would. I'm envious of ant colonies. But let's talk about normal humans for a moment. Would they, too, be envious of the superiority of Salmon?
Fintan: Yes indeed they would.
Anne: Why?
Fintan: For one thing, we all get along. Nary a harsh bubble passes between one salmon and another. You'll hear one big alpha male call out to another: "Hey, watch out for that grizzly on the bank! Right there, under the pine tree!"
Anne: Wow, I do wish people were like that!
Fintan: Suffice it to say, no underfed, undernourished Salmon have ever had to camp out in the pool demanding better treatment from the fat, comfortable Salmon.
Anne: Would that it were so among humans!
Fintan: We also understand completely the entire nature of the Universe. Humans aren't ready to know. When they are, they'll know to ask us.
Anne: The Native Americans of Washington State have a legend that their Ancient Ones could put the bones of a salmon into the water, and the bones would become fleshed-out and alive again.
Fintan: Fie on you, Anne Johnson! That's no legend. It's an archetype of the collective unconscious, having to do with the cyclical nature of sustainable food sources!
Anne (to herself): They don't call Him the Salmon of Wisdom for nothing! (To Fintan) You know, o Salmon, that I was once very disdainful of hunters and people who fished for sport. Now I love these people! They are some of the most demanding environmentalists around. In Washington State they have blocked dam projects. Around here, where I live now, a group called Trout Unlimited is lobbying for strict studies on hydraulic fracturing and its impact on water quality in rural streams and rivers.
Fintan: We Salmon love these people too. Some of them are even smart enough to throw the bones back into the water! And I certainly respect the Native American people of Washington State who have shown so much respect and reverence toward their indispensable food staple.
Anne: Fintan, we've talked here often. You know I call upon You for wisdom when I'm perplexed. This is part of my praise and worship. Do you think Native American children in Washington State should be taught to praise and worship the Deities who brought nutritious and dependable Salmon into their lives?
Fintan: Coyote the Trickster figures in some of those Scriptures.
Anne: Correct again, Wise One! So. Does Coyote, and do You, deserve a place at the American altar?
Fintan: Absolutely. Anyone who thinks otherwise has a hazel nut deficiency.
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof. Wisdom to live by from the Bill of Rights of the Constitution of the United States of America.
Among the most fantastic phenomena in the Pacific Northwest is the run of spawning salmon. Unlike Atlantic salmon, who spawn and move on, Pacific salmon swim upstream to the place where they were spawned. There they breed, and there they die. Considering the importance of this food source, its not surprising that the Native Americans of the Pacific Northwest have many Scriptures of revealed religion about the Salmon, from how It got into their nets to how It behaves with Its fellow Salmon in the great briny depths.
The ancient Celts also have a whopper of a Salmon story, and its star is here with me today. Please give a warm, wonderful, "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Fintan, the Salmon of Wisdom!
Anne: Fintan, the Native Americans of Washington State say that Salmon act like humans when no one is watching them. Could this be so? I mean, other than You, of course. I've always considered You a special exception, considering the fact that you had the good sense to eat the hazel nuts of Wisdom, rather than chow down on some schlub named Jonah.
Fintan: Speaking on behalf of My Fishes, we do not wish to reveal Our ways to humans, other than what you see on Animal Planet.
Anne: Why not?
Fintan: You would be envious of our superiority.
Anne: Yes, I sure would. I'm envious of ant colonies. But let's talk about normal humans for a moment. Would they, too, be envious of the superiority of Salmon?
Fintan: Yes indeed they would.
Anne: Why?
Fintan: For one thing, we all get along. Nary a harsh bubble passes between one salmon and another. You'll hear one big alpha male call out to another: "Hey, watch out for that grizzly on the bank! Right there, under the pine tree!"
Anne: Wow, I do wish people were like that!
Fintan: Suffice it to say, no underfed, undernourished Salmon have ever had to camp out in the pool demanding better treatment from the fat, comfortable Salmon.
Anne: Would that it were so among humans!
Fintan: We also understand completely the entire nature of the Universe. Humans aren't ready to know. When they are, they'll know to ask us.
Anne: The Native Americans of Washington State have a legend that their Ancient Ones could put the bones of a salmon into the water, and the bones would become fleshed-out and alive again.
Fintan: Fie on you, Anne Johnson! That's no legend. It's an archetype of the collective unconscious, having to do with the cyclical nature of sustainable food sources!
Anne (to herself): They don't call Him the Salmon of Wisdom for nothing! (To Fintan) You know, o Salmon, that I was once very disdainful of hunters and people who fished for sport. Now I love these people! They are some of the most demanding environmentalists around. In Washington State they have blocked dam projects. Around here, where I live now, a group called Trout Unlimited is lobbying for strict studies on hydraulic fracturing and its impact on water quality in rural streams and rivers.
Fintan: We Salmon love these people too. Some of them are even smart enough to throw the bones back into the water! And I certainly respect the Native American people of Washington State who have shown so much respect and reverence toward their indispensable food staple.
Anne: Fintan, we've talked here often. You know I call upon You for wisdom when I'm perplexed. This is part of my praise and worship. Do you think Native American children in Washington State should be taught to praise and worship the Deities who brought nutritious and dependable Salmon into their lives?
Fintan: Coyote the Trickster figures in some of those Scriptures.
Anne: Correct again, Wise One! So. Does Coyote, and do You, deserve a place at the American altar?
Fintan: Absolutely. Anyone who thinks otherwise has a hazel nut deficiency.
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof. Wisdom to live by from the Bill of Rights of the Constitution of the United States of America.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Do you own a house? I live in a house. The bank owns it, but they let me rent it from them. Trouble is, they expect me to keep up the place like I own it. Why can't they fix the leaky pipes? I'm paying good rent here!
Today's sermon is inspired by a post from Hecate in which she discusses whether or not Pagans should start building community centers and sturdy places of worship. Churches, in other words.
Hold the phone. Count to ten, Pagans. Take a deep breath. Then sweep from your mind all notions of a warm and fuzzy community center where you can hold Rituals without dodging pellets of hail.
(Seriously, my Druid Grove once got pelted by hail during a Ritual.)
Just before I ceased and desisted being a Methodist, the church I attended began a vigorous campaign of building additions and renovations. I've been gone from that place for awhile now, and I went in to give blood a few months ago. Oh, you should see it! Big old gymnasium in the basement with a basketball court, and a brand new entryway that looks like Versailles... Jesus would be proud, I tell ya! Fresh paint on the three-story pillars, new carpet ... The church lady greeter remembered me, you see, so she was keen to give me an eyeball full of what I'd been missing.
You know what I saw? I saw fifty bucks out of my pocket twice a month to pay for Jesus Versailles. Bullet dodged!
I'm 100 percent sure that my Druidic ancestors did most of their praise and worship indoors. It gets cold in the British Isles in the wintertime. But our religions can evolve while still supporting the bored gods. In this case, I vote for evolving into outdoor praise and worship teams. There is literally no overhead if you go to the nearest park and do a gentle little ritual. For something bigger, you can go with a festival that will not take chunks of change from your daily lifestyle. If you are phobic about the outdoors, look for that friendly Unitarian Universalist Church -- but they will probably charge you a user fee.
I have never liked the idea of religion and money going hand in hand, except when the do-re-mi goes to a worthy and reliable charity. Otherwise, if I want to play basketball, I'll join a gym. And if I want to sit in a pretty parlor, I'll visit my granny.
You know how they did it at the Methodist Church? They were so hard-pressed to get the money to pay for the building and its upkeep that, on certain Sundays, they asked you to put dedicated charity money into a different envelope, so they would be sure to send that money to the charity! I call that double-dipping.
I will borrow today's punch line from Bard Andrew (see my sidebar, he's pretty cool).
You get up in the morning in a box. You get your breakfast from a box. You get into a box to drive to a box, where you work all day. Then you get back into your box, drive home to your box, and sit and stare at a box all evening.
To me, being a Pagan means getting out of that box, going out in the thunder and hail and sub-zero wind chills, out in the blistering heat and the glorious equinox weather, and pouring your love of the bored gods into the air, down into the earth, deep into the water, and across the hot coals of the fire. Leave the box behind! It's an expensive distraction.
Finally, let us not forget that, being meek, we will inherit the Earth after Rapture. Then we'll have our choice of so many fabulous buildings, all bought and paid for, and some with basketball courts -- also paid for!
Bide your time on that building campaign. Is there any roof prettier than the sky?
Today's sermon is inspired by a post from Hecate in which she discusses whether or not Pagans should start building community centers and sturdy places of worship. Churches, in other words.
Hold the phone. Count to ten, Pagans. Take a deep breath. Then sweep from your mind all notions of a warm and fuzzy community center where you can hold Rituals without dodging pellets of hail.
(Seriously, my Druid Grove once got pelted by hail during a Ritual.)
Just before I ceased and desisted being a Methodist, the church I attended began a vigorous campaign of building additions and renovations. I've been gone from that place for awhile now, and I went in to give blood a few months ago. Oh, you should see it! Big old gymnasium in the basement with a basketball court, and a brand new entryway that looks like Versailles... Jesus would be proud, I tell ya! Fresh paint on the three-story pillars, new carpet ... The church lady greeter remembered me, you see, so she was keen to give me an eyeball full of what I'd been missing.
You know what I saw? I saw fifty bucks out of my pocket twice a month to pay for Jesus Versailles. Bullet dodged!
I'm 100 percent sure that my Druidic ancestors did most of their praise and worship indoors. It gets cold in the British Isles in the wintertime. But our religions can evolve while still supporting the bored gods. In this case, I vote for evolving into outdoor praise and worship teams. There is literally no overhead if you go to the nearest park and do a gentle little ritual. For something bigger, you can go with a festival that will not take chunks of change from your daily lifestyle. If you are phobic about the outdoors, look for that friendly Unitarian Universalist Church -- but they will probably charge you a user fee.
I have never liked the idea of religion and money going hand in hand, except when the do-re-mi goes to a worthy and reliable charity. Otherwise, if I want to play basketball, I'll join a gym. And if I want to sit in a pretty parlor, I'll visit my granny.
You know how they did it at the Methodist Church? They were so hard-pressed to get the money to pay for the building and its upkeep that, on certain Sundays, they asked you to put dedicated charity money into a different envelope, so they would be sure to send that money to the charity! I call that double-dipping.
I will borrow today's punch line from Bard Andrew (see my sidebar, he's pretty cool).
You get up in the morning in a box. You get your breakfast from a box. You get into a box to drive to a box, where you work all day. Then you get back into your box, drive home to your box, and sit and stare at a box all evening.
To me, being a Pagan means getting out of that box, going out in the thunder and hail and sub-zero wind chills, out in the blistering heat and the glorious equinox weather, and pouring your love of the bored gods into the air, down into the earth, deep into the water, and across the hot coals of the fire. Leave the box behind! It's an expensive distraction.
Finally, let us not forget that, being meek, we will inherit the Earth after Rapture. Then we'll have our choice of so many fabulous buildings, all bought and paid for, and some with basketball courts -- also paid for!
Bide your time on that building campaign. Is there any roof prettier than the sky?
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Scary confession time: The only parts of my house and yard that are tidy and well-kept are the two shrines. All else is a cluttered, overgrown, unkempt, neglected mess.
Part of the reason everything else is a mess is because the shrines are important, and getting the pine needles off the driveway isn't. I don't sit on the driveway and commune with the pine needles. That's the purpose of a shrine, of which, as I said, I have two.
Sorry, I don't have any good pictures of my shrines. I haven't entered the 21st century yet in terms of photography. Appearance isn't important, anyway. What's important is the existence of shrines and their purpose in worship.
As humans we are wired to "look up" to certain people -- experts, priests, doctors, scholars. Religions are that way, too. Some people know more about the religion than others, so those people are looked to for guidance. Which doesn't always work out, I'm sure you'll agree.
If you're hearing this for the first time, listen up: Cut out the middle man and go straight to the gods.
If you trust your own ability to perceive, to think and to feel, you can be at one with the Divine, and you don't even need to have a specific, prescribed, delineated, and relentlessly studied Path. This is what I walked away from when I left Christianity ... and it's why I go off on tangents when I worship with other groups. At Druid Grove I'll feel Manito. Some nights at my outdoor shrine I'm greeted by the Green Man, but on other occasions it's Manannan, Loki, Santa Claus. The important thing is that deities will fill the silence if you just open up your heart and be still. You don't need to pray unless you want to. I find that the quieter I sit, and the less my mind works, the more powerful the bond between me and whatever deity crosses my path.
My indoor shrine is more directly dedicated to Queen Brighid the Bright, but when I center in stillness there I just feel Mother-love. It could be my great-grandmother reaching to me beyond the Veil. She was, in her time, a hedge witch with a merry spirit. Just touching the bench where I keep my wand and my crystals infuses me with Divine. In my particular case, I feel like the less I know in terms of knowledge, the more I know in terms of connection. Be still and know that Goddess is within. So, how many Goddesses are there? How many do you need? This is just me when I say, the more the merrier! I feel that many Higher Powers are at work, in my house, in my heart, in the world.
Now you know why I very rarely write about my particular praise and worship. There's just no easy explanation to offer. When you cut out the middle man, you're free to fling yourself into the thicket of Divine as a purely sensory experience. You stop asking questions, and you most especially stop asking for guidance, favors, luck, money ... all that stuff of which the apparent world is made.
Now you're saying, "Well, I really do need some help here. At least as much as my parents gave me when they taught me to ride a bike."
The only solid advice I can offer is to know your element. If you're a water person, you will derive the most communication with Divine from being around water. Ditto fire, earth, and air. I would add to those ... music. Music should be a whole element of itself, because just lumping it in with air doesn't give enough credit to the earth, upon which all toes tap and from which all instruments spring; or fire, which accompanies it from the vast arenas to the smallest altar candle.
Which element am I? *sigh* That's a question. Seek beyond the questions. Don't look for answers, look for Divine. Sometimes the answer is just .... Shhhhhhhhhh.
Oh yes. And harm none. Do no harm, that's my only Scripture. It's tough enough, and broad enough, that I'd rather not shoulder any more.
Come here for laughs, not lessons. The irony is that I'm paid to teach, even as I grope mindlessly and joyfully at the edge of the Veil.
Part of the reason everything else is a mess is because the shrines are important, and getting the pine needles off the driveway isn't. I don't sit on the driveway and commune with the pine needles. That's the purpose of a shrine, of which, as I said, I have two.
Sorry, I don't have any good pictures of my shrines. I haven't entered the 21st century yet in terms of photography. Appearance isn't important, anyway. What's important is the existence of shrines and their purpose in worship.
As humans we are wired to "look up" to certain people -- experts, priests, doctors, scholars. Religions are that way, too. Some people know more about the religion than others, so those people are looked to for guidance. Which doesn't always work out, I'm sure you'll agree.
If you're hearing this for the first time, listen up: Cut out the middle man and go straight to the gods.
If you trust your own ability to perceive, to think and to feel, you can be at one with the Divine, and you don't even need to have a specific, prescribed, delineated, and relentlessly studied Path. This is what I walked away from when I left Christianity ... and it's why I go off on tangents when I worship with other groups. At Druid Grove I'll feel Manito. Some nights at my outdoor shrine I'm greeted by the Green Man, but on other occasions it's Manannan, Loki, Santa Claus. The important thing is that deities will fill the silence if you just open up your heart and be still. You don't need to pray unless you want to. I find that the quieter I sit, and the less my mind works, the more powerful the bond between me and whatever deity crosses my path.
My indoor shrine is more directly dedicated to Queen Brighid the Bright, but when I center in stillness there I just feel Mother-love. It could be my great-grandmother reaching to me beyond the Veil. She was, in her time, a hedge witch with a merry spirit. Just touching the bench where I keep my wand and my crystals infuses me with Divine. In my particular case, I feel like the less I know in terms of knowledge, the more I know in terms of connection. Be still and know that Goddess is within. So, how many Goddesses are there? How many do you need? This is just me when I say, the more the merrier! I feel that many Higher Powers are at work, in my house, in my heart, in the world.
Now you know why I very rarely write about my particular praise and worship. There's just no easy explanation to offer. When you cut out the middle man, you're free to fling yourself into the thicket of Divine as a purely sensory experience. You stop asking questions, and you most especially stop asking for guidance, favors, luck, money ... all that stuff of which the apparent world is made.
Now you're saying, "Well, I really do need some help here. At least as much as my parents gave me when they taught me to ride a bike."
The only solid advice I can offer is to know your element. If you're a water person, you will derive the most communication with Divine from being around water. Ditto fire, earth, and air. I would add to those ... music. Music should be a whole element of itself, because just lumping it in with air doesn't give enough credit to the earth, upon which all toes tap and from which all instruments spring; or fire, which accompanies it from the vast arenas to the smallest altar candle.
Which element am I? *sigh* That's a question. Seek beyond the questions. Don't look for answers, look for Divine. Sometimes the answer is just .... Shhhhhhhhhh.
Oh yes. And harm none. Do no harm, that's my only Scripture. It's tough enough, and broad enough, that I'd rather not shoulder any more.
Come here for laughs, not lessons. The irony is that I'm paid to teach, even as I grope mindlessly and joyfully at the edge of the Veil.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" A quick note to President Obama: Yes, dear, Republicans think Democrats are stupid. You should have learned that in grade school. Bear it in mind in the future and act accordingly.
I was supposed to drive to Spoutwood Farm on Saturday to participate in a rehearsal of the pageant we're putting on there during the May Day Fairie Festival at Spoutwood, happening in just 11 short days! (Come and join the Mountain Tribe! We need you!)
On Friday I scuttled the trip after looking at the weather forecast. I've driven home from that area in driving rainstorms before, and I wasn't keen to revisit the experience.
Good thing I decided to stay home, because by mid-afternoon I'd developed a late season bout of the flu. I was pretty sick for about 24 hours, which nicely coincided with a "Tudors" marathon on the telly that was punctuated with numerous Doctor Who commercials.
Today I stayed home because I'm still weak as water. Zero energy. So Mr. J and I were watching random shows this morning. While I half dozed in the chair, he started watching a movie.
Eventually it woke me up because of all the screaming. Turns out it was about four girls in a coven who were wreaking black magic havoc, killing their schoolmates and eventually turning on each other. In the end, the "good witch" girl held all the power, having sent the "bad witch" girl to a padded cell, totally insane, and nearly killing the two others with a fallen tree branch.
This piece of rot was made probably in the 1980s or early 1990s, but it illustrates the pitfalls facing modern Pagans who are asked to speak to the media. Sadly, the people in the media who are asking the questions have most likely been raised on doses of bad witch movies rather than authentic experiences of Pagan practice. My friend Hecate has written some powerful and informative posts about the inevitable plight Pagans find themselves in when dealing with the press -- having to say what they are by explaining what they are not, and then the not gets thrown into the newspaper/telly/etc.
For example:
"We venerate the natural world and the deities within it, promising to harm none and to help all. We seek to restore a positive balance to our place on the planet by promoting sound environmental practices and by advocating for peace. We do not slaughter kittens in pentagrams or paint pentacles on tombstones in Christian cemeteries."
Quote used in the newspaper: "We do not slaughter kittens in pentagrams or paint pentacles on tombstones."
Most people really don't know what Pagans do or how they do it. Most people don't realize that the nice next-door neighbor is a Pagan, the librarian is a Pagan, the seamstress who alters your prom dress is way into Faerie, the fresh spice lady at the farmer's market is a Pagan.
Americans' views of Pagan practice are informed by bad movies, misinformation linking Paganism to Satanism, and deliberate smears on popular programs such as "Focus on the Family." It's very hard for us to counter these stereotypes, and frankly I don't see any pressing need to do so. Maybe it's the hillbilly in me speaking now, but I find that no amount of sane, scientific, or reasonable information will change the thinking of someone who has grown up believing that Pagans slaughter kittens (and hillbillies are lazy and ignorant). If you add to this the sad reality that the media will always chase down the one kitten-killer or lazy Appalachian and do a feature story on that person, you're just sunk.
Therefore, we at "The Gods Are Bored" suggest that Pagans stop talking and start doing. By doing, I mean acts of public charity. Fairy festivals. Earth Day observations. And yes, National Day of Prayer, at which we behave with all the humility and decorum of other faiths.
And as for Pagan Coming Out Day (May 2), I say move with extreme caution. You are up against hundreds of years of bad press that is still in full swing. Don't be surprised if, when you come out, the first thing you get asked about is kittens. I know. It happened to me.
I was supposed to drive to Spoutwood Farm on Saturday to participate in a rehearsal of the pageant we're putting on there during the May Day Fairie Festival at Spoutwood, happening in just 11 short days! (Come and join the Mountain Tribe! We need you!)
On Friday I scuttled the trip after looking at the weather forecast. I've driven home from that area in driving rainstorms before, and I wasn't keen to revisit the experience.
Good thing I decided to stay home, because by mid-afternoon I'd developed a late season bout of the flu. I was pretty sick for about 24 hours, which nicely coincided with a "Tudors" marathon on the telly that was punctuated with numerous Doctor Who commercials.
Today I stayed home because I'm still weak as water. Zero energy. So Mr. J and I were watching random shows this morning. While I half dozed in the chair, he started watching a movie.
Eventually it woke me up because of all the screaming. Turns out it was about four girls in a coven who were wreaking black magic havoc, killing their schoolmates and eventually turning on each other. In the end, the "good witch" girl held all the power, having sent the "bad witch" girl to a padded cell, totally insane, and nearly killing the two others with a fallen tree branch.
This piece of rot was made probably in the 1980s or early 1990s, but it illustrates the pitfalls facing modern Pagans who are asked to speak to the media. Sadly, the people in the media who are asking the questions have most likely been raised on doses of bad witch movies rather than authentic experiences of Pagan practice. My friend Hecate has written some powerful and informative posts about the inevitable plight Pagans find themselves in when dealing with the press -- having to say what they are by explaining what they are not, and then the not gets thrown into the newspaper/telly/etc.
For example:
"We venerate the natural world and the deities within it, promising to harm none and to help all. We seek to restore a positive balance to our place on the planet by promoting sound environmental practices and by advocating for peace. We do not slaughter kittens in pentagrams or paint pentacles on tombstones in Christian cemeteries."
Quote used in the newspaper: "We do not slaughter kittens in pentagrams or paint pentacles on tombstones."
Most people really don't know what Pagans do or how they do it. Most people don't realize that the nice next-door neighbor is a Pagan, the librarian is a Pagan, the seamstress who alters your prom dress is way into Faerie, the fresh spice lady at the farmer's market is a Pagan.
Americans' views of Pagan practice are informed by bad movies, misinformation linking Paganism to Satanism, and deliberate smears on popular programs such as "Focus on the Family." It's very hard for us to counter these stereotypes, and frankly I don't see any pressing need to do so. Maybe it's the hillbilly in me speaking now, but I find that no amount of sane, scientific, or reasonable information will change the thinking of someone who has grown up believing that Pagans slaughter kittens (and hillbillies are lazy and ignorant). If you add to this the sad reality that the media will always chase down the one kitten-killer or lazy Appalachian and do a feature story on that person, you're just sunk.
Therefore, we at "The Gods Are Bored" suggest that Pagans stop talking and start doing. By doing, I mean acts of public charity. Fairy festivals. Earth Day observations. And yes, National Day of Prayer, at which we behave with all the humility and decorum of other faiths.
And as for Pagan Coming Out Day (May 2), I say move with extreme caution. You are up against hundreds of years of bad press that is still in full swing. Don't be surprised if, when you come out, the first thing you get asked about is kittens. I know. It happened to me.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," demon-free deity devotion since 2005! I'm not saying that there are bored god pantheons out there that don't have evil deities in them (your basic Satan and his minions, only bored and forgotten), but we can be very selective about our clientele here. Evil can knock, but it can't get in.
Last night, when I should have been grading papers, I was reading blogs instead. I came across an interesting interview that Peg Aloi conducted with the Catholic priest upon whom this new exorcism movie, The Rite, is based. You can read the interview here http://themediawitches.blogspot.com/2011/01/interview-father-gary-thomas.html
What interested us here at "The Gods Are Bored" was this priest's observation that those who practice Native American religions "opens them up to a spirit realm that can be very dangerous."
Bamp! Wrong, wrong, wrong!
Worshiping another pantheon of deities, be it Celtic, Nordic, Native American, Congolese, you name it, does not open people to a "spirit realm that can be very dangerous." The danger lies in competition to the deity that Gary Thomas calls the "Supreme Being."
Something that's supreme is better than everything else, right?
That's why we at "The Gods Are Bored" reject the whole concept of YHWH as a Supreme Being. He's a Being, all right. No disputing that. But supreme? Why? Who says?
The only reason I can think of that Native Americans open themselves to a "spirit realm that can be very dangerous" is because they are praising and worshiping deities that Gary Thomas thinks are inferior to the Supreme Being. Hence, no protection from the Supreme Being.
So who says Native American spiritualists need protection from that source? We at "The Gods Are Bored" heartily support the platform that Native American deities will protect Native Americans from demons that conform to the praise and worship systems of Native Americans. Native American practitioners (or Celtic, or Nordic, etc. etc. etc.) need never fear demons from the Christian pantheon. It's kind of like being afraid of the weather patterns on Mars. You only need to worry about Mars if you live on Mars. If you don't, does a tornado there affect you?
We at "The Gods Are Bored" believe that some Christian people do find themselves possessed by demons. This is an unfortunate byproduct of the structure of that particular pantheon. I also feel that we who worship other voices in other rooms cannot help those who are possessed by Christian demons. It's not that our deities are powerless against them (see above), it's just that the problem was created by that pantheon and must be solved by that pantheon. We can sympathize and support, but we can't cast out and remain true to our deities.
This morning's Philadelphia Inquirer featured a front-page story about 37 Catholic priests -- just in this area -- who have been investigated for sexual abuse of children and adult parishioners. Some of these priests worked in parochial schools. In his interview with Ms. Aloi, Gary Thomas admits that this is a big problem in the Catholic Church, and he adds that John Paul II was sick for a long while and therefore not as effective as he could have been in combating the problem.
We here at "The Gods Are Bored" feel that the biggest danger to Roman Catholics is not demons, but the very people who are supposed to be their leaders. I wonder -- for every one person who spits up nails and speaks devil-language, how many thousands of people are out there who have been raped by priests? In other words, who are the real demons here?
We hereby propose a workable solution for you: Research your heritage and re-connect with the deities of your ancient ancestors. Go all the way back to before any Christianity seeped in, because you don't want those Christian demons loading you up with nails. Once you've found your ancestral religion, fall into the arms of the bored gods. You are not opening yourself up to a spirit realm that can be very dangerous. Quite the opposite. You're shutting the gate against a particular busy god and all the negatives that come with Him. As for the positives, your deities have those. Just ask. And then go forward doing the right thing, secure in the knowledge that no harm can come from you ... or into you.
May we be worthy of that which is given.
Last night, when I should have been grading papers, I was reading blogs instead. I came across an interesting interview that Peg Aloi conducted with the Catholic priest upon whom this new exorcism movie, The Rite, is based. You can read the interview here http://themediawitches.blogspot.com/2011/01/interview-father-gary-thomas.html
What interested us here at "The Gods Are Bored" was this priest's observation that those who practice Native American religions "opens them up to a spirit realm that can be very dangerous."
Bamp! Wrong, wrong, wrong!
Worshiping another pantheon of deities, be it Celtic, Nordic, Native American, Congolese, you name it, does not open people to a "spirit realm that can be very dangerous." The danger lies in competition to the deity that Gary Thomas calls the "Supreme Being."
Something that's supreme is better than everything else, right?
That's why we at "The Gods Are Bored" reject the whole concept of YHWH as a Supreme Being. He's a Being, all right. No disputing that. But supreme? Why? Who says?
The only reason I can think of that Native Americans open themselves to a "spirit realm that can be very dangerous" is because they are praising and worshiping deities that Gary Thomas thinks are inferior to the Supreme Being. Hence, no protection from the Supreme Being.
So who says Native American spiritualists need protection from that source? We at "The Gods Are Bored" heartily support the platform that Native American deities will protect Native Americans from demons that conform to the praise and worship systems of Native Americans. Native American practitioners (or Celtic, or Nordic, etc. etc. etc.) need never fear demons from the Christian pantheon. It's kind of like being afraid of the weather patterns on Mars. You only need to worry about Mars if you live on Mars. If you don't, does a tornado there affect you?
We at "The Gods Are Bored" believe that some Christian people do find themselves possessed by demons. This is an unfortunate byproduct of the structure of that particular pantheon. I also feel that we who worship other voices in other rooms cannot help those who are possessed by Christian demons. It's not that our deities are powerless against them (see above), it's just that the problem was created by that pantheon and must be solved by that pantheon. We can sympathize and support, but we can't cast out and remain true to our deities.
This morning's Philadelphia Inquirer featured a front-page story about 37 Catholic priests -- just in this area -- who have been investigated for sexual abuse of children and adult parishioners. Some of these priests worked in parochial schools. In his interview with Ms. Aloi, Gary Thomas admits that this is a big problem in the Catholic Church, and he adds that John Paul II was sick for a long while and therefore not as effective as he could have been in combating the problem.
We here at "The Gods Are Bored" feel that the biggest danger to Roman Catholics is not demons, but the very people who are supposed to be their leaders. I wonder -- for every one person who spits up nails and speaks devil-language, how many thousands of people are out there who have been raped by priests? In other words, who are the real demons here?
We hereby propose a workable solution for you: Research your heritage and re-connect with the deities of your ancient ancestors. Go all the way back to before any Christianity seeped in, because you don't want those Christian demons loading you up with nails. Once you've found your ancestral religion, fall into the arms of the bored gods. You are not opening yourself up to a spirit realm that can be very dangerous. Quite the opposite. You're shutting the gate against a particular busy god and all the negatives that come with Him. As for the positives, your deities have those. Just ask. And then go forward doing the right thing, secure in the knowledge that no harm can come from you ... or into you.
May we be worthy of that which is given.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" I'm not Jimmy Page or anything, but it's been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely lonely lonely time. What I mean is, it feels like a long time since I last wrote. No matter how I resolve to work less, my job sucks me in at 7:00 in the morning and rarely spits me out before 5:00, at which time I come home to fix dinner. On the weekends there are chores. And yes, Spare does help me with the chores and the cooking ... but it's a big job.
When the bored gods began to speak to me, I didn't know anyone else who followed the Pagan path. The only place I knew about where Pagan events were held was Four Quarters Farm, and it's out near my place on Polish Mountain. A long hike.
Then I started reading newspaper articles about an Episcopal priest over west of Philly who had lost his sinecure for putting Celtic-themed liturgies on his web site. The newspapers mentioned that he had started a Druid Grove that met at Ridley Creek State Park near Media, PA.
On Beltane in 2006 I blithely set off for Ridley Creek State Park with no more than the newspaper hint and a mapquest for directions to the park. Turns out Ridley Creek Park -- in addition to being beautiful and home to a state champion Black Oak -- is very, very large. Nevertheless, I eventually found the Druids at a picnic site.
Thus began a pleasant and spiritually fulfilling four years of Rituals in Ridley Creek Park, and a few close friendships with like-minded people. But our group was small, and fully half of it came from faraway Allentown. From a high of about 15 people, we soon dwindled to six, then four, then three, and last Samhain two. Imbolc has come and gone with no contact.
This is not alarming to the bored deities that we honored during our Rituals. The group has not disbanded in apostasy or schism. All members are still involved in other groups, mostly closer to where they live.
One of the first people to leave our group was its founder, and I recently heard from him. He has founded another group, Celtic Christians who meet in each other's homes, also in that area out west of Philly. I've heard a little bit about Celtic Christianity, but it's not for the bored God Mannanan MacLir, and it's not for me.
So it is with sadness that I sit here on a sunny afternoon, recalling Imbolcs past at Ridley Creek State Park.
My sadness is deepest when I think about the people in that Druid Grove, because it really and truly is difficult for me to fit in most places, including in Druidic groups. I'm apt to give a nod to some other bored deity rather than the prescribed ones. Not that anyone in my particular Druid Grove ever cared, but to a Druidic purist, saying howdy to Manitou might not be kosher. Also, I've never been accused of being a deep thinker (as anyone who reads here knows). All of my worship is through immediate sensory experience. Ergo, almost all of my knowledge of the bored Celtic deities comes from poetry, art, story, and vision, not from the vast literature of modern Druidism.
I know of a Druid Grove here in New Jersey. Once Spare and I went to one of their Rituals, and it was there that I got to meet Isaac Bonewits and hear him talk. But the evening Ritual held by that group disturbed me deeply. I sure didn't like the way they went about their praise and worship. (I've written on this before. Isaac didn't like it either, I later learned.)
The New Jersey Grove has a Facebook page. It's larger and has a dynamic leader. There are all sorts of Pagans at those Rituals, even people who worship the bored deities of Greece and Rome. Still it's not a fit for me.
Today I walk alone.
There's a beautiful mature oak grove that I can literally see from my window as I write this. But I'm not in the least tempted to try to start a seed group. You would understand completely if you had attended (with me) the New Jersey Pagan Pride day last fall, about three miles from my house.
All too often, Pagan Pride events bring out Satanists who are truly just worshiping their notion of Satan as an opponent to Yahweh. This group was well represented at the New Jersey Pagan Pride Day. It is the position of "The Gods Are Bored" that Satan is not bored. Satan is busy. And people who worship Satan as the anti-Yahweh are not even Pagans.
This is the opinion of "The Gods Are Bored" and need not reflect your own.
Having spent the happiest hours of my youth alone in the deep woods, I will return to that practice of immersing myself in some dark hollow, or some sunny meadow, or some ancient grove so remote that the loggers didn't figure it was worth the trouble. I know of these places, back home where I came up.
In the spring, if I'm able, I'll probably drive up to Allentown.
From whence do I draw comfort today, though? Ah, Ah! I'm not at a total loss.
My friends, this Druid bids you adieu to go to Wenonah, New Jersey, in order to watch a large flock of vultures descend to their nightly roost. If I'm going to do Rituals by myself, they certainly won't look or sound quite like anything sanctioned by any praise and worship team devoted to any particular pantheon.
When the bored gods began to speak to me, I didn't know anyone else who followed the Pagan path. The only place I knew about where Pagan events were held was Four Quarters Farm, and it's out near my place on Polish Mountain. A long hike.
Then I started reading newspaper articles about an Episcopal priest over west of Philly who had lost his sinecure for putting Celtic-themed liturgies on his web site. The newspapers mentioned that he had started a Druid Grove that met at Ridley Creek State Park near Media, PA.
On Beltane in 2006 I blithely set off for Ridley Creek State Park with no more than the newspaper hint and a mapquest for directions to the park. Turns out Ridley Creek Park -- in addition to being beautiful and home to a state champion Black Oak -- is very, very large. Nevertheless, I eventually found the Druids at a picnic site.
Thus began a pleasant and spiritually fulfilling four years of Rituals in Ridley Creek Park, and a few close friendships with like-minded people. But our group was small, and fully half of it came from faraway Allentown. From a high of about 15 people, we soon dwindled to six, then four, then three, and last Samhain two. Imbolc has come and gone with no contact.
This is not alarming to the bored deities that we honored during our Rituals. The group has not disbanded in apostasy or schism. All members are still involved in other groups, mostly closer to where they live.
One of the first people to leave our group was its founder, and I recently heard from him. He has founded another group, Celtic Christians who meet in each other's homes, also in that area out west of Philly. I've heard a little bit about Celtic Christianity, but it's not for the bored God Mannanan MacLir, and it's not for me.
So it is with sadness that I sit here on a sunny afternoon, recalling Imbolcs past at Ridley Creek State Park.
My sadness is deepest when I think about the people in that Druid Grove, because it really and truly is difficult for me to fit in most places, including in Druidic groups. I'm apt to give a nod to some other bored deity rather than the prescribed ones. Not that anyone in my particular Druid Grove ever cared, but to a Druidic purist, saying howdy to Manitou might not be kosher. Also, I've never been accused of being a deep thinker (as anyone who reads here knows). All of my worship is through immediate sensory experience. Ergo, almost all of my knowledge of the bored Celtic deities comes from poetry, art, story, and vision, not from the vast literature of modern Druidism.
I know of a Druid Grove here in New Jersey. Once Spare and I went to one of their Rituals, and it was there that I got to meet Isaac Bonewits and hear him talk. But the evening Ritual held by that group disturbed me deeply. I sure didn't like the way they went about their praise and worship. (I've written on this before. Isaac didn't like it either, I later learned.)
The New Jersey Grove has a Facebook page. It's larger and has a dynamic leader. There are all sorts of Pagans at those Rituals, even people who worship the bored deities of Greece and Rome. Still it's not a fit for me.
Today I walk alone.
There's a beautiful mature oak grove that I can literally see from my window as I write this. But I'm not in the least tempted to try to start a seed group. You would understand completely if you had attended (with me) the New Jersey Pagan Pride day last fall, about three miles from my house.
All too often, Pagan Pride events bring out Satanists who are truly just worshiping their notion of Satan as an opponent to Yahweh. This group was well represented at the New Jersey Pagan Pride Day. It is the position of "The Gods Are Bored" that Satan is not bored. Satan is busy. And people who worship Satan as the anti-Yahweh are not even Pagans.
This is the opinion of "The Gods Are Bored" and need not reflect your own.
Having spent the happiest hours of my youth alone in the deep woods, I will return to that practice of immersing myself in some dark hollow, or some sunny meadow, or some ancient grove so remote that the loggers didn't figure it was worth the trouble. I know of these places, back home where I came up.
In the spring, if I'm able, I'll probably drive up to Allentown.
From whence do I draw comfort today, though? Ah, Ah! I'm not at a total loss.
My friends, this Druid bids you adieu to go to Wenonah, New Jersey, in order to watch a large flock of vultures descend to their nightly roost. If I'm going to do Rituals by myself, they certainly won't look or sound quite like anything sanctioned by any praise and worship team devoted to any particular pantheon.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where yet another election cycle proves us right: Democracy doesn't work. Stupid people vote stupidly, against their own interests. So let's all eat cake as if we really have some! And stay healthy, folks. By all means, stay healthy.
No politics here today. There's more important news afoot. To whit, you are looking at the 2010 Community Group Costume First Prize Winners in the Snob Township Halloween Parade!
Yes, yes! The Monkey Man and I decided, quite upon the spur of the moment, to enter the Snob Township Halloween Parade instead of marching in the Snobville parade, which is really only a bunch of cute rich kids walking down the street with their parents. Snob Township has a real parade that gives out cash prizes for costumed "mummers." (Sorry that I stiffed you for photos, Wanda! Do you forgive me?)
Given about two hours to prepare for the event, I fell back on my Fairie Festival couture, and of course summoned the loyal dragon, Big Red. I figured the Monkey Man would be attired in his customary tie-dye and jester hat.
I was wrong. Monkey Man decided to attire himself as Edgar Allan Poe. He has a crow puppet that used to make a "caw" noise (until one liquor-fueled poetry gathering in which I made the crow caw too much and broke his vocal apparatus). On the beak of the crow you can see a sign: "Nevermore." And because the raven sits on a bust in the poem, Monkey Man had brought a bust of Mr. Spock. So when the judge came around to ask who we were, we said we represented Pizza and Poetry of Camden (true) and that MM was EAP and Big Red was the Jabberwock.
And so we marched into the autumn air, surrounded by other lively mummers. My guess is that we won in the community group category because we didn't have much competition. The costumed mummers were mostly families, teens, small floats. Stuff like that.
On Samhain morning I rose very early and drove to Ridley Creek State Park, where our Druid Grove meets. The only other member of our Grove who could come that day was Muin, and his time was limited. So we took a hike to the Pennsylvania champion black oak, out in the woods, and sat for awhile talking about our ancestors. We did nothing formal in the way of Ritual, but there was certainly something holy about sitting in the crisp leaves, backs to a 150-year-old oak, talking about faraway Scotland. I learned a good deal more about Muin than I knew before, all of it adding to the high esteem in which I hold him.
Drove back home, carved some jack-o-lanterns to keep away the bad spirits, and had the pleasure of spending the afternoon with my nearest and dearest. Heir was home from college, and she cobbled together a costume so she could walk around Snobville with the elusive Seitou (who only comes out on Halloween. Really.) Spare, now 16, insisted on trick-or-treating, but she came back with a small trove. It was the idea that counted, not the booty.
Family Johnson had a feast of a supper. Then Mr. Johnson had to drive Heir back to college.
I wanted to build a bonfire, but the hour was advancing and the breeze was just a tad stiff. So I kindled some dragon's blood and candles on the Shrine of the Mists and greeted the most deeply ancient bored deities, lost to the mists of time. It was like a receiving line -- me honoring Them, Them bestowing peace and gladness on me. After all the festivities, it was transporting to sit in wafts of incense, meditating on the Divine and all goodness.
Later, Spare and I watched "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" on YouTube. Amazing. If you haven't seen that in awhile, don't forget the inspired segment about the World War I Flying Ace. Terrific.
It wasn't until I slogged home Monday evening, dead exhausted from teaching, that I learned of the great triumph Monkey Man and I achieved. Oh, readers! I'm thrilled with it yet! And since it was the Monkey Man's idea to go to Snob Township instead of Snobville, I'm giving him the entire $25.00, even though I picked it up from Snobmont Hardware yesterday. I've got a nice buzzard card all picked out to put the dough in. Monkey Man deserves it!
If someone were to ask me the secret to life, I would have to say this: Act like a kid on those occasions when society welcomes it. Feel like a kid at all times. Lastly, on holy evenings, be still and know that They are with you. Your most distant ancestors appreciate the devotional.
The word of the Gods for the people of the Gods. Thanks be to the Gods! Breathe and be happy.
No politics here today. There's more important news afoot. To whit, you are looking at the 2010 Community Group Costume First Prize Winners in the Snob Township Halloween Parade!
Yes, yes! The Monkey Man and I decided, quite upon the spur of the moment, to enter the Snob Township Halloween Parade instead of marching in the Snobville parade, which is really only a bunch of cute rich kids walking down the street with their parents. Snob Township has a real parade that gives out cash prizes for costumed "mummers." (Sorry that I stiffed you for photos, Wanda! Do you forgive me?)
Given about two hours to prepare for the event, I fell back on my Fairie Festival couture, and of course summoned the loyal dragon, Big Red. I figured the Monkey Man would be attired in his customary tie-dye and jester hat.
I was wrong. Monkey Man decided to attire himself as Edgar Allan Poe. He has a crow puppet that used to make a "caw" noise (until one liquor-fueled poetry gathering in which I made the crow caw too much and broke his vocal apparatus). On the beak of the crow you can see a sign: "Nevermore." And because the raven sits on a bust in the poem, Monkey Man had brought a bust of Mr. Spock. So when the judge came around to ask who we were, we said we represented Pizza and Poetry of Camden (true) and that MM was EAP and Big Red was the Jabberwock.
And so we marched into the autumn air, surrounded by other lively mummers. My guess is that we won in the community group category because we didn't have much competition. The costumed mummers were mostly families, teens, small floats. Stuff like that.
On Samhain morning I rose very early and drove to Ridley Creek State Park, where our Druid Grove meets. The only other member of our Grove who could come that day was Muin, and his time was limited. So we took a hike to the Pennsylvania champion black oak, out in the woods, and sat for awhile talking about our ancestors. We did nothing formal in the way of Ritual, but there was certainly something holy about sitting in the crisp leaves, backs to a 150-year-old oak, talking about faraway Scotland. I learned a good deal more about Muin than I knew before, all of it adding to the high esteem in which I hold him.
Drove back home, carved some jack-o-lanterns to keep away the bad spirits, and had the pleasure of spending the afternoon with my nearest and dearest. Heir was home from college, and she cobbled together a costume so she could walk around Snobville with the elusive Seitou (who only comes out on Halloween. Really.) Spare, now 16, insisted on trick-or-treating, but she came back with a small trove. It was the idea that counted, not the booty.
Family Johnson had a feast of a supper. Then Mr. Johnson had to drive Heir back to college.
I wanted to build a bonfire, but the hour was advancing and the breeze was just a tad stiff. So I kindled some dragon's blood and candles on the Shrine of the Mists and greeted the most deeply ancient bored deities, lost to the mists of time. It was like a receiving line -- me honoring Them, Them bestowing peace and gladness on me. After all the festivities, it was transporting to sit in wafts of incense, meditating on the Divine and all goodness.
Later, Spare and I watched "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" on YouTube. Amazing. If you haven't seen that in awhile, don't forget the inspired segment about the World War I Flying Ace. Terrific.
It wasn't until I slogged home Monday evening, dead exhausted from teaching, that I learned of the great triumph Monkey Man and I achieved. Oh, readers! I'm thrilled with it yet! And since it was the Monkey Man's idea to go to Snob Township instead of Snobville, I'm giving him the entire $25.00, even though I picked it up from Snobmont Hardware yesterday. I've got a nice buzzard card all picked out to put the dough in. Monkey Man deserves it!
If someone were to ask me the secret to life, I would have to say this: Act like a kid on those occasions when society welcomes it. Feel like a kid at all times. Lastly, on holy evenings, be still and know that They are with you. Your most distant ancestors appreciate the devotional.
The word of the Gods for the people of the Gods. Thanks be to the Gods! Breathe and be happy.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Have a seat! I'll see if there's any pie left in the pantry.
If any of you are wondering why I'm not attending Saturday's March for Sanity, when it's just a little Amtrak hop from Philly, let me just say this: My application was denied.
That's okay. I don't want to be away from home on Samhain. Let's not sugar-coat things. There's a reason for the "spooky" traditions associated with Halloween.
Somewhere I read a snarky remark about the "superstitious Celts," who lit bonfires on Samhain because they were afraid of ghosts.
Just goes to show you that the way you word something can either make it sound brilliant or ridiculous.
So let's re-phrase.
Samhain marks the moment when the veil between the living and the dead grows thin. We wish to commune with Spirits, if those Spirits are loved ones or friends on the other side of the veil. But the existence of those Spirits presupposes that there are other, far less benign Spirits who we'd rather not have crashing around in the spare room.
You can call it superstition if you like, but I would prefer to say that we ought to be frightened of some energy. Not everyone goes peaceful into that long night. So at this time of the year, in addition to feeling my dear friend Tom in my kitchen, helping me tease the parrot, I also protect my home from the evil dead.
(Stop whistling Stevie Wonder! If you don't take Spirits seriously, you deserve their misguided wrath.)
You might ask: How does one protect a home from the evil dead? Well, what do you think that jack-o-lantern is for? And the funny thing is, the Celts didn't have pumpkins! Pumpkins are a New World food. The Celts carved turnips and hung them outside the door. They would have loved pumpkins!
Samhain is a good evening on which to smudge your home with a sage stick. Light the fragrant incense outside for your Ancestors and smudge the interior to keep unwelcome Guests out. There's a darker side to Samhain, under all that sugar-coating. It's the eerie awareness of death, the acceptance of a long tunnel of winter, a submission to the bored God Cernunnos -- He who knows both the bounty and the savagery of the forest. It's time to dance, but choose your partners carefully.
If any of this sounds "backward," then I have a question for you: How is it different from being told, by a guy in a long fancy robe, that some deity is going to come out of the sky and call your loved one up out of the grave ... but only if your loved one followed that deity while alive?
When you get right down to it, any engagement with death can be called "superstitious." None of it is, though. None of it.
If any of you are wondering why I'm not attending Saturday's March for Sanity, when it's just a little Amtrak hop from Philly, let me just say this: My application was denied.
That's okay. I don't want to be away from home on Samhain. Let's not sugar-coat things. There's a reason for the "spooky" traditions associated with Halloween.
Somewhere I read a snarky remark about the "superstitious Celts," who lit bonfires on Samhain because they were afraid of ghosts.
Just goes to show you that the way you word something can either make it sound brilliant or ridiculous.
So let's re-phrase.
Samhain marks the moment when the veil between the living and the dead grows thin. We wish to commune with Spirits, if those Spirits are loved ones or friends on the other side of the veil. But the existence of those Spirits presupposes that there are other, far less benign Spirits who we'd rather not have crashing around in the spare room.
You can call it superstition if you like, but I would prefer to say that we ought to be frightened of some energy. Not everyone goes peaceful into that long night. So at this time of the year, in addition to feeling my dear friend Tom in my kitchen, helping me tease the parrot, I also protect my home from the evil dead.
(Stop whistling Stevie Wonder! If you don't take Spirits seriously, you deserve their misguided wrath.)
You might ask: How does one protect a home from the evil dead? Well, what do you think that jack-o-lantern is for? And the funny thing is, the Celts didn't have pumpkins! Pumpkins are a New World food. The Celts carved turnips and hung them outside the door. They would have loved pumpkins!
Samhain is a good evening on which to smudge your home with a sage stick. Light the fragrant incense outside for your Ancestors and smudge the interior to keep unwelcome Guests out. There's a darker side to Samhain, under all that sugar-coating. It's the eerie awareness of death, the acceptance of a long tunnel of winter, a submission to the bored God Cernunnos -- He who knows both the bounty and the savagery of the forest. It's time to dance, but choose your partners carefully.
If any of this sounds "backward," then I have a question for you: How is it different from being told, by a guy in a long fancy robe, that some deity is going to come out of the sky and call your loved one up out of the grave ... but only if your loved one followed that deity while alive?
When you get right down to it, any engagement with death can be called "superstitious." None of it is, though. None of it.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored" at the height of fall colors! I could never live in a place where the seasons don't change. Could you?
Today a substitute teacher who is new to the school walked up to me and said, "I've been thinking about you. You made an impression on me." (We had lunch together once.)
Laughing, I said, "I'm memorable!"
Truth is, I bewitched him.
You read so much about what witches aren't, but very little about what they are, with the notable exception of my friend Hecate and some other serious bloggers.
See? I used the term "bewitched," and perhaps your mind already goes toward something sexual or dark. Actually, it's quite easy to bewitch people, and it is not done to harm them. I do it for mutual aid in almost all cases. In the other cases I do it for self-protection.
As I said, it's very easy to bewitch someone. All you need to do is listen to them talk and be genuinely interested in what they have to say. In the case of mutual aid, the person will trust you and have positive feelings about you. In the case of self-protection, the person will think you find them interesting, and that will deflect negativity.
What did I do to bewitch this substitute teacher? I listened to him tell his life story. It was an interesting story, told with verve and satisfaction, and I rewarded him for it by frankly telling him what a fascinating life he has led. I said very little about myself in the conversation. I concentrated on him.
Before you level the criticism that he might have been flirting, let me whack that idea down with the palm of my hand. I can bewitch a woman as easily, or more easily, than a man. Who ever listens to a woman, in our modern society? I do. And let me tell you, I have any number of women friends who find me "memorable."
I know some men who are quite adept at bewitching. (Again you start on the sex thing, again I smack you silly.) My husband's best friend has the charming ability to make anyone and everyone seem uniquely special. No matter how dull you think your life is, he will ask questions until he finds something in you that you are proud of, and then he celebrates it with you. Once he visited here when The Spare was nine. He spent an hour talking to her ... and she has never forgotten that, or him. And he is like that with everyone. He would not see himself as a witch, because our culture has been taught to hate and fear witches. But what he does is bewitch people. Thoroughly, without thought to personal gain.
What happens to a man who can bewitch people without conscious knowledge that he's doing so? Well, he grows up poor in Chicago, works his way into the journalism business without a college degree, becomes a famous columnist in Chicago, Detroit, and L.A., and winds up living in Palm Springs, married to Dean Martin's daughter. Unconscious magick! You've got to love it. This man deserves all the blessings he has received, and more.
Every day I face the daunting task of bewitching 115 students, age 14 and 15. Wow. Talk about a challenge! It is possible to do it, though. Rather exhausting, but doable.
If you strip the concept of bewitching of its sexual and romantic overtones, it becomes simply this: deep engagement with another person. If you are genuinely interested in other people's lives, a strange thing happens. They start liking you.
Yes, this power can be abused. I'll admit I've used it for my own ends at times. But never, never for sexual or romantic power over another. That would be harmful to myself and the other person. I recently bewitched someone because he has the power to get me fired, and he's a young, immature fellow. Trust me, I am not flirting with this man. I'm trying to alter the power grid.
Like Hecate, I'm tired of reading about what witches don't do. So here's something I actually practice, and do, and believe in. I mean no harm. This is a holy thing.
Laughing, I said, "I'm memorable!"
Truth is, I bewitched him.
You read so much about what witches aren't, but very little about what they are, with the notable exception of my friend Hecate and some other serious bloggers.
See? I used the term "bewitched," and perhaps your mind already goes toward something sexual or dark. Actually, it's quite easy to bewitch people, and it is not done to harm them. I do it for mutual aid in almost all cases. In the other cases I do it for self-protection.
As I said, it's very easy to bewitch someone. All you need to do is listen to them talk and be genuinely interested in what they have to say. In the case of mutual aid, the person will trust you and have positive feelings about you. In the case of self-protection, the person will think you find them interesting, and that will deflect negativity.
What did I do to bewitch this substitute teacher? I listened to him tell his life story. It was an interesting story, told with verve and satisfaction, and I rewarded him for it by frankly telling him what a fascinating life he has led. I said very little about myself in the conversation. I concentrated on him.
Before you level the criticism that he might have been flirting, let me whack that idea down with the palm of my hand. I can bewitch a woman as easily, or more easily, than a man. Who ever listens to a woman, in our modern society? I do. And let me tell you, I have any number of women friends who find me "memorable."
I know some men who are quite adept at bewitching. (Again you start on the sex thing, again I smack you silly.) My husband's best friend has the charming ability to make anyone and everyone seem uniquely special. No matter how dull you think your life is, he will ask questions until he finds something in you that you are proud of, and then he celebrates it with you. Once he visited here when The Spare was nine. He spent an hour talking to her ... and she has never forgotten that, or him. And he is like that with everyone. He would not see himself as a witch, because our culture has been taught to hate and fear witches. But what he does is bewitch people. Thoroughly, without thought to personal gain.
What happens to a man who can bewitch people without conscious knowledge that he's doing so? Well, he grows up poor in Chicago, works his way into the journalism business without a college degree, becomes a famous columnist in Chicago, Detroit, and L.A., and winds up living in Palm Springs, married to Dean Martin's daughter. Unconscious magick! You've got to love it. This man deserves all the blessings he has received, and more.
Every day I face the daunting task of bewitching 115 students, age 14 and 15. Wow. Talk about a challenge! It is possible to do it, though. Rather exhausting, but doable.
If you strip the concept of bewitching of its sexual and romantic overtones, it becomes simply this: deep engagement with another person. If you are genuinely interested in other people's lives, a strange thing happens. They start liking you.
Yes, this power can be abused. I'll admit I've used it for my own ends at times. But never, never for sexual or romantic power over another. That would be harmful to myself and the other person. I recently bewitched someone because he has the power to get me fired, and he's a young, immature fellow. Trust me, I am not flirting with this man. I'm trying to alter the power grid.
Like Hecate, I'm tired of reading about what witches don't do. So here's something I actually practice, and do, and believe in. I mean no harm. This is a holy thing.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," Samhain 2010 edition! Just think: It's been five years since we posted our first thoughts on Samhain. For those of you who are new here, you can find them in the archives.Yes, over the years, we at "The Gods Are Bored" have had plenty to say about witches, pumpkins, black cats, Chick tracts, on and on. True to our maxim never to take anything seriously, we've generally made light of the waning of the light.
As this year draws to an end, we don't see much of a change on the horizon, vis a vis "Gods Are Bored" and its inability to maintain a respectful demeanor. So, for my new followers, please be aware that the following sermon is uncharacteristically modest.
With that in mind, let's look at the New Year mindset of the Celts and the Romans.
The Celts celebrated the beginning of the New Year on what is now November 1. By this date all the crops were in, and it was good weather for outdoor bonfires.
The Romans celebrated the beginning of the New Year on January 1. I wanted to ask the Roman deities why that date was chosen, and you know what? Since Percy Jackson happened onto the best seller list, those deities are hard to get on the phone! Busy again! Yowsa yowsa yowsa!
Therefore I will speculate. I think the Romans chose January 1 because by that time the amount of daylight is just noticeably greater. The Romans were big on the sun. The Celts were big on the moon.
You know what I say? I go with the Celts on this one. It's a close call, though. Two good lawyers could put on quite a show making a case for solar vs. lunar.
I would take lunar because, as the descendant of farmer after farmer after farmer, I know how important it is to bring in the crops and to take stock to see if there's enough to get through the winter, and seeing that there is, to celebrate that fact. I remember the frenetic sessions of canning in my grandparents' kitchen, and I remember as well how beautiful those jars looked, sorted and stored on shelves, each with its own kind. Yellow peaches, red tomatoes, green beans, white corn, jelly. And when Grandma opened those peaches in the dead of winter -- oh, they tasted so good!
Bring in your harvest. Arrange it on the shelves and count. Do you have enough of everything to get through the long, cold winter?
I speak in metaphors, of course. Nevertheless, winter is coming. It will be cold and dark for months. Light a fire of gratitude to your deities if you feel grateful for what they have given you since the world grew warm.
In conclusion, I intend to teach transition words in composition class this week. Last week I taught rhetorical questions. Indeed, would you ever have guessed?
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," doling out obscure wordplay since 2005! If you get this title, you can't help yourself. You are Discordian!
Before today's sermon gets under way, I want to direct your attention to an interesting new blog called You, Me & Religion. This is an ongoing interview site in which people of various faith paths answer the same series of questions, from the point of view of their religions. It's the kind of broad spectrum forum that we of "The Gods Are Bored" find fascinating. The administrator only posts once a week, so it's an easy follow.
And now, on to today's sermon: The mosque at Ground Zero.
Yawn, yawn, yawn! Hasn't enough been said about this, and loudly, and with liberty and justice for all? Rants from the Right about a religion so evil that it celebrates the killing of 3,000 people and now wants to rub (Christian) America's nose in the destruction! Rants from the Left (yeah, Keith, that would be you) about our Founding Fathers weeping in their graves because those opposing a mosque near Ground Zero are trampling on the sacred Constitution... Rants, rants, rants!
It's time for some calm.
America (and here I include Islamic America), make yourself a cup of chamomile tea. Ground. Center. Breathe.
Now, let's be sensible.
If it is indeed true that Islam is just another religion with no motive beyond the worship of Allah (busy god, that Allah), then it would be good form for the people wishing to worship close to Ground Zero to heed the pulse of the nation and relocate. Polls indicate that the majority of Americans (myself included) think that this chosen site near Ground Zero is not the best for an Islamic community center. You will convince me otherwise if this center will be serving a resident Islamic community in that neighborhood. If there aren't Muslim kids playing stickball in the street around where that center would go, I say ... relocate.
However, having said that, I find it disgraceful that so many Americans would lump every follower of Allah into the same tarball as the jihadists who bombed the Trade Center. Are you serious, America? If Muslims were that dangerous, who would dare go to the shopping mall?
I guess some Muslims would want to tell me that building a community center near Ground Zero would be their way of memorializing the Muslims who were killed on 9/11. Point taken, but can I politely tell you to seek another means to that end? Now I will tell you why.
There's been so much publicity about this building, and so much hate and vitriol aimed at it, that I would be very surprised if the place got built and used without any social friction. This is my polite way of saying, "If you build it, they will bomb." And by they, I don't mean the grieving 9/11 families. I mean the nut cases out there who really believe every Muslim wants to bash buildings and brag about it.
The Muslim people who want to use that building will not be safe. It's as simple as that. Some maniac, inspired more by the Second Amendment than the First, will do a vigilante thing.
So, what exactly is the point of proceeding with this community center at this location, at this time? Reader, you know how I feel about the First Amendment. I'm not arguing their right to open a Mosque near Ground Zero. I'm arguing their reason for doing it. Did Allah tell them they had to buy that building?
So I guess if I was on a show called Countdown with Anne Johnson, I wouldn't spend 11 minutes railing about freedom of religion. I'd spend two minutes counseling a little common sense. Then I would have nine minutes in which to show you how to remove that pesky chocolate smear from your favorite recliner. There's high-minded principle, and there's everyday reality. And in everyday reality, if you're gonna build a place of worship that will serve your people safely, you heed the social tenor before breaking ground.
As our ushers pass the plate, it's time to remind you that Druids don't build any kind of structures for their worship. We're not smarter or better than Muslims. But in today's America I think we run less risk of drawing nutcase ire ... and hence, nutcase fire.
Good night and good luck.
Before today's sermon gets under way, I want to direct your attention to an interesting new blog called You, Me & Religion. This is an ongoing interview site in which people of various faith paths answer the same series of questions, from the point of view of their religions. It's the kind of broad spectrum forum that we of "The Gods Are Bored" find fascinating. The administrator only posts once a week, so it's an easy follow.
And now, on to today's sermon: The mosque at Ground Zero.
Yawn, yawn, yawn! Hasn't enough been said about this, and loudly, and with liberty and justice for all? Rants from the Right about a religion so evil that it celebrates the killing of 3,000 people and now wants to rub (Christian) America's nose in the destruction! Rants from the Left (yeah, Keith, that would be you) about our Founding Fathers weeping in their graves because those opposing a mosque near Ground Zero are trampling on the sacred Constitution... Rants, rants, rants!
It's time for some calm.
America (and here I include Islamic America), make yourself a cup of chamomile tea. Ground. Center. Breathe.
Now, let's be sensible.
If it is indeed true that Islam is just another religion with no motive beyond the worship of Allah (busy god, that Allah), then it would be good form for the people wishing to worship close to Ground Zero to heed the pulse of the nation and relocate. Polls indicate that the majority of Americans (myself included) think that this chosen site near Ground Zero is not the best for an Islamic community center. You will convince me otherwise if this center will be serving a resident Islamic community in that neighborhood. If there aren't Muslim kids playing stickball in the street around where that center would go, I say ... relocate.
However, having said that, I find it disgraceful that so many Americans would lump every follower of Allah into the same tarball as the jihadists who bombed the Trade Center. Are you serious, America? If Muslims were that dangerous, who would dare go to the shopping mall?
I guess some Muslims would want to tell me that building a community center near Ground Zero would be their way of memorializing the Muslims who were killed on 9/11. Point taken, but can I politely tell you to seek another means to that end? Now I will tell you why.
There's been so much publicity about this building, and so much hate and vitriol aimed at it, that I would be very surprised if the place got built and used without any social friction. This is my polite way of saying, "If you build it, they will bomb." And by they, I don't mean the grieving 9/11 families. I mean the nut cases out there who really believe every Muslim wants to bash buildings and brag about it.
The Muslim people who want to use that building will not be safe. It's as simple as that. Some maniac, inspired more by the Second Amendment than the First, will do a vigilante thing.
So, what exactly is the point of proceeding with this community center at this location, at this time? Reader, you know how I feel about the First Amendment. I'm not arguing their right to open a Mosque near Ground Zero. I'm arguing their reason for doing it. Did Allah tell them they had to buy that building?
So I guess if I was on a show called Countdown with Anne Johnson, I wouldn't spend 11 minutes railing about freedom of religion. I'd spend two minutes counseling a little common sense. Then I would have nine minutes in which to show you how to remove that pesky chocolate smear from your favorite recliner. There's high-minded principle, and there's everyday reality. And in everyday reality, if you're gonna build a place of worship that will serve your people safely, you heed the social tenor before breaking ground.
As our ushers pass the plate, it's time to remind you that Druids don't build any kind of structures for their worship. We're not smarter or better than Muslims. But in today's America I think we run less risk of drawing nutcase ire ... and hence, nutcase fire.
Good night and good luck.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we've swapped the great I Am for the great We Are! There's a long line of deities who would love to have your attention -- why direct it to One who is chock a block with followers? Explore, explore!
We at "The Gods Are Bored" add our sorrow to the many who are marking the passing of Isaac Bonewits to the Summerlands. What a wise and interesting man! Isaac was possibly the most visible Druid in America, author of many works on magick and theology, founder and leader of the ... oh gosh, we declared war on acronyms here ... Ar nDraiocht Fein (accents missing), translating to A Druid Fellowship. It's hard to pin numbers on Druid activity in America, but Ar nDraiocht Fein is probably either the largest or second largest group in the United States.
Several years ago, Spare and I went to an Ar nDraiocht Fein gathering in the Jersey Pine Barrens at which Isaac spoke at length about the founding of ADF (okay, I give up) and its organizational goals. He said two things that day that sat in my mind: First, that Druid leaders should be as scrupulous about their theological educations as pastors of other faiths; and second, that doing praise and worship out of doors eliminates not only the costly church buildings that become drains on personal and outreach income, but also "boxes" that shut humanity off from the fabulous world in all its majesty.
We did a Ritual that day in the Pinelands, but Isaac did not preside, nor did Skip Ellison, who was the Archdruid at that time. One of the principal glories of Druidism is that no one in particular "presides." We stand in a circle, the tall and the small. I like that.
From personal experience and from everything I've ever read by and about Isaac, I can only conclude that he was a first-rate champion of the bored gods whose life was dedicated to Them. May Queen Brighid the Bright guide him to the gates of Avalon!
Postscript: Isaac was a freelance writer and speaker whose costly medical treatments were not covered by insurance. If you would like to donate to his memorial, you can go to http://www.neopagan.net and put a little jingle toward his expenses. If everyone who reads "The Gods Are Bored" would do that, Isaac's family might be able to buy a few bottles of mead with which to toast his memory.
We at "The Gods Are Bored" add our sorrow to the many who are marking the passing of Isaac Bonewits to the Summerlands. What a wise and interesting man! Isaac was possibly the most visible Druid in America, author of many works on magick and theology, founder and leader of the ... oh gosh, we declared war on acronyms here ... Ar nDraiocht Fein (accents missing), translating to A Druid Fellowship. It's hard to pin numbers on Druid activity in America, but Ar nDraiocht Fein is probably either the largest or second largest group in the United States.
Several years ago, Spare and I went to an Ar nDraiocht Fein gathering in the Jersey Pine Barrens at which Isaac spoke at length about the founding of ADF (okay, I give up) and its organizational goals. He said two things that day that sat in my mind: First, that Druid leaders should be as scrupulous about their theological educations as pastors of other faiths; and second, that doing praise and worship out of doors eliminates not only the costly church buildings that become drains on personal and outreach income, but also "boxes" that shut humanity off from the fabulous world in all its majesty.
We did a Ritual that day in the Pinelands, but Isaac did not preside, nor did Skip Ellison, who was the Archdruid at that time. One of the principal glories of Druidism is that no one in particular "presides." We stand in a circle, the tall and the small. I like that.
From personal experience and from everything I've ever read by and about Isaac, I can only conclude that he was a first-rate champion of the bored gods whose life was dedicated to Them. May Queen Brighid the Bright guide him to the gates of Avalon!
Postscript: Isaac was a freelance writer and speaker whose costly medical treatments were not covered by insurance. If you would like to donate to his memorial, you can go to http://www.neopagan.net and put a little jingle toward his expenses. If everyone who reads "The Gods Are Bored" would do that, Isaac's family might be able to buy a few bottles of mead with which to toast his memory.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" I am your exhausted host, Anne Johnson. Anne Johnson is my real name. I think.
Last summer I successfully memorized "Miracles," by Walt Whitman. Reciting it has given me pleasure all year long. Therefore I am commencing another memorization task. It is the famous "first poem of Ireland," a work called "The Mystery," by Amergin.
See what you think:
I am the wind that breathes upon the sea
I am the wave of the ocean
I am the murmur of the billows
I am the ox of the seven combats
I am the vulture upon the rocks
I am a beam of the sun
I am the fairest of plants
I am a wild boar in valor
I am a salmon in the water
I am a lake in the plain
I am a word of science
I am a point of the lance of battle
I am the God who created in the head the fire.
Who is it that throws light into the meeting on the mountain?
Who announces the ages of the moon?
Who teaches the place where couches the sun?
If not I?
These repetitious ones are tough, but worth the effort. And pinky swear, I didn't add the part about the vulture. It was already there.
Last summer I successfully memorized "Miracles," by Walt Whitman. Reciting it has given me pleasure all year long. Therefore I am commencing another memorization task. It is the famous "first poem of Ireland," a work called "The Mystery," by Amergin.
See what you think:
I am the wind that breathes upon the sea
I am the wave of the ocean
I am the murmur of the billows
I am the ox of the seven combats
I am the vulture upon the rocks
I am a beam of the sun
I am the fairest of plants
I am a wild boar in valor
I am a salmon in the water
I am a lake in the plain
I am a word of science
I am a point of the lance of battle
I am the God who created in the head the fire.
Who is it that throws light into the meeting on the mountain?
Who announces the ages of the moon?
Who teaches the place where couches the sun?
If not I?
These repetitious ones are tough, but worth the effort. And pinky swear, I didn't add the part about the vulture. It was already there.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Are you looking for a deity to praise and worship? Our Gods and Goddesses must pass rigorous, continuous, and unscheduled evaluations in which we measure disciple satisfaction and engagement with all sacred practice...
Wait a minute. Scratch that. Sounds like a textbook for teacher training. You need a deity? We'll serve you. Satisfaction guaranteed.
Yesterday the Shrine of the Mists partly emerged from its thick mantle of snow. This evening I re-lit the candle to Cernunnos, the Horned One, guardian of the forests. As luck would have it, the thrift store had one each red, blue, green, and white candle -- it's been too snowy to get to Woodstock Trading Company for Quarters candles. But now I have some, and they are kindled to the Quarters and dedicated to Queen Brighid the Bright, Goddess of the home and hearth.
I also pray peace from the Quarters. Perhaps you've noticed this: Without peace, nothing gets done.
My practice, as I have said before, is very simple. I light candles, I salute the Quarters, I honor Danu and Bile, Brighid and Cernunnos. My only prayer is for peace throughout the world.
I've never accepted the notion that someone -- human or divine -- died to take my sins away. My sins are my own. They are my responsibility. I must work to make myself better and more pleasing to my deities. Just a little "I'm sorry" is not enough.
There's no solid rock under my feet, because even rock crumbles. Sand is nothing but tiny bits of rock. So I move with life and try to do my best not to harm anyone. I don't think that eating a little piece of blessed bread and drinking a little cup of blessed wine is going to cleanse me. For that cleansing I'll need my own scrub brush and a mirror, so I can see what needs to be washed away.
As I light my dusk candles and pray for peace, I'm including in my prayers the inner peace we all need to do our work. Without peace, nothing gets done.
Off I go into another week of my life. I'm led by deities that ask me to consider the value of knowledge, justice, and the love of divine and all goodness.
Goodness! It's my responsibility.What a daunting task! But it must be done. With peace first, so the doing is possible.
My friends, may your deities be lights in your lives. May you be a light to Them, easing Their boredom and giving them cause to rejoice. So might it be.
Wait a minute. Scratch that. Sounds like a textbook for teacher training. You need a deity? We'll serve you. Satisfaction guaranteed.
Yesterday the Shrine of the Mists partly emerged from its thick mantle of snow. This evening I re-lit the candle to Cernunnos, the Horned One, guardian of the forests. As luck would have it, the thrift store had one each red, blue, green, and white candle -- it's been too snowy to get to Woodstock Trading Company for Quarters candles. But now I have some, and they are kindled to the Quarters and dedicated to Queen Brighid the Bright, Goddess of the home and hearth.
I also pray peace from the Quarters. Perhaps you've noticed this: Without peace, nothing gets done.
My practice, as I have said before, is very simple. I light candles, I salute the Quarters, I honor Danu and Bile, Brighid and Cernunnos. My only prayer is for peace throughout the world.
I've never accepted the notion that someone -- human or divine -- died to take my sins away. My sins are my own. They are my responsibility. I must work to make myself better and more pleasing to my deities. Just a little "I'm sorry" is not enough.
There's no solid rock under my feet, because even rock crumbles. Sand is nothing but tiny bits of rock. So I move with life and try to do my best not to harm anyone. I don't think that eating a little piece of blessed bread and drinking a little cup of blessed wine is going to cleanse me. For that cleansing I'll need my own scrub brush and a mirror, so I can see what needs to be washed away.
As I light my dusk candles and pray for peace, I'm including in my prayers the inner peace we all need to do our work. Without peace, nothing gets done.
Off I go into another week of my life. I'm led by deities that ask me to consider the value of knowledge, justice, and the love of divine and all goodness.
Goodness! It's my responsibility.What a daunting task! But it must be done. With peace first, so the doing is possible.
My friends, may your deities be lights in your lives. May you be a light to Them, easing Their boredom and giving them cause to rejoice. So might it be.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored on Imbolc, 2010! Sorry, but I'm not going to ask my netbook, Lil Scratch, to load a picture. I treat my Scratchy gently.
Our Druid Grove had a nippy but moving Imbolc ritual on Sunday. On the way out to the park, my daughter The Spare and I had a long conversation that got me thinking about Queen Brighid the Bright.
The conversation was about all the different animals that can kill people. For some reason we concentrated on the African plains. Spare asked: what animals could kill a person? Must hurt to be attacked by a lion. How about leopards? Do they eat people? How about a wildebeest? Chimp?
When you get right down to it, most of the animals of the African savannah could kick human butt. I said to The Spare: "You know what we have that the lions don't? Fire."
I don't know which came first -- fire or spears. All I know is that, if I had to choose one with the lions closing in, I would totally opt for fire.
Some praise and worship teams treat fire as an evil, something that humanity would be better without. The Bible does not share this view. It takes fire as a given. But look at poor old Prometheus. Tortured for eternity. Crime? Giving humanity fire.
The Celts had a different view. Fire was of course sacred to them, but it was also considered a gift from the Goddess. No quibbles here ... to the Celts, fire was a present. Not a curse. You've got wolves in the woods? Fire is handy. Cold outside? Ditto.
On this Imbolc, thank the Goddess, Queen Brighid the Bright, for your warm hearth and the bright goodness of fire. It was not She who put it to work as a weapon. From Her it is a gift.
Cook. Be warm. Bring light into the world. Never should a Goddess be bored who helps us feed and protect our children.
Eternal flaming Spirit, enfold us. Foremother of our foremothers, be with us. All will be well. All will be warm. And all that is warm will be wonderful.
Our Druid Grove had a nippy but moving Imbolc ritual on Sunday. On the way out to the park, my daughter The Spare and I had a long conversation that got me thinking about Queen Brighid the Bright.
The conversation was about all the different animals that can kill people. For some reason we concentrated on the African plains. Spare asked: what animals could kill a person? Must hurt to be attacked by a lion. How about leopards? Do they eat people? How about a wildebeest? Chimp?
When you get right down to it, most of the animals of the African savannah could kick human butt. I said to The Spare: "You know what we have that the lions don't? Fire."
I don't know which came first -- fire or spears. All I know is that, if I had to choose one with the lions closing in, I would totally opt for fire.
Some praise and worship teams treat fire as an evil, something that humanity would be better without. The Bible does not share this view. It takes fire as a given. But look at poor old Prometheus. Tortured for eternity. Crime? Giving humanity fire.
The Celts had a different view. Fire was of course sacred to them, but it was also considered a gift from the Goddess. No quibbles here ... to the Celts, fire was a present. Not a curse. You've got wolves in the woods? Fire is handy. Cold outside? Ditto.
On this Imbolc, thank the Goddess, Queen Brighid the Bright, for your warm hearth and the bright goodness of fire. It was not She who put it to work as a weapon. From Her it is a gift.
Cook. Be warm. Bring light into the world. Never should a Goddess be bored who helps us feed and protect our children.
Eternal flaming Spirit, enfold us. Foremother of our foremothers, be with us. All will be well. All will be warm. And all that is warm will be wonderful.
'Twas the night before Solstice, and out on the lawn
Dear Annie was dancing ... a snow day was on!
On Solstice, you see, she'd have nothing to do,
Except oh, perhaps, for a small chore or two.
So after The Heir and The Spare she did kiss,
She took several candles to Shrine of the Mists.
But out in the rear of the house, don't you know,
Was an 18-inch layer of crystalline snow.
It blotted the shrine from the ground to the tip,
If you didn't know quite how to find it, you'd slip.
With a broom from the house Annie cleared out a space
Where the candles could sit comfortably in their place.
Just after sunrise the very next day,
Anne lit her candles. For peace did she pray.
Then onward she trudged in search of her mittens,
She had to return to the shelter two kittens.
She had to do laundry, she had to grade tests
How quickly she learned that for her, there's no rest!
Now darkness has fallen upon Solstice Day,
And Annie is tired, as always, oy vay!
When down to this blog she finally did sit,
She'd nearly forgotten the candles were lit.
She glanced out the window, and they were still there,
So she whistled and called to The Heir and The Spare.
For deep in a bowl of dimond-bright snow
A cluster of candles continued to glow.
So close to the ground that you can't see the flames
But the flick'ring reflections are playing bright games.
The faeries of winter will dance in this light.
Merry Solstice to all, and to all a good night.
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Shop early and save on shipping! We have plenty of fabulous bored deities in stock. Our apologies, but Archangels are on back order and will not ship prior to the holidays. Please browse our collection for an alternate selection!
Prior to today's sermon, I would just like to say that Mr. Johnson was away last week for a few days, and my daughter The Spare and I had loads of fun together while he was gone. Most of it was holiday related, since Spare is 15 -- and you know how young teens feel about certain holidays. The favorite moments for me occurred when we stood in a line of tots and parents to see Santa Claus, just for the joy of seeing the kids all excited. (Spare didn't sit on Santa's lap. I'm sure Santa was desperately disappointed by that.) The next night we strolled the streets of Snobville and saw Santa again. This time, a barbershop quartet was with him. They were singing, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus." So of course I did kiss Santa Claus, and Spare did her best "shock face." She is a natural comedienne. We are going to own the Spoutwood Fairie Festival next year.
On to the sermon:
My friend Maebius tagged me to write on the following theme:
What religions do you find most interesting apart from your own? Would you pick one of the major world religions? Say Islam, or Buddhism, or Hinduism or Judaism? Or would you pick something more obscure, like Wicca or Taosim or Rastafarianism or Gnosticism? Would you pick irreligion, say Atheism or Agnosticism? Or if you're not Christian, would you say Christianity?
To me, every path, or tradition, or mystical experience, is equally fascinating. Why? Because I am interested in people.
The vast majority of us feel that Higher Powers exist -- superior beings, if you will. What differs is how we approach the divine. And wowsa, there are so many different ways to approach the divine!
You can put on an Ann Taylor suit and heels and go out on Sunday morning to the Methodist church, where you will be treated to a Bach selection on a $100,000 organ and perhaps a rendition of "The Messiah" by a 75-voice choir ... then a sermon on how to behave wisely and compassionately, which you won't pay attention to because your heels are giving you blisters and it's almost time for the Eagles kickoff.
You can stand in the sun and whirl around until you throw yourself into a trance state.
You can sit in a room and eat some shrooms and wait for your brain to open to higher levels. (Do not mistake this for an endorsement of hallucinogens. Did it sound like I was endorsing the Methodist church?)
You can chant, or meditate, or learn Cabala, or kiss the Torah, or dance in a drum circle, or stand in St. Peter's Square in a throng, waiting for a glimpse of the pope. You can sit at the feet of the Dalai Lama to learn his wisdom. You can work with Maitreya, you can be Asatru, Wiccan, Discordian, Buddhist, or even a Jehovah's Witness. All to me are fascinating.
EXHIBIT A: ANNE ENGAGED IN PRAISE AND WORSHIP
Why do we seek to commune with Higher Powers? Is it just because we're afraid of death, and we're self-medicating with false promises of something beyond that final breath? (I'm interested in atheists too.)
To me, all praise and worship springs from two sources: the mystical, which some of us experience, and the cognitive, which all of us experience. Our cognitive (thinking) praise and worship depends on our cultural constructs, most especially how our parents or friends or society approach the divine. Ask most Methodists why they are Methodists, and they'll say it's because they were raised Methodist. So for me, what's most interesting is the culture from which the praise and worship springs. That's why "The Gods Are Bored" invites so many ancient deities to visit -- because I'm interested in cultures that no longer exist, therefore their deities have been unfairly relegated to "myth."
What I don't like, as many of you know, is the propensity of certain faiths to proselytize and seek new members in places and cultures where a religious path already exists that is unique to that culture. It's downright disrespectful. Leave those Fiji Islanders alone! They've got it going. They do not need Jesus. Give them the antibiotics, and let them go ahead and praise their deities. Why is yours so much better? Breaking news: He's not.
In summary, we at "The Gods Are Bored" would say that the divine is universal, and the understanding of it is cultural, historical, and subject to change. Those who interpret the divine are people. People are imperfect. To me, it's those imperfections that make us fascinating and infuriating. The religion I find most interesting apart from my own is yes.
Prior to today's sermon, I would just like to say that Mr. Johnson was away last week for a few days, and my daughter The Spare and I had loads of fun together while he was gone. Most of it was holiday related, since Spare is 15 -- and you know how young teens feel about certain holidays. The favorite moments for me occurred when we stood in a line of tots and parents to see Santa Claus, just for the joy of seeing the kids all excited. (Spare didn't sit on Santa's lap. I'm sure Santa was desperately disappointed by that.) The next night we strolled the streets of Snobville and saw Santa again. This time, a barbershop quartet was with him. They were singing, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus." So of course I did kiss Santa Claus, and Spare did her best "shock face." She is a natural comedienne. We are going to own the Spoutwood Fairie Festival next year.
On to the sermon:
My friend Maebius tagged me to write on the following theme:
What religions do you find most interesting apart from your own? Would you pick one of the major world religions? Say Islam, or Buddhism, or Hinduism or Judaism? Or would you pick something more obscure, like Wicca or Taosim or Rastafarianism or Gnosticism? Would you pick irreligion, say Atheism or Agnosticism? Or if you're not Christian, would you say Christianity?
To me, every path, or tradition, or mystical experience, is equally fascinating. Why? Because I am interested in people.
The vast majority of us feel that Higher Powers exist -- superior beings, if you will. What differs is how we approach the divine. And wowsa, there are so many different ways to approach the divine!
You can put on an Ann Taylor suit and heels and go out on Sunday morning to the Methodist church, where you will be treated to a Bach selection on a $100,000 organ and perhaps a rendition of "The Messiah" by a 75-voice choir ... then a sermon on how to behave wisely and compassionately, which you won't pay attention to because your heels are giving you blisters and it's almost time for the Eagles kickoff.
You can stand in the sun and whirl around until you throw yourself into a trance state.
You can sit in a room and eat some shrooms and wait for your brain to open to higher levels. (Do not mistake this for an endorsement of hallucinogens. Did it sound like I was endorsing the Methodist church?)
You can chant, or meditate, or learn Cabala, or kiss the Torah, or dance in a drum circle, or stand in St. Peter's Square in a throng, waiting for a glimpse of the pope. You can sit at the feet of the Dalai Lama to learn his wisdom. You can work with Maitreya, you can be Asatru, Wiccan, Discordian, Buddhist, or even a Jehovah's Witness. All to me are fascinating.
EXHIBIT A: ANNE ENGAGED IN PRAISE AND WORSHIP
Why do we seek to commune with Higher Powers? Is it just because we're afraid of death, and we're self-medicating with false promises of something beyond that final breath? (I'm interested in atheists too.)
To me, all praise and worship springs from two sources: the mystical, which some of us experience, and the cognitive, which all of us experience. Our cognitive (thinking) praise and worship depends on our cultural constructs, most especially how our parents or friends or society approach the divine. Ask most Methodists why they are Methodists, and they'll say it's because they were raised Methodist. So for me, what's most interesting is the culture from which the praise and worship springs. That's why "The Gods Are Bored" invites so many ancient deities to visit -- because I'm interested in cultures that no longer exist, therefore their deities have been unfairly relegated to "myth."
What I don't like, as many of you know, is the propensity of certain faiths to proselytize and seek new members in places and cultures where a religious path already exists that is unique to that culture. It's downright disrespectful. Leave those Fiji Islanders alone! They've got it going. They do not need Jesus. Give them the antibiotics, and let them go ahead and praise their deities. Why is yours so much better? Breaking news: He's not.
In summary, we at "The Gods Are Bored" would say that the divine is universal, and the understanding of it is cultural, historical, and subject to change. Those who interpret the divine are people. People are imperfect. To me, it's those imperfections that make us fascinating and infuriating. The religion I find most interesting apart from my own is yes.
