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Category: Personal Reflections

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Published on 1 Comment on A grain of salt
Three "single serve" packets of salt on a wood table.

We didn't go to fast food restaurants when I was a kid. As a teen witch, I became a bit fixated on acquiring salt packets, but since my family didn't eat out, there weren't many opportunities to pick some up. By the time I was earning my own money and could choose to eat out, I was a vegetarian... this was before most major fast food restaurants had a veggie option on their menu.

The books I was reading as a teen Pagan recommended carrying a portable ritual or magic kit with you. Since salt is so useful to Pagans--cleansing, protection, earth symbolism--magic-to-go supply lists would always include salt, often with the note that fast food restaurant packets are convenient and light weight.

In these books, carrying magic supplies with you was treated like carrying CPR supplies in your purse, or a fire extinguisher in your car, or a Naloxone kit if you are likely to encounter people who overdose. It was a responsible thing to do.

When I was a baby Pagan, some part of me imagined that one day I would encounter some sort of spiritual or supernatural crisis that would require emergency magical intervention. I didn't really believe it: it was a fantasy; an excuse to imagine myself as the hero because I was the only person ready for this kind of crisis... the only person equipped with salt and the secret of how to use it. A lot of new magic users have this type of fantasy, I think. Certainly, I've run across a lot of hints of it in the Pagan community.

I had been listening to a podcast about the QAnon cult, and when a handful of salt packets arrived in my dinner delivery, it made me think of how, when I was fifteen, sixteen, I would have found some of the QAnon stuff, especially the "save the children" part, appealing: the idea that marching with a sign and knowing the right incantations to chant would magically change the world. It would be a chance to be a hero, after all, at no personal risk and with no difficult changes or sacrifices needed. And if it wasn't distracting from real problems, if it wasn't causing real life harm, if it wasn't consuming resources needed for real crises, it would be no worse than carrying a packet of salt in case an emergency space cleansing was suddenly needed. It doesn't surprise me that some people take QAnon to the next level: a sort of live action role playing game made real for them. I've seen this in our community too, once in a while.

Luckily, most of us realize eventually that if there's a crisis, magic is not what is going to be needed on the fly--we will need first aid knowledge, bystander intervention or conflict de-escalation skills, and the ability to stay calm in a crisis. A CPR mask, protective medical gloves, and a cell phone are all more important than a packet of salt in dealing with real life problems.

Published on Leave a comment on The contraction of a ritual
An altar covered in a red altar cloth, black and white photos, tealight candles, and s bottle of creme de cassis.

I tend to write rituals slowly. I think about it a lot first, contemplating themes and possible activities. There's a lot of research too, often with a lot of false starts... I still have a lot of notes about lichen from an Imbolc ritual that ended up going in a completely different direction.

When the ritual starts to come together in my head, I open a copy of the most recent standard ritual format and start filling in the opening and closing first: the customization of the quarter calls and invocations. The actual writing of the centre section is relatively quick after that, but still can take a couple of hours and several re-writes. Then I make any cue cards and special tools, email the participants a copy of the ritual and any background information, read over my parts a few times, and then finally set up the physical space. By the time we are assigning roles and doing our territory and consent acknowledgments, I have probably spent between ten and twenty hours working on the ritual.

When the actual ritual is going on, I don't always get to immerse myself in the experience because I am leading the activity, monitoring the energy, reading the meditation, but that's fine because I've already spent ten or more hours engaged with the material. The problem is that when I am doing the ritual for participants, they haven't spent all that time. Even if they read the ritual before arriving (always optional) and follow my research links, they are less invested. Even if there's preparation homework, it is still less than what I've done -- as it should be. All of that is to say that I do the ritual in my mind a bunch of times, so when the performance comes, it seems very short.

The bigger problem is that the ritual is short. It is short and it is fast. Since it is the x-th repeat for me, I tend to flow through the plan like it is a rehearsed business presentation. I have to force myself to let the ritual breath and to give the participants enough time to get into it.

Even with that effort, the ritual contracts in physical experience from where it is in my mind. I can live with that; I think it is a common experience of artists that the end result can't quite live up to the inspiration. However, I have to stay aware of the physically performed ritual as it is actually happening and keep it separate from the one in my imagination. I am trying to speak a bit slower -- I tend to talk fast during anything that resembles public speaking -- and I'm learning to count out silences during meditations. But I also need to just stay more present with the ritual and with the participants... it is a tough lesson to learn for someone who lives so much in her head.

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Published on 2 Comments on Too tired for the gods
Two puppies sleep in the grass by people's out-stretched legs. A third puppy stands over them, mid-yawn.
A fierce yawn from the last puppy still awake.

One of the challenges of a religion without a central authority and professional clergy is that we are all responsible for our own spiritual health.

Even when times are good or even just a regular level of stressful, that's a lot of responsibility to shoulder, but probably no more arduous than all the other responsibilities of adulthood: physical health, mental health, financial maintenance, work responsibilities, volunteering, home care, family care... adulting is a juggling act for almost everyone.

The problems come when the going gets harder than usual. When there are complications with the other responsibilities of life, spiritual maintenance easily drops down on the list of priorities.

The risk is that when we most need our spirituality is when we don't have the time or energy to do it for ourselves.

Here's where I'm supposed to have answers, but I don't really have any. I'm too tired for the gods and too tired to decide what to do about it. That'll be a problem for another day, when my health is better, when my job situation stabilizes, when my puppy is a little older...

Published on Leave a comment on I wouldn’t have if I’d been them

The main lodge and fire pit at a Pagan gathering

My first public Pagan event was a revelation: meeting other Pagans after a couple of years of studying and practicing on my own, standing in a real ritual circle, chanting with other people and raising energy. This was before everyone had the internet, so this was my first experience with Pagans besides reading their books. When I got home from the weekend event, I started gathering my fellow teen Pagans and potential Pagans. I held my first group ritual for Yule that year.

I was 17 when I went to that event alone. I called in advance and talked to someone on the board of directors, and they said I could come if I got permission from my parents. Before giving the information package to my parents, I carefully whited out the line "The kitchen and dining hall is clothing required at all times; the rest of the camp is clothing optional", which was conveniently at the end of a paragraph and so didn't look suspicious. I liked that it said that it was an alcohol- and drug-free event (a lie, it turned out) and that it outlined planned activities for kids, making it look family-friendly.

Looking back, I see the subtle protection I was proffered. Everyone I spoke to seemed to already know who I was right from when I arrived: I was the "teen who came alone". The board director that I spoke with was a mother of someone about my age who was also attending, and she and I hung out a lot during the weekend. She had been part of the community for most of her life, and I think now that she might have been (subconsciously?) concerned or that her mother might have asked her to watch out for me. We avoided the party cabin and when a good number of the adults were drinking and getting up to other adult things, we hung around the fire, learning chants, and went skinny dipping in the dark.

If I'd lied about my age and not been given the extra layer of protection... if the board of directors hadn't made sure that it was well known that there was an unaccompanied minor on site... if I'd gone to the party cabin... if I'd been a teen who tried alcohol or drugs... if the other young woman hadn't been there... well, many of the people Sarah Lawless is talking about in her post about sexual abuse and trauma in the Pagan community were there, and I believe Sarah when she talks about her experiences.

As it was, my first Pagan gathering was an amazing experience. I had conversations about the whys and hows of energy raising and other Pagan topics. I met amazing people. I won a star-shaped crocheted afghan. One young man was a bit flirty, but never inappropriate. I went home spiritually inspired and with a self-esteem boost. The next year, I went back with my recruited Pagan teens and about a dozen of 18 year olds invaded the camp. Looking back, we were so naive, but we accidentally kept each other safe just by tending to travel in groups. I suspect that the fact that we brought a couple of guys with us helped too; my partner has been my shield in many challenging situations. Some of us went to that camp every year for almost two decades.

I feel very lucky to have had such good experiences, especially that first year when I was at my most vulnerable. I am now pretty close to the age of the people who were on the board of directors that first year. I think in their place, I would have turned me down - told me to come at 18 or 19, maybe after coming to a couple of day events to meet some of the participants. As much as I have loved some of my experiences with the local Pagan community, I am now painfully aware of its flaws too, and I wouldn't want to risk a young woman's safety. My first public Pagan event was magical, but it would have been just as good a couple of years later.

Published on Leave a comment on On trust


A winding dirt road surrounded by scruffy bushes and with mountains in the distance.

A winding dirt road surrounded by scruffy bushes and with mountains in the distance. The road I'm on barely warrants the name; it is more of a trail, the width of a car, that winds through the forest. I'm in four wheel drive, bumping slowly downwards. At one point, the road turns upward sharply than drops away again immediately. I stop at the top. The nose of the vehicle is pointed up at the trees and I can't see the road at all. My friend in the passenger seat - a more experienced off-road driver - laughs at my nervousness: "The road is still there. You know it's there, so just go."

View from above of a pair of feet in sneakers walking on cement. "Don't look at the floor. It's not going anywhere," says my Tai Chi teacher. My partner and I laugh; he knows that right now I can't really feel my feet. That is combining with my lack of balance to make my animal instincts less sure that the floor is, indeed, still there from one step to the next.

I lean atheistic in no small part because I like to perceive instead of believe. I want to trust my senses, but they are sometimes failing me. My instincts can be tricked and can override my logic, so I must extend my trust to common sense and my memories.

I need to know that the ground is still there, still strong and supportive, even if I can't see or feel it.

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Published on 1 Comment on Broken connections, broken glass, broken trust


Shattered glass tumbler with the broken shards of glass lying alongside on a black background.
Shattered glass tumbler by freebie.photography is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

My spine and brain is a frayed electrical cord, short circuiting and sending confused messages to my body. I lose connection to parts of me; sometimes I look at my fingers and toes to make sure they are still there.

Broken connections to broken dishes: mixing bowls and glass measuring cups are the victims of my numb hands. I can no longer tell what's a normal fumble that could have happened to anyone and what's my confused nervous system. Every time I slosh wine, every time I drop my phone, every time I trip over nothing, I wonder.

Broken dishes to broken trust, as I don't know what to expect from my body anymore. Random surges of tingling, random muscle clenching, random weakness and tremors... my body is unpredictable and not in my control.

I have always believed in an embodied Paganism: a religion that doesn't deny the reality of being in possession of a body with needs and senses; a spirituality that acknowledges that we're animals and that we're natural beings; a faith that finds spirit and grace in the world instead of in the afterlife. But that was easier when my body was comfortable to inhabit. It was easier when I could trust my body.

This disease takes a lot from people. I won't let it take my Paganism, but some re-envisioning may be necessary to find perfect trust in my broken body.

Published on Leave a comment on The magic of vulnerability


A water-side city at sunset overlaid with the quote "Shared pain is lessened; shared joy, increased" by Spider Robinson I'm trying to write a speech today, which naturally means that I want to write anything other than my speech. To be fair, the speech is three-quarters written, but when you are sending people off on a 5 kilometre walk for charity, you really want to nail the ending.

In January of this year, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. With that came the understanding that my pain, numbness, and cognitive concerns were not temporary or easily fixed, so there were things I love that I was going to have to give up (for now, at least). I needed something else to focus on, to look forward to. The answer for me was the Vancouver MS Walk: something to physically train for and to work towards in other ways. I started my own bit of magic.

The spell was multifaceted, but the power came from one place: vulnerability. I wrote my story of illness and diagnosis for my blog on the MS Walk website, for my personal FaceBook, and for my coworking space's internal email list. Each part took a long time to write and hitting the publish/send buttons was scary every time. I knew people wanted to know what was going on - they asked me all the time about my limp, about my change from standing desk back to a chair, about my painstaking trips up and down stairs - but naming the cause makes it more real for me and for others.1 It made me feel exposed, but that's where the power came from.

I sent the stories out knowing that people would want to help me, but there's not much they can do for me personally, so I offered some directions for that energy: donate blood, since I no longer can; attend the walk or one of my fitness fundraising events; or donate money to my MS Walk fundraiser. I was touched and blessed by the amount of love that came my way, and I was amazed by the generosity of my family, my friends, my colleagues, and the members of my coworking space. Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised, as I am surrounded by people interested in community-building. I originally set my fundraising goal for $200, which I quickly had to increase, and increase again, and increase again. I was soon the top individual fundraiser for Vancouver's walk, and the MS Society of Canada took notice.

As a result, I find myself in the position of being "a MS Society of Canada's MS Walk 2018 spokesperson", according to the press release(!) going out tomorrow. I've already been in a local paper and on the provincial news, and there may be more media coverage at the walk on Sunday, May 27th. The speech I'm putting off finishing is to be given at the start of that event - the final part of my working.

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Published on 2 Comments on The spirit is willing, but the flesh is uncooperative


A woman sitting in a wheelchair smiling in front of a mountain vista. "Sedentarism is very much linked to consumerism, materialism, colonialism, and the destruction of the planet. If you're not moving, someone else is moving for you, either directly, or indirectly by making STUFF to make not moving easier on you. You were born into a sedentary culture, so 99.9 percent of your sedentary behaviours are flying under your radar. Start paying attention. What do you see?" - Katy Bowman, Movement Matters: Essays on Movement Science, Movement Ecology, and the Nature of Movement.

Every time I read it, my stomach clenches in the way that means that this is something important. I read the above quote on Boing Boing under the intriguing title "Your body has been outsourced". It pulls on my gut in many ways: as a fitness lover and a person interested in body positivity, as a person interested in protecting the environment, as a person who tries to think critically about capitalism and colonialism, and as a Pagan interested in embodied religion. I dug into Katy Bowman's blog with some trepidation, though, because I am now also a person with health conditions, one of which may prove to be profoundly life-altering.

At the end of 2016, I was a part-time fitness instructor going to the gym 4 or 5 days a week, who used a standing desk at work, and who commuted to and from my full-time day job and all over the city on my own two feet. At the end of 2017, I had given up my fitness class and my standing desk, I was working from home several days a week and commuting by bus when I had to go in, and waiting for my MRI results.

I think people should move, or not move, in ways they want to. Exercise is not a moral imperative; health isn't an obligation. And no matter how much we would like to pretend otherwise, health also isn't always in our control. Sometimes there isn't a choice to move or not move; your body chooses for you.

I curl up on myself, holding the parts of me that hurt, and know that I am privileged to get to sit for long periods every day with work, education, entertainment, and connection all delivered to me digitally, and sometimes food and other necessities ordered online and brought to my door. I am blessed that I can be sedentary; I try not to resent my body for needing so much stillness.

I feel the unfairness in my body.

I feel it in my numb and fumbling hands: I am outsourcing my personal labour when I choose to buy new socks rather than darn the ones I have.

I feel it in my aching shins: I am participating in environmental destruction when I choose to email my colleague instead of crossing the room to talk to her.

I feel it in the shocks that run down my arms: I am supporting the exploitation of people when I use one of my three portable phones instead of going to the phone in the kitchen.

I feel it in the brain fog and when I can't hold on to simple information: I am relying on ethically-challenged systems when I use apps on my phone to track my medications and keep track of appointments and meetings.

It's a kind of cognitive dissonance, I think. My gut tells me that it is right to do as much of my own labour as possible and my heart tells me that it's best to move, but my legs and arms and brain don't always cooperate. That might be my reality; it is the reality of many people around me, including some I love very much. I don't know how to resolve this push and pull when I am unwell, but when I am feeling well, I won't take it for granted.

Yeah, well, so mote it be, right?

Published on Leave a comment on What is the point?


Inspired by "What's the Point of Witchcraft?" on the Keeping Her Keys blog.

A rocky beach with a large piece of driftwood and stacks of stones balanced on the driftwood.

I don't get easy comfort from my gods. The universe is unimaginably expansive and the stars are out of reach. The moon, the ocean, the mists, the mountains... they don't placate, they don't offer aid, and they don't hear prayers. I don't find answers in the stars or solutions in magic spells.

The point of my Paganism isn't finding answers. The point of my Paganism is to be asking questions.

Where do we come from and why are we here?
Our very molecules were created in the heart of stars. What we are made out of, and everything we see, touch, and eat, has been around since the beginning of time. We are so beautifully part of everything; it is a mighty responsibility to figure out what that means.

What is a meaningful life?
We are simultaneously microscopic in relation to the universe and immense to those we love. Even the greatest, most famous, most powerful of us are humbled by the breadth, width, and depth of time and space. Even the most ordinary of us are made noble by our sacred origins. We can live in that paradox.

How can we best honour our own divinity?
We will eventually die and our bodies will return to the components from which we are made. So much before that is out of our control, and what happens after is a mystery, but we can try to honour our inner god/dess while we're in our temporary, fragile bodies.

How can we best honour the divinity in others?
To know the god/dess in everyone is to know that we must create fairness, accessibility, and acceptance in our individual lives, in our sacred spaces, and in our whole world. This is sacred work.

What does it mean to be connected and to be in community?
"We are connected with the Earth ecologically, not just chemically. And we are connected with one another socially: as communal animals who need to belong and to feel loved and supported." - Mark Green, Atheopaganism.

The point isn't getting answers - there aren't any. The point is to seek knowledge and deepen understanding. The point is to ask more questions.

Published on Leave a comment on Liminal is uncomfortable


Sunrise over a winery

I love the concept of the liminal: the in-between place and time. Pagans have often embraced the concept: "...the hearth or altar is a liminal space, as it bridges the gap between the humans and the supernatural; the threshold, doors, and windows of a house are liminal, since they bridge the gap between inside and outside; and certain times of the year and the day (dawn, dusk, and several holidays) are liminal times."1 And in some tradition's rituals, we stand in "a place that is not a place; a time that is not a time". I even have the concept of the liminal in the very core of my beliefs, where I slip between humanism and theism.

I'm in medical limbo right now, waiting on an MRI. Studies suggest that waiting is often the hardest part, even of something as life-altering as a cancer diagnosis. I've been consulting doctors and getting tests for most of 2017 and right now my hopes are pinned on January 4th, 2018, when I will be getting the results of the MRI. If there's nothing on the MRI, though, my limbo may continue.

I've been working with a counselor on dealing with the medical anxiety, preparing for the MRI (I'm claustrophobic), and treating myself with self-compassion and breathing exercises. And it is all helping, but maybe I'm ready to move from tolerating and accepting this time of uncertainty to honouring it. It seems appropriate that this time of greatest liminality for my health concerns should overlap with secular culture's liminal time between Christmas and New Year's.

Everyone will experience the discomfort of not knowing throughout their lives. In my experience, it is easy to overlook that that is what's happening in your life, but to still feel the anxiety and stress. I'm hoping to re-name my limbo as liminal time and do some ritual around the process of sitting in a place without all the answers. I want to find a way to celebrate uncertainty.2 If you have any suggestions or resources, please let me know! I will add a link to my ritual here if I come up with something (ETA: here is my Imbolc ritual called Mindful Liminality).

And I drop into another liminal space, between concept and creation, between thought and action. It is more under my control, though. So mote it be.



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