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Author: Mud and Magic

Published on Leave a comment on The problem of getting sh*t done

Cartoon person with a broom yelling "Let's cleanse this space!".
Art from Hyperbole and a Half.

I used to work for a small business. It was a really small business; the kind where the owner and I shared a walk-in closet as an office and we didn't have to make reservations for the company Christmas party. I was there for ten years, doing what needed to be done all day, every day. There wasn't a lot of theorizing - there wasn't time for theories. There wasn't a lot of philosophizing - there wasn't time for philosophy. There was shit to do.

I have moved into the non-profit world now. I am in operations - practical, day-to-day stuff - but some days it feels like it is all meetings anyway. And so many of the meetings don't seem to achieve anything: meetings about the wording of our mission statement, meetings about activities we don't have the capacity to do, and meetings about meetings. I despair as the minutes tick by while people theorize and philosophize and day dream... I just want to get back to my to-do list. I have shit to do.

My spiritual family tends to the practical too. We had to improvise ritual space the other day, and we busted that out: quick division of the roles such that everything was evenly divided and no one had to awkwardly skip around the circle to call a second quarter, and we were soon underway. We all spoke clearly, got our lines mostly right, and cued each other as needed. Not quite clockwork, but we got through the sacred space set-up efficiently as a team. And then we got to a certain point and were gearing up to get to the next task on the ritual checklist when one person said "we should take a moment".

Oh. right. A ritual is more than a list of tasks to complete.

The "get shit done" approach serves me well at work, where the task list is:

Buy forks.
Follow up on overdue invoices.
Fix the printer.
Buy more forks.
Issue membership contracts.
Order coffee.
Pay invoices.
Buy even more forks.1

But while the kind of experience that happens in Circle is crafted through a checklist of tasks, it isn't the checklist.2 The steps are not there for their own sake; they are the means by which we reach the state where we can connect beyond ourselves to deities, to community, to spirit, to grace... and if we lose sight of that, we risk creating empty containers instead of sacred space. Sometimes, getting shit done requires focusing on something bigger than getting shit done.

Published on Leave a comment on Get witchy

We're only going to get browner and queerer and witchier and louder and stronger and prouder and watch the dinosaurs die out.
By Johnny / jblackchurch: https://www.instagram.com/jblackchurch/

I want to be witchier, but I'm not sure what that means. I do own a black pointy hat, but maybe it doesn't count because it has a fuzzy pink brim.

Witches are outsiders. Witches are radical, transgressive, dangerous. And in this world, right now, that can't be just dancing naked under the moonlight, putting bones and deconsecrated relics on an altar, and reading Aradia: Gospel of the Witches - even though that book does call for poisoning economic oppressors.

In this world, right now, to stand up for the environment, for science, for rights for everyone is to be an outsider. It is radical to support Syrian refugees. It is transgressive to fight trans-phobia. It is dangerous to be brown or queer - some of us have the privilege of forgetting that it has always been dangerous to be brown or queer - so the least those of us who aren't can do is be dangerous enough to stand up if you witness harassment.

If you want to be witchier, then make plans to save yourself if you need to, practice and prepare to stand up to bigotry, set up a solidarity network, and fight like hell. Maybe consider some trickster work to make sure politics in your area can't include racism, xenophobia, intolerance. And if you want to do it in the forest, naked except for a pointy hat with a fuzzy pink brim... I'll be there right with you.

Published on Leave a comment on If only the activists see your activism, does it mean anything?

A restroom sign with a white triangle instead of a man or woman stick figure
Photo by sarahmirk, published under a Creative Commons license.

Every year, I go to a big local literary festival. I typically buy tickets for six or more events over the course of a week and come home with a pile of new books. I've mentioned before that this particular festival includes a territory acknowledgement before each event. This is something that started a year or two ago, and it's really the most basic of acknowledgements; the moderator reminds people to turn off their cell phones, that the event takes place on unceded Coast Salish Territory, and to please Tweet after the event using the hashtag... It's better than nothing.

I had the same moderator at two different events. At one, she did the same type of acknowledgement as everyone else had been doing. At the other, she asked everyone to take a moment of thoughtful silence after doing the acknowledgement. One was an event with Joy Kogawa, a Canadian author and poet of Japanese descent, and the other was an event that included two First Nations authors - Katherena Vermette and Joan Crate - and was about books that include Indigenous characters.

This festival includes simultaneous events at several different theatres. At one theatre for an evening event, the bathrooms had been relabeled as "gender neutral". The next day, there for another event, I found the conventional signs were back. One event was for transgender author Ivan Coyote's "Tomboy's Survival Guide" and the other was for a panel of thriller and suspense authors.

We weren't more on unceded territory one of those day and less on the other, and that fact was not more worthy of thoughtful consideration because there were First Nations people on the stage. Though "Tomboy's" attracted more transgender and non-binary audience members than the average event, everyone needs a safe place to pee every day, not just when they are represented on the stage. In fact, the reverse is true: if someone at "Tomboy's" had to use a gendered washroom that was not an obvious match to their gender presentation, there probably would have been no fuss or issue; the same could not necessarily be said of the same person in the same washroom during the thriller author event.

Social justice isn't something to nod to when forced to by the visible presence of a minority group. We need to do the right things to make our communities safe and comfortable for more people. If we make our public events and rituals inclusive and welcoming of people who aren't there, maybe one day they will be.

We need to practice social justice over and over until it becomes good, conscious, purposeful habit - until we are inclusive as a default. Good habits take time and effort to develop. The "3 R's" approach looks good...

... every time we first pick up the broom to cleanse the space, we acknowledge that we are on unceded First Nations territory, and we take a moment to sit with that knowledge.

... every time we light the central candle on the altar, we agree that we consent to being a part of the ritual and speak of our right to withdraw that consent any time we want, and we enjoy the mutual respect and self-care that creates.

... every time we take down the Circle, we deliberately distribute the clean up chores among everyone, and we appreciate the benefits of cooperation and undermining gender roles.

... every time we hold a ritual that includes social justice components, we remember that we want to make the world more fair, more just, more safe, more comfortable.

Published on Leave a comment on Privately taking it seriously

A meditating figure with a bowed head, carved in a tree trunk I've been a vegetarian for about two decades. I keep my reasons for becoming and staying vegetarian quiet and I don't talk about my vegetarianism much - I don't want to be one of those vegetarians. Unfortunately, in an effort to be just "cool" about something that matters to me, I end up in uncomfortable situations like listening to a detailed description of sausage making, being served dessert made with gelatin, or being gifted leather items. It's not the other party's fault: for the most part, they don't know my values because I haven't told them; I default to privacy. I am deeply grateful for my friends and family who are respectful of my beliefs and who make an effort to accommodate me.

There are a couple of areas of life that are particularly prone to a blurry line between informing and preaching: religion, politics, and certain lifestyle choices (we know the joke). They are areas of life where people have made choices and where believers have dedicated a lot of time and energy. They are highly invested, which means the cost of being wrong is very high. These are areas that help us define our identity; things that we consider pretty fundamental to who we are. If I were to try to sum up who I am, both Pagan and vegetarian would be on my list of descriptors.

I've noticed that if I mention that I'm vegetarian, even casually and in context (when declining a meat dish at a potluck, for example), many people react defensively. They explain to me how little meat they eat, or defend their need for animal protein, or tell me about how they tried to be vegetarian once... these are not conversations I generally want to have. If I don't tell people, though, I don't know whether or not there's meat broth in the soup. And while speaking out about certain topics is seen as preaching, silence will sometimes be taken as lack of caring.

A friend of mine who is a Quaker says that it is a bit of an awkward "coming out" every time she has reason to mention it. People often confuse Quaker with the Amish or Mennonites, and will ask her questions about why she drinks alcohol or uses a cell phone. If she has reason to refer to her spiritual beliefs, she is often facing a challenge of explaining without seeming to preach. Pagans, as members of another minority and sometimes misunderstood religion, will have a similar balancing act, further complicated, perhaps, by the fact that our values vary from Pagan to Pagan, so we can't even necessarily turn to our own community for the unquestioning support other groups can give each other. If you are an evangelical Christian, you don't have to explain certain things to your church: it is assumed that you are anti-abortion, for example. But even though I consider my vegetarianism to be a part of my Paganism, that is not an assumption I can make when with my spiritual community. And, on the other side, in my limited experience with the vegetarian community, they may not share some of my Pagan values that lead me to choose leather shoes over synthetics in some cases.

When there's unnecessary waste in a ritual1, when there is boundary crossing during ritual2, when there is strongly gendered roles in ritual, it doesn't fit with my values as a Pagan. I hold those values - I live by those values - because I believe they are good ways of being and acting. To not speak up, especially around consent issues, feels like betraying my beliefs. But by saying "I don't think that belongs in ritual", I am saying "I think you are wrong" to the people who did it. I would leave behind postmodern relativism and criticize both their artist work as ritual creators and their religious values... be caught comparing their values to mine and finding their's wanting.

For it to be worth it to me to speak up - worth risking making other people uncomfortable or defensive - it has to be something I care about and that I also think I can change someone else's mind about. I know that I'm unlikely to convert any meat eaters to vegetarians3, but I do hope that if I talk to someone about ways to increase consent at a ritual, there will be a chance of having those suggestions implemented in the future. I think the difference is that everyone knows that vegetarian is a choice they can make, where they may not know yet about consent culture. There's less likely to be a conflict with their own established, chosen values, and I have the opportunity to present ideas as something new to them that they can take on as their own.

I pick my battles, but please don't take my silence as lack of caring. I hold my values close to my heart and I judge myself (and you) by them.

A tiny winking face

Published on Leave a comment on We’re not the centre of the universe

Penny: "Okay - I'm a Sagittarius, which probably tells you way more than you need to know." Sheldon: "Yes - it tells us that you participate in the mass cultural delusion that the sun's apparent position relative to arbitrarily defined constellations at the time of your birth somehow affects your personality." Three or four times a year, people find reason to blame the normal problems of modern life on Mercury going backwards in the sky - the dreaded so-called "Mercury retrograde". People who are normally quite rational seem to buy into this superstition.

It is silly enough to believe that the movement of a planet some 77 million kilometers away has an impact on our emails and travel plans, but to believe that an illusion of movement of a planet affects our lives is ridiculous. See, Mercury doesn't actually move backwards; it just appears to do so from the earth's perspective. If we were the centre of the solar system, Mercury would be moving in loops, but we're not the centre of anything. We circle around an average star in a mediocre neighbourhood, universally-speaking.

Humans, as a species, are arrogant. In mainstream Western culture, nature is about our needs. The God of the Bible created everything to feed and clothe and serve us, and we are the ultimate creation - the reason for all the rest. Some Pagans may say that we worship nature, but sometimes we fall victim to delusions of human importance too, and we end up worshiping nature only in relation to its utility to us, where autumn is all about our harvest and spring is all about our planting, and never mind that that's the human wheel of the year, not nature's.

That same thinking feeds "Mercury retrograde" fears. At it's core, that superstition assumes that the earth is the centre around which all things revolve and that we're so cosmically important that the fact that we see a planet going backwards from our limited viewpoint is enough to create communication and travel chaos.

I have recently read several articles that explain why Mercury retrograde is nonsense and then go on to say that the author believes in it anyway because they've experienced it. One author lists a whole bunch of reasons why they personally might be experiencing communication difficulties, including some long term stress, and somehow concludes that those reasons are not sufficient to explain some recent problems they've had and that the difference must be Mercury. Humans are awful at evaluating this kind of stuff. We have huge perception biases, we are terrible at calculating risk, and we often have little understanding of how certain factors actually do affect us.

I really like this: "... if there’s any life lessons to learn from Mercury retrograde, it’s that we may be vulnerable to illusions when we think that everything revolves around us."

Pagans, we are better than "Mercury retrograde".

ETA: Looks like I'm not the only Pagan finding the "Mercury retrograde" thing particularly obnoxious right now. Read Lupa / The Green Wolf's take on it: "Is Anyone Else Getting Weird Vibes?": On Confirmation Bias and Emotional States.

Published on Leave a comment on My problem with “Pagan Pride”

Superbia - a Latin term signifying "Pride", which, in use, is most often intended to have a negative connotation (mosaic in the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière).
Superbia (mosaic, Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière)

I like the concept: a celebration of the diversity and beauty of our community. But, really, the name "Pagan Pride" is so unfortunate.

It seems like the originators of the Pagan Pride Project stumbled upon the name, and now we're all stuck with it, despite the sometimes negative connotations of the word "pride" and despite its conflation with the much more important Gay Pride1.

I am proud of the accomplishments of members of my community, I believe in the ideas of Paganism to make us better people and to bring us spiritual satisfaction, and I am glad to claim "Pagan" as one of my identities, but I am not proud to be Pagan. Claiming a religious affiliation isn't something to be proud of; it is neither an inborn trait nor an earned title2.

I wish it could be "Pagan Awareness Day" or "Pagan Community Day", but we probably can't change that. Regardless of the name, we can make our local events great through volunteering, participating, and offering our time, energy, and money to showing our community to its best. Happy Pagan Pride Day to all those whose celebrations are still coming up; let's make our events something to be proud of!

Published on Leave a comment on Becoming Pagan 101

We're not generally a religion that tries to convert people, but we are sometimes called a religion of converts - even now, very few Pagans grew up in the faith. Pagan Pride Project events might be as close as we come to proselytizing, simply by virtue of being public and publicized events. We're into Pagan Pride season, and since Pagan Pride events do tend to attract new Pagans and the curious public, I'm willing to bet a lot of them have a "Paganism 101" workshop.

I can't imagine seeing "Christianity 101" on a church fair schedule. You don't learn Christianity in courses or workshops like you would a hobby. There isn't beginner and advanced Christianity (not for the laypeople, anyway). To be considered an active Christian, a person must believe in the Christian God and probably attend services and say prayers. For a lot of Christian denominations, any deeper understanding of the theology is optional, but the books about both Christian belief and Christian action are in the Religion section of the bookstore.

In contrast, to be an active Pagan, a person must often be their own theologian and priest. They have to create their own religious rituals and conduct them. Even as part of an established tradition and a group that practices together, there's greater demands than to just follow a script. If you believe in the supernatural, than you must be part of an energetic flow at least, and often must be actively working with spirits or deities. If you don't believe in the supernatural, there's still a lot of psychology and work involved in being a part of a good ritual, much less writing one.

We're also generally a religion of orthopraxy - "correct action" - versus of orthodoxy - "correct belief". To simplify a great deal: Christians believe Christian things; Pagan do Pagan things. We do need workshops and books that treat our religion like a hobby to be learned; we don't have an equivalent to the sinner's prayer, unless it is the solitary self-initiation ritual that so many of us fumble through, shaking hands lighting candles while trying to remember which order the quarters are called in or the words to our deity invocations. Those varying rituals, often individual to each person, don't have to mean accepting the Goddess into your heart, but can be just practicing the skills of setting up sacred space, going through the motions of raising energy, and grounding and closing the space - it is the sampler of Pagan ritual.

There is Pagan theology, of course. It is a growing field, and I'm grateful to see it. After doing all the Paganism 101 stuff, there are philosophical issues to wrestle with, even if we aren't going to declare some of the answers to be definitive. Still, our books about the various ways to believe in Pagan ways are vastly outnumbered by the books of how to do Pagan things, and both usually end up in the New Age section of the bookstore. It is easy to get a bit self-conscious about our religion that acts like a hobby.

Even at Pagan Pride, we don't try to convert people to Paganism, but just inform them about who we are and what we do (and, unfortunately for our framing, sometimes what we don't do). I don't think we're even a religion of converts, really; we're a religion of student practitioners. And I hope it remains so, even if it means that our religious books continue to be put in the Occult and New Age sections of the bookstore. We aren't the same as most other religions, so maybe we shouldn't be treated the same. Let's embrace the Paganism 101 workshops and all it means about who we are.

Published on Leave a comment on Consent culture at Vancouver Pagan Pride Day

People holdings hands Last night, some members of Silver Spiral gathered to rehearse the ritual we're presenting at Vancouver Pagan Pride Day (VPPD) on September 10th. Jamie Robyn and I had worked to create a very inclusive, accessible ritual that empowered the participants to participate. Our pre-ritual speeches include explicit permission to leave if needed, information on how to opt out of activities, alternatives and assistance for people with issues with mobility, sight, or hearing. This makes for a bit of a long period of talking at our participants before the ritual even starts, but in my experience, making sure people don't feel trapped or pressured results in freer, deeper participation, so this is time well spent. We've also made sure the rest of the ritual is monologue-free (no half-assed rituals for us), so hopefully everyone will understand the necessity and forgive us for the "lecture".

In my opinion, Pagan Pride Day is the perfect place to build consent culture in our community. It's when all our different traditions gather and when the public gets to see what we're all about. If we want to show each other and the public our best selves, the event must address accessibility, social justice, and consent. It can't just be a nod in the opening remarks either; we need to talk about it over and over again, and walk our talk in the most visible ways possible.

I am just the volunteer coordinator for Vancouver Pagan Pride Day 2016; I can't take credit for how the overall event is embracing consent culture. That's being led by ED Johnston, the event coordinator, and she has had some amazing insights into what it takes to make an event safe and inclusive. For example, the yellow wristband policy is one of the thoughtful ways we can live consent culture at VPPD. Anyone can easily opt out of having their picture taken, which makes the event safer for those who can't be publicly Pagan, for those who aren't Pagan and don't want to be labelled as such in a picture, and, hell, for those who just hate having their picture taken.

Creating inclusive, welcoming spaces is hard. It is hard to create an event that respects the needs of a wide variety of people. I know; it feels like every week there's a new consideration. And there is pushback from people who will accuse you of "political correctness", or of coddling people, or of watering Paganism down. Reading the comments on the excellent Bad Magic reminds me how many people think you have to shock people or force them to confront their challenges. I don't think that's true. I think it is lazy to depend on shock to create a religious experience. It is bad ritual art, and potentially harmful, and unnecessary. People will surprise you; if you give them safe ways to do so - if you give them a real, informed choice about how deep to go - they will push their own boundaries. Or not, and I don't see how that's anyone's business.

Pagan Pride Day isn't the place for hard work anyway. If you want to explore your inner darkness and challenge yourself spiritually, that's best done in a trusted group that has done a lot of foundational work together. To me, Pagan Pride is both the opportunity to show off our unique collective identity and our diversity, both to each other and the public, and the opportunity to create that identity. When we gather together our tribes and traditions in a literal Big Tent of Paganism, we have a chance to set a tone and to set an example and expectations for our community. Vancouver Pagan Pride Day is leading our community towards more inclusion, more accessibility, more safety, and making consent culture a part of our religious culture. I'm honoured to be a part of it.

Published on Leave a comment on Nightly prayer for the not-so-theistic

Long-exposure of stars from Death Valley National Park
Photo: Joe Dsilva / Flickr / Creative Commons License

I am humble, for I am made of earth.
I am but a single, tiny grain of sand on a nearly infinite beach.

And yet, I am the universe seeing itself.
I am the universe learning itself.
I am the universe knowing itself.

So I am noble, for I am made of ancient stardust.

Everyone I meet is another piece of the universe on its own journey.
We are all small and we are all great.
We are all humble and we are all noble.

And I am grateful.
So mote it be.

Published on Leave a comment on No love, no fight

A maine coon cat looking unimpressed
This maine coon doesn't care either

Walking through my neighbourhood at about 9:30 last night, I ended up in a prolonged conversation with a stranger; I'll call her Jane. It started with her asking for directions and then me offering my phone for her to call her ride, and wound up with me hanging out with her on this patch of grass while her ride repeatedly put her off ("I'll be there in ten minutes." "That's what you said ten minutes ago!") until she finally got picked up.

Our conversation meanders quite a bit, touching on Jane's life history and health issues, the history of the neighbourhood, and raccoons and bedbugs. We don't have much in common. She's almost twice my age, uses a cane, and is living in a transition house after a period of homelessness. We do both love cats. Jane makes some vaguely racists comments and says some things about mental illness that I'm not comfortable with. I steer the conversation in other directions and we talk about how beautiful maine coons are.

Maybe the right thing to do would have been to confront her prejudiced comments, but I don't know this woman. If it had been someone I loved, I would have opened up a discussion to figure out what they meant and see if I could show them why the comments were inappropriate, but I have no investment in this stranger. In that moment, it isn't worth the fight to try to change her mind.1 I will probably never see her again, she has very little power to do anything with her prejudices, and I don't care enough about her to be concerned about her karma, spirit, or soul.2

I recently stopped attending a Pagan event I used to be highly involved in. Since making the decision to completely give it up, I have been having a long debate with myself about whether or not I should tell the organizers why. The truth is, the event has been going in a direction I'm uncomfortable with for quite awhile, and I hung on and kept attending, and donating time, energy, and money, in the hopes that I could help steer it back to what I used to love. But as it drifted further down a different path, my efforts lessened until I was no longer really trying to do anything. It happened slowly, almost subconsciously, and it was only after this conversation with Jane that I realized the important truth: I no longer love this event enough to fight for it. I just don't care enough anymore to deal with the discomfort of being a dissenting voice, even from the distance of telling those in charge why I won't be there. It isn't "my event" anymore; it belongs to a different group who appreciate and love the new direction. As much as I grieve for the event that was, that event doesn't exist anymore3, and what has replaced it is a bit of a stranger to me. And as much as I might wish a stranger well, in the end, I don't love them enough to fight with them over their soul.

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