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Category: Pagan Conversations

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Published on 1 Comment on Irony-free Circle
A red stop sign with "defacing stop signs" spray painted under "stop".
Scheinwerfermann / CC BY-SA

"In Defense of Seriousness":

I think it's that religious experience for me is ABOUT connecting with the serious and solemn. it's about the both literal and figurative gravity of the world on which we live; it's about grappling with things that are so much bigger (and so much smaller) then I am. I invoke religious awe as a tool for experiencing the parts of my life that are beyond my direct experience - it's how I step outside myself and see that, far from being the center of the universe, I am a fragment of happenstance. For me it's a tool to center and ground myself in a society that is perfectly happy to allow each of us to become as vapid and narcissistic as we please.

Winter Mute - Atheopaganism Facebook group

This is an excerpt from a lovely bit of writing about how and why a certain kind of ritual - solemn as opposed to ecstatic or fanciful - works for the writer. I appreciate the sentiment; I get discouraged when a serious ritual is disrupted by laughter. Sometimes I see ritual as a delicate soap bubble that is gradually inflated by each component of the ritual and can be popped by anything going wrong. Most rituals are a little heartier than that, though, thank goodness, and can withstand some stumbles and fumbles.

I love serious rituals. I also love ecstatic rituals, fanciful rituals, silly rituals, and experimental rituals. In ritual, I am seeking connection, defined broadly. If I connect to the great power of the universe, to a tiny plant, to a concept, or to the other people in the Circle, it has worked for me. But there is one thing that can pop the bubble of any ritual for me: irony.

Irony here is not the literary device - which probably also doesn't belong in ritual either - but the attitude:

One reason that irony is so confusing is that the word also refers to a certain perspective or style: one that is detached, aloof and seemingly world-weary. This affectation is often referred to as the "ironic attitude" and has come to be associated with adolescents or young adults.

Roger J Kreuz - What makes something ironic?

There's no space in any of my Circles for any of that. In fact, I think ritual demands a deliberate turning away from irony and a reaching for attachment, intimacy, and awe. For a good ritual, it isn't enough to simply not be cynical; all the participants must put effort into being trusting... suddenly the phrase "in perfect love and perfect trust" rings more true to me. Perhaps it isn't about loving and trusting everyone in the Circle perfectly, but about approaching the ritual with the kind of effort required to sustain love and trust.

I was a teenager in the 90s. I am tucked between the slackers who couldn't be bothered to care about anything and the hipsters who only care ironically. At the all-ages dance events, I would dance until I was overheated and exhausted. I was often asked if I was on drugs.

Life in postindustrial democracies came to seem listless and without flavor; loneliness and a kind of bland sadness were all one could expect of the new world order. At the end of history, irony transformed from an instrument of revolution to a symptom of the impossibility of revolution.

Lee Konstantinou - We had to get beyond irony

Maybe we need some cynicism in the world. "OK Boomer" is a response to real problems; maybe irony is becoming revolutionary again. I just want to leave it outside of my rituals. And I want its trappings gone too: I want people's voices to reflect that they care, not sound like they are going through the motions. I want people's motions to be expressive and their participation to be full, not self-conscious.

I want to invite participants to practice faith like it is exercise: practice being trusting and open. We can support each other in that work, and together we can practice being loving and connected. We don't always have to be solemn, but we do have to be sincere.

Published on Leave a comment on The Starbucks wheel of the year


A white mug of latte with an 8 pointed star drawn in the foam On the "punching bag" episode of the Pop Culture Happy Hour podcast, they discussed the hatred directed towards the pumpkin spice latte, tying it to sexism and classism in interesting ways. At the end of the discussion, one of the panelists said: "... on the west coast, you do not know it is fall for any reason other than the offering of pumpkin spice at Starbucks. It is my only connection to the season."

Ouch.

So maybe wherever they are on the west coast (California?), there isn't much of an autumn, but it did make me think about the way in which my wheel of the year is sometimes landmarked by commercial products and the marketing of corporations, such as pumpkin spice everything and chestnut ale in the fall. Superficially, these things seem seasonal, and I love eating seasonal foods as part of my faith, but since the syrup that makes a pumpkin spice latte could be available year around (and is, if you find the right coffee shop), the seasonality is artificial.

I love pumpkin spice lattes, and eggnog, and Cream Eggs, and raspberry ale... all the artificially restricted treats that come to symbolize their time of the year. I just don't want my faith to be dependent on Starbucks. I want to have both my pumpkin spice latte and a slice of the pie made fresh baked, locally grown, pumpkin.

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Published on 1 Comment on The Pagan value of vulnerability

Picture of three medical signs: radiology, nuclear medicine, and "caution: lasers".Due to some mysterious symptoms and random pain, I went from a very active person to being mostly house-bound very quickly in 2017. In the search for answers, I've been shot with lasers, radiation, electricity, ultrasound, magnetic resonance, and xrays... I should be a superhero by now.

I'm very lucky that my job let me work from home during the worst of my pain, but I couldn't hide my absence from the people in the office and had to be quite public about what was going on with my health. Being open about physical pain is still easier than talking about psychological pain or mental health concerns with all their stigmas, but it still made me feel vulnerable. Once I was able to return to the office, I took to smiling through everything again, though sometimes someone would catch me in a weak moment and their innocent inquiry of "how are you?"1 would get them more information than they'd expected.

Doing ritual with other people can be very vulnerable. Good (effective and ethical) ritual doesn't force intimacy, but opens the possibilities for participants to connect with each other, with their higher selves, with the powers of nature, and/or with deities2. But the road to get to that point is paved with vulnerability, often with potholes.

For the person who has written a ritual and is now leading it, there is the vulnerability of an artist presenting their work to the public, with the added pressure that the "audience" is participating in the art and if they don't fully buy in and participate, the art could fail. The work could be gorgeous and powerful, but might not work because the group isn't a good match for the theme, because people are distracted by problems in their lives, because the location wasn't suitable3, or because of a hundred other reasons that maybe the leader could have predicted or maybe they couldn't control. And all you can do as is plan as best you can, then take a deep breath and give your perfect little ritual4 over to the group.

There's also vulnerability in being a participant in a ritual. Agreeing to step into sacred space ideally means opening yourself to the experience someone else has designed for you, and even in a long-running group5, you can't be sure of exactly what that will mean. In a public ritual or within a new group, this will be magnified. And if you are asked to call a quarter or otherwise embody a role, you are public speaking (a very common fear) and ideally you are putting energy into that role. Being willing to call a quarter or deity, means taking on a responsibility, and using someone else's words and in public besides.

In my experience, the best rituals are ones where the person putting on the ritual has put heart and soul into their plan and maybe feels some fear in putting it out into the world6 and where the participants feel safe enough in the context of that ritual to say true things with conviction. Everyone involved has to agree to a certain amount of vulnerability for it to work.

Shared pain is lessened; shared joy, increased - and both require an open heart to share and to hear. I may have been pushed into vulnerability at work, but it has been a blessing. In talking about my health liminality, others have felt comfortable coming to me to sympathize because of their own health struggles. I had no idea how many people in my daily life were waiting for answers or had a diagnosed chronic condition to manage, but none of us are alone - none of us feel as alone - if we are willing to share.

Pagans are often proudly independent people. But creating healthy communities and strong Circles requires a certain amount of openness to each other, and we will have to find ways to be strong and vulnerable at the same time, at least when together. The magic lives in the vulnerability shared.

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Published on 1 Comment on Designing awe


A two foot waterfall into a small natural pool, surrounded by lush greenery.There are moments of incredible natural awe that some of us are lucky enough to experience. I'm collecting those moments, and I hold to my heart a double rainbow, the view from 3000 feet as I rise on a thermal in my paraglider, the first sight of a gorgeous tropical waterfall after a long hike, the midnight sun, and the full eclipse. Those moments, and others, inspired awe in me.

Sometimes these moments are hard-earned and sometimes they are freely given by the world if you happen to be at the right place at the right time. But they are, by their nature, fleeting moments. They are awe inspiring partially because they are sudden and rare. Awe is reverence and respect mixed with fear or wonder.

Yesterday I went walking around gorgeous gardens in the September sun. I listened to Songs of the Northern Tribes to block out the sound of other visitors and admired the beauty of the green, of the pond and tiny waterfall, of the light playing with the leaves. It was really the first time since my injury in March that I've been able to wander alone. I felt serenity, but not awe.

In a good ritual, there may be the moment when a chant peaks and everyone is united as one and feels the energy flowing through the group... and there's awe there too. Not everyone will get to see the view at 3000 feet or luck into seeing a double rainbow, but we can create opportunities for awe in our rituals. Start by making sure there are ways for everyone to meaningfully, deeply participate. Continue by making sure there's an energy raising. And make room for wonder; don't treat your ritual like a to-do list.

No matter what you do, sometimes your participants won't achieve awe, because it's an emotional state that also depends on what they find worthy of reverence. And sometimes they will experience awe in your rituals while you don't, and you end up offering the full ritual experience as a gift from outside of it. But sometimes magic will happen.

Published on Leave a comment on Come as you are to my circle

Sign outside a church that reads "Come as you are... but don't stay that way". I saw a sign outside a Christian church: "Come as you are". I thought about my small town childhood: about getting up on Sunday mornings to get ready for Sunday school, about the weeks when Sunday school was cancelled and we had to sit stiffly in pews instead of colouring, and about tea and cookies with everyone else in their Sunday bests after the service. It was a thing we did for years - every Sunday unless we were camping - but when we moved to a suburb, Mom stopped taking us to church and I never asked to go back.

"Come as you are": it sounds like permission to wear jeans to church, or maybe to show up without faith. It sounds like an unconditional welcome for all; a lovely invitation to enter no matter who you are, what you believe, or what you need.

It turns out, it is about sin: come though you are a sinner. You don't have to be perfect - you don't have to have it all figured out - but bring it all to Jesus/God now. And since there is so much variety within Christianity, there is controversy about what it means and whether or not this kind of invitation is a good idea. But to me, an outsider, it sounds functional: If your religion is going to work, people have to show up. If you want people to be saved, they have to first come in their unsaved condition.

As a whole, Pagan religions aren't much into "sin" or being saved, but we can get hung up on other things. I've spoken to many a new Pagan who has not done any rituals for themselves or who express reluctance to run rituals for their coven or group because they feel like they don't know enough yet. They want to make sure it is going to be perfect before they even attempt it. They put off setting up an altar until they can collect all the perfect tools, and they put off praying wile they seek a deep call to a patron deity, and they put off attending a public ritual until they've read their way through a few lists of "books every Pagan should read". I'm as guilty as them of not starting a morning ritual because I fear that I won't get it right and I'm not sure I can be perfect in doing it daily. We may not be concerned with sin, but we can put off dealing with our spiritual needs due to perfectionism.

The other half of the saying "come as you are" is "but don't stay that way". The Christians will sometimes quote Jesus as saying: "Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more" (John 8:11) and explain that it means not to return to sinful choices.

Though we may not be interested in being saved, our religion is only as good as the changes it makes in us. In my Paganism, we come to circle, grove, or altar with no fancy robes, tools, or excessive knowledge needed, and in being there, we change in ways we choose and are changed in ways we never imagined. Whether we enter sacred space alone or in community, we come as we are, but we don't stay that way.

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 Our big questions – part 6: Our Pagan symposium


A view from below of a branching tree Last weekend, my spiritual family gathered around a dinner table to talk theology and eat and drink. It was the first Silver Spiral Pagan Symposium, as inspired by this post in "Under the Ancient Oaks".

The Symposium was doubling as my birthday party, so my partner and I had hired a chef as a special luxury for all of us. As fun as the potluck aspect sounded, for this occasion, we wanted it to be as little work as possible for everyone, especially since it was all planned for a Friday night. Besides overnight stuff for those staying over, the only thing our guests were asked to bring was a theology or philosophy question.

We came in our all beautiful chaos, most straight from work through truly awful traffic. Altogether, the Symposium was made up of most of the local Silver Spiral members and one from out of town, spouses from various spiritual backgrounds, three young kids, and a puppy who is in training to be a seeing eye dog. We came out of the pouring rain with overnight bags and toddlers in tow. Almost all of us were later arriving than we'd planned to be, we almost forgot to set the table, and we'd poured a first round of drinks and started nibbling on the appetizers before the last guests made it in. Throughout the multi-course dinner, there were breaks for the chef to tell us about the next course, for taking the dog out, to deal with children arguing, for baby bedtime, and for taking medications. Our conversations split and wandered from deep theology to community gossip to mundane things and back. We only poured two offerings. We didn't get to most people's questions. At one point, I was in full rant mode about something - cultural appropriation, Pagan fundamentalism, something else? - when I saw the chef step towards the dining room holding a cake with lit candles, see that it didn't look like quite the moment and start turning around. I was the only one facing that direction, so I interrupted myself by laughing and waving my birthday cake into the room.

It wasn't what John described in his post: an orderly dinner with each course proceeded by an offering and a question and an evening of thoughtful, focused, adult conversation. But what it was was beautiful: the extended Pagan family in all its glory, ending with sipping a truly perfect mead at around 2 am.

In the midst of all that, we did have some great theology discussions. Silver Spiral had a head start on those because our previous discussions had covered a lot of basics about what each of us believe, so we could dig directly into more specific topics such as why make offerings, the politics of being a nature religion on unceded First Nations territory, where we think we really are when in a sacred circle or ritual space, anthrocentricism, what makes a good leader in Paganism... We took good advantage of what we did know about each other, but we also drew on the different backgrounds of our non-member guests, such as a Unitarian and someone with an intense science background (who also told us about the sweetening effect of artichokes), which enriched the conversation further. We all brought open minds, which was most important.

It's not something we will do every month or even every quarter - too much rich food, too much wine, and too little sleep, especially for the parents of small children - but we will do it again. The most important part of our symposium was definitely the people, but great food and wine does facilitate conversation and some guidelines about the topics helps guide the group. Attempting to exert too much control over an evening like this would meant missing out on the magic of a full family experience. The only thing I would have changed is putting it on a Saturday night or starting a little later so people didn't have to rush as much.

Our evening may not have been "productive", but it was spiritually nourishing and a lot of fun. I did learn some really interesting things about my friends' beliefs and got some food for thought (that will probably show up in this blog soon). I highly recommend putting together your own version of the modern Pagan symposium.

Series to date:
Our big questions - part 1
Our big questions - part 2
Our big questions - part 3: Ritual structure 2.0
Our big questions – part 4: Circling from awkward to graceful (and back)
Our big questions - part 5: Hacking our religion

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Published on 1 Comment on Responsible to the centres


The main lodge and fire pit at a Pagan gathering This past weekend, I went to my 18th Gathering for Life on Earth. There were rituals, and swimming, and workshops, and feasting, but best of all, there were juicy conversations. One of my favourite people to talk to every year is a brilliant woman who runs a local Pagan choir and who does a sung devotional ritual every year. She is so thoughtful in how she approaches ritual, and how she sets a tone and guides without controlling... her rituals inspire me on several levels.

Naturally, she leads devotional rituals because she is a polytheist, which I am not. This year, we touched on this briefly in our meandering theological discussion, and I mentioned the four centres of Paganism theory. Though we agreed that people may be centred in multiple areas or may slip between them, she did identify primarily as deity-centred and I as community-centred. We discussed how non-deity-centred public ritual leaders should be cognizant of not offending those for whom the gods and spirits are literal. It isn't that hard, and seems mostly common sense: don't invoke gods if you don't know at least a little about them, lest you offend them; don't invoke gods together who are enemies; don't call on spirits unless the literal energy is what is desired. Basically, it seemed all good practices to me anyway: avoiding cognitive dissonance amongst knowledgeable or conscientious non-believers, not offending believers, and not making a fool of yourself by parading your ignorance around the circle.

A good ritual leader wants everyone to get something out of their ritual. That's a challenge in a public or semi-public setting where people could be from any of the centres, and be any of the kinds of deism as well1. Making a ritual that works for everyone is a big challenge, but it isn't a bad start to figure out what responsibility you have as a leader to each of the four centres. Here are just some ideas to get us all started; feel free to add more in the comments:

To the deity-centre, you have the responsibility to use respectful language and actions towards the gods and spirits, as discussed above.

To the nature-centre, you have the responsibility to be conscience in your choice of materials and tools, avoiding plastics and waste and being aware of the kind of offerings being made and their impact on the plants and animals. You would also want to be aware of the actual environment of your ritual (and not, for example, turning your back on a lake in order to invoke Water in the West), know your science if you are going to be using natural concepts (and not, for example, calling on a non-local bird as your spirit in the East), and being careful in your language around grounding (really, stop dumping all your negative energy into the earth) and elevating or privileging people over nature.

To the inner-centre2, you have the responsibility to not preach or lecture, and not to imply that lack of belief in external, literal gods makes someone a bad Pagan, or that lack of faith will drive one mad. It is also important that your ritual have a coherent theme and that the components make psychological sense in how they come together and build towards something. I think this is also the centre that would most want to know what words mean when chanting or invoking in another language, since intent is so important to many inner-centred traditions. Providing context and translation would be crucial to their comfort and involvement.

To the community-centre, you have the responsibility to offer opportunities for people to participate together; to offer opportunities and activities that someone could not experience on their own. From the comfort of our homes, we can watch videos of liturgy being recited, we can listen to recordings of talented singers, we can mediate and pray - what we want from group ritual is that which we can't get any other way. Being asked to merely witness is usually not sufficient for this centre, except where community witnessing is the whole point, as in a handfasting.

Following these guidelines won't guarantee that everyone will grok or even enjoy your ritual, but it does mean that people won't be put off or jolted out of the experience you are trying to create by something that offends their fundamental beliefs. If you want to offer rituals to the Pagan community, especially in public or semi-public settings like festivals or Pagan Pride events, it is important to recognize that you are responsible to the whole community, not just the centres you are most familiar with. A public ritual is about more than your own practice, or even presenting your tradition to a larger audience; it is about engaging your community - your whole community - in something spiritual, religious, and meaningful.

I suspect some people will fear that in trying to please everyone, you will end up with a mess of compromises that pleases no one, but I think that reading over the points above makes it pretty clear that it is possible to make a ritual that fills at least the basic needs of all the centres without losing meaning or purpose. It is a great gift to the community to offer a ritual, but only if it is offered with respect and love for everyone.

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Published on 1 Comment on Skeptical, not cynical


Sunrise over the ocean

The flip side of the "so naive" story about believers is a story about non-believers: "so cynical".

Exclamations of awe and wonder often refer to deity and divinity:

Oh my god!
Jesus!
Heavens above!
Praise god!
Amen!
Thank god!

When we see beauty so great that we lose words...
When we receive a blessing so powerful that we can't express our gratitude...
When we are struck with ecstatic realization...

... we use the language of the divine and the supernatural, having no other words big enough.

But not using the words, or not believing in what is supposed to be behind the words, doesn't mean not feeling the awe and wonder. Being skeptical about whether or not there's a creator doesn't prevent your heart from beating faster when lightening forks across the sky, or when you spot a wild deer for a breathless moment before it bounds into the forest, or when watching the sun rise over the ocean. The hypnotizing beauty of a camp fire, the pull of a drum rhythm, and a video of the earth from space can move the spirit even of one who doubts the existence of a soul.

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Published on 1 Comment on Paganism without faith


Rainbow in an industrial area "I wished I could believe like that. It must be so comforting..."

There are all kinds of Pagans. I hang out with a lot of humanists and skeptics, and fewer mystics and believers, so I hear the above phrase a lot. I've said it a few times myself.

There's something condescending in that, though, right? 'Ah, to be so naive again!' says the world-weary realist.

That's not to say that the envy isn't also real for some of us. We do want what (we think) faith will give us: feelings of being cared for and watched over, purpose and direction given to us from outside, and comfort that comes from Someone having a plan. We think it will be less work; we think it will be easier than always doubting, analyzing, thinking, creating, and then doubting and analyzing again.

I think we underestimate the work involved in believing, but this isn't about the faithful. This is about letting go of the story of "I wish to believe" - both the patronizing and the jealousy - and embracing our unique ways of being in this religion and what we can contribute to the larger conversation about spirituality's role in saving humanity. We can be a bridge. We can make religious offerings that are gifts to the world. We can offer community and connection. We can bring each other back into the earth and show what's worth saving. We can make thoughtful critiques, show that comfort is not the most important thing, and create something beautiful and true and powerful... then doubt and ask questions and create something even more beautiful and true and powerful. There's a lot of work to do; let's stop wasting time wishing we were different.



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