Interfaith Retreat Day

On Monday Patrick and I attended a day-long retreat sponsored on a quarterly basis by the Marin Interfaith Council and held at beautiful Santa Sabina Center here in San Rafael.

There were two teachers. One was Rabbi Lavey Derby from Congregation Kol Shofar in Tiburon a sixth-generation direct descendent of noted Chassidic Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditche. The other was the Rev. Carol Saysette, a graduate of PSR and retired UCC minister who presently teaches at Lloyd Center of San Francisco Theological Seminary in San Anselmo, about four miles from here.

Lavey began "We are all in Egypt," which I take to mean that we are looking to be somewhere else, we are in the dark, we don't feel at home, we are seekers. He spoke of the Hebrew word shalom, which he says means "coming to a place of wholeness, a place of redemption, an end to suffering, a life of heart." I had thought it meant simply "peace," like salem and salaam; I guess the meanings are concordant. He mentioned that the Yiddish word, now common in American English, kvetch (one of my favorites) literally means to "squeeze through."

When Carol spoke, she added that Gethsemane, the garden where Jesus went to pray before his last Passover meal, means "wine press," or a place where one is squeezed, put under pressure, forced to confront whatever matters are at hand.

After the first hour of teaching, we were to keep silent. I think the importance of allowing a time of solemn silence, a time for unhurried reflection, is much neglected in our society, and I was glad to get it. This was not meditiation in the Zen sense of emptying one's mind; you could think about things. You just couldn't engage in communication with others. It was great for me! I know it was hard for Patrick because he's so engaging -- and I'm no shrink when it comes to talking myself -- but I know he also found value in the exercise.

We were free to wander the courtyard and gardens and the walking paths beyond. The day was mild and sunny and welcoming. We maintained silence until after lunch. Dining in silence Santa Sabina's old refectory evoked a sense of what the life of a contemplative is like every day.

After lunch, when the floor was opened for discussion, we found that, regardless of religion, we were inclined to reach deep beneath our differences.

We considered Destiny and Choice. Carol asked if there was ever a wrong choice. A Christian woman offered that when she was graduated from high school, just at the end of the Great Depression and the beginning of World War II, she took a job with the military in a section that was making chemical weaponry. She was making $30 a week while her contemporaries just out of high school were lucky to be making $3 a week. As she became more familiar with the work she was helping to do, she felt bad. She quit and instead enlisted in the military herself to help fight Fascism. She felt she'd made a wrong choice in accepting the job making chemical weaponry.

I said that I didn't think there was necessarily such a thing as a 'wrong' choice, but there are choices which are unconstructive or self-destructive. To which Carol added that the Jesuits ask, when confronting choice, "is it life-enhancing?" I like that.

Lavey referred to a Chassidic rabbi who likened life (as in incarnation) to a fragmenting or to shards of broken glass that we spend our lives reassembling. That when we are born, that divinity within us is shattered and it is up to us to recover it. (I hope I'm doing his talk justice in paraphrasing it from this distance in time.)

Patrick offered that we are somewhat like a jigsaw puzzle found in a thrift store, one where the box top is missing yet we have all the pieces. Then our process of reassembling the pieces into a complete picture is more difficult because we have no finished image to guide us.

Sherna, a Baha'i member, explained that in her religion they view life as a weaving, where the warp is destiny and the threads, colors and textures we select to weave the woof are choice. Such a wonderful metaphor! How would our human brains ever be able to understand complex matters without metaphor?

This is the second MIC retreat I've attended, the last being a couple years ago. I enjoy them and intend to do others.

More on Cherry Hill Seminary at PantheaCon '07

Student William Blumberg coordinated an academic panel for CHS at the most recent PantheaCon. William, a philosopher, is also coordinator of one of the largest Pagan Meetups in the world in Orange County, California. Sam Webster gave the paper; Carol Cunningham offered a response paper. Sam's paper is here.

More on My Poppy Tatts

One tidbit about PantheaCon you probably won't see on any other blog is that they had a tattoo contest. I entered five of mine -- to enter, they take a photo and you fill out a form saying when you got it, who did it, and why, or its meaning to you. My new California poppies by Heath Preheim at Spider Murphy's in San Rafael, won "best floral." The amazing joi wolfwomyn won for "greenest"; she has bright green leaves tattooed like a mustache on her upper lip and as a soul patch beneath her lower lip.

Red Dawn Rising from Southern California had California poppies tattooed on her shoulders around the same time as I did my arms. We compared thoughts and tatts at PantheaCon.

And on the subject of tattoos, my all-time favorite tattoo artists, Vyvyn Lazonga, was interviewed this week on SF Gate by David Ian Miller, the same religion reporter who interviewed me at Samhain '05.

Internationally Published!

Huzzah! Today I learned from my friend Lugh in São Paulo, that my book, Witchcraft and the Web, has now been published in Brazil, with the exotic Portuguese title of Bruxaria na Internet. Under his his mundane name, Claudiney Prieto, Lugh is Brazil's best-selling author of books on the Craft, and it is thanks to his efforts that this came about.

Although this book was first published in 2001 by ECW Press in Canada, I have heard frequent complaints about how difficult it's been to find in this country. I don't know why, exactly, because reviews have been consistently good. Here's another.

Should you wish to purchase it online, I know that Magus Books in Paganistan (Minneapolis/St. Paul) can sell you a copy.* I had originally had a link arrangement with Powells.com in Portland, Oregon, because I am committed to supporting independent booksellers and publishers whenever possible, but for some reason they don't carry it any more; perhaps it didn't sell enough for them to feel they should keep in in stock. In any case, readers in Australia and New Zealand can buy it at Wakefield Press (though they have the title slightly off). Here's what it looks like:

I wrote the foreword to one of Claudiney's recent books, Coven: Criando e Organizando Seu Próprio Grupo. Portuguese readers might want to check this out. Otherwise, the same topic is addressed in English in Judy Harrow's excellent Wicca Covens.

I got a kick out of how they introduced me in Brazil: "a senhora NightMare, sacerdotista da Covenant of the Goddess." At the time I was National First officer of CoG so I'm guessing that sacerdotista means "priestess" or "high priestess," which sounds sexier that the more clinical National First Officer.

Anyway, while I'm in the midst of family crises on both ends of the lifespan (96-year-old senile mother and 30-year-old daughter going through challenging times), it's great to learn this news.

Also loved my time at PantheaCon last weekend, with my cellphone turned off. More details about that on the blogs of my friends Anne Hill, Erynn, Kevin, Oak, Panthera, Thorn and Victoria, and perhaps here when I can extract myself from family crises. :sigh:


* If it's not there right away, it will be soon.

Green Egg Is Back!

Good news! Ariel Montserrat, with Oberon's blessings and the assistance of Jeanne Koelle and Ian LurkingBear, is reviving The Green Egg as an online zine. After years (since 1968) of being the best and most comprehensive of Pagan medium for writing by and about Pagans and Paganism, GE has been dormant since 2001. The website, which is anticipated to launch this coming weekend, is www.greeneggzine.com.

Maybe this news is all over the Web by now for all I know. I've been preoccupied with a family crisis. Ariel informed me by personal post and solicitation this morning.

I'm eager to see what they do with it. I'm most curious to see if they revive the GE Forum, which was the place where Pagans could discuss ideas with each other pre-WWW. I'm sure the internet has changed that form of dialogue. We shall see. I'm optimistic.

Huzzah for Ariel!

Calling Lady Justice

Here are some facts about First Lt. Ehren Watada's court-martial, featuring a Reclaiming friend.

Lady Justice by Joshua Reynolds, 1779

On another matter, this request concerning a child custody hearing in Texas and involving alleged religious discrimination towards a Witch came in my email. I know nothing about this matter other than what's on the website, which isn't much, really, but in any case, I think the situation calls for the presence of Lady Justice.

Peter Max, 1995

Oh, Bridey, Come, Come, Come!

I'm always glad when the Feast of Brigit rolls around, never less than this year, when I'm dealing with some serious healing issues in my family. Deirdre is melting in Brigit's forge, being hammered on Her anvil, shaped into something new and glorious. I am calling for Brigit's healing balm, carrying Her waters to those who have need of their healing. But basically I don't feel very creative. So in answer to the request for Brigit poetry, I offer this piece created by Diane Darling and me for a goddess masks ritual I created at New College of California back in 2000. The accompanying photo shows Lauren Raine's gorgeous mask of Brigit, worn by Diane, and photographed by Tom Lux.

I am Brigid, Lady of the Celts,
Creatrix of the Island of Ireland,
Midwife to new life in Spring.

You may know I am here
when the snowdrop flowers
When the lambing begins,
and the calving and foaling,
When the babes conceived on Beltane are born.

I am Lady of the flame,
Mistress of changes,
without and within.
I shape the bright metals:
gold and silver, spirit.

I shape the bright hearts of the lover,
the poet,
the smith.
Feel My hand on yours as you craft your lives,
Shape your loves,
build your great works,
grow into your true self.

I am Lady of the Well,
the deep well
That reaches into the darkness
and rises to the light,
The spills the waters of wisdom
for all who care to drink.

I am the great fount of Inspiration
for poet and bard.
The harp sings in My voice,
and the pipes and drums
My song is sung in all the lands,
by bird and bard and babe.

You may come to Me for healing,
be it of beast or human;
For beginning new life,
for insight, for love,
Or just to shelter within My cloak
from life’s tempests and sorrows.

Call Me by My many names:
I am with you,
children of the children of the children of
The Lost Isles,
the Western Shores,
children of Turtle Island.
I have not forgotten you,
far flung though you may be.

Remember Me also, My beloved ones,
when the poet sings,
When the cow rises from the calving
and the fever leaves the brow.

Tonight I'm going to renew my connection with Brigit in community. I will thank Her for all She's given me, renew my pledge to Her, and relight a candle with Her flame. Here are the words with which I'll seal the spell.

What we have received tonight has been held in our keeping.
What passes now flows out of our hands and into the Earth,
Trusting in time and right season,
Let us go on.

The House of Rumour

This is a piece I like to put out there now and then. I don't have anything particular on my mind at the moment, no rumors floating around my life, just revisiting something I really like.

The House of Rumour

from Ovid’s Metamorphoses

In the centre of the world, situated between earth and sky and sea, at the point where the three realms of the universe meet, is a place from which everything the world over can be seen, however far away, and to its listening ears come every sound. There Rumour lives, in a home she has chosen for herself on a hilltop. Night and day the house lies open, for she has given it a thousand apertures and countless entrances, with never a door to barricade her thresholds. The whole structure is of echoing brass, and is full of noises, repeating words and giving back the sounds it hears. There is no quiet within, no silence in any part, and yet there is no loud din, but only murmured whisperings, like the sound of the sea’s waves, heard at a distance, or the last rumbles of thunder when Jupiter has crashed dark clouds together. A whole host inhabits these halls: they come and go, a shadowy throng, and a thousand rumours, false mixed with true, stray this way and that, while confused words flit about. Some of them pour their stories into idle ears, other carry off elsewhere the tales they have been told, the story grows, and each new teller adds something to what he has heard. Here live Credulity, a hot-headed Error, groundless Joy and craven Fears, Sedition newly-born, and Whispers whose origin no one knows. Rumour herself sees everything that goes on in heaven, in earth, and on the sea, and seeks information the world over.

Brigit Approaches

I look forward to our annual celebration of the Feast of the Goddess Brigit. This year especially, since I'm dealing with a loved one much in need of healing.

In honor of Brigit in her role as fire in the poet's brain, goddess of inspiration, I invite all to join in the Second Annual Brigid in Cyberspace Poetry Reading anytime on February 2, 2007 on your blog.

This is a spell begun by Reya and being continued by Oak, so "link to whoever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun."

Our New Kitties

Oona, fka Bubbles


Fernando is the one in front.

On January 13th, I sent this news to a few friends:

Here are Fernando and Bubbles. (Bubbles is undergoing a name change, top contenders being Oona, Mercedes and Isabel.) Marmalade and white Fernando is from an all-male litter called the F Troupe. Bubbles, a medium-haired calico, is from an all-female litter born of a petite mama. One litter was imported to the Bay Area from Manteca and the other from Merced (hence the possible name Mercedes), Valley communities where low-cost spaying and neutering is not available so more kittens need adoptive homes. Fernando is 10 weeks old, Bubbles 8, both are neutered.

They were adopted from The Milo Foundation in Berkeley. Even though they’re from different litters, they adapted to each other instantly, playing, sleeping and grooming together. Mr. Fernando is a regular purring machine, and is a tremendous leaper. Bubbles is full of curiousity, so tiny she can lie on my arm.

Both slept with us last night, in a little pile. They’re great fun. We’re really enjoying them and looking forward to having them in our family for many years to come.

That was nearly two weeks ago. Tonight they are tearing all over the house. They are at least twice the size they were when they arrived here. Two weeks ago they could curl together on my lap; now they've grown so that one or the other of them tends to slide off. Fernando is bigger and purrs more readily and louder, but spunky Oona (aka Oona Banoona) holds her own with him.

I took this photo last week. You can't photograph them in action because they bounce off the walls. They move like lightning.


Oona and Fernando, age 9 and 11 weeks, respectively.

A Woman's Choice

Or who owns our bodies?

Apparently Tuesday, the 34th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, was Blog for Choice Day. I didn't hear about it till Wednesday and was sick all day, so today I'm bringing up the rear.

My reproductive history was affected by big changes in the law.

At the time of my first pregnancy, safe legal abortion was illegal in California, which was where I lived at the time. I could take a chance, assuming I had enough money and good connections, and go underground or to Mexico if I chose to terminate pregnancy. I was in my late teens and had no marketable skills. I was not self-supporting. I was a student at San Jose State. I was unmarried. There was tremendous shame associated out-of-wedlock births, for both mother and child. Few women, even with good skills, could earn a living wage. There was no social support for single women, and no mandated child support from the father.

The only viable choice I could see was surrending my child for adoption, so that's what I did. It was the most painful choice I've ever had to make. The pain of that loss remains forever. It has receded in the intervening years, but it doesn't take much to restimulate it. And even adoption laws have been drastically liberalized since those days.

In 1964 I began taking birth control pills, Enovid E to be precise, which was later proven to have its own set of problems. (See Malcolm Gladwell's essay about Enovid E in The New Yorker.) The doctor who prescribed them for me was prochoice, and he ended up prescribing them for my two under-21 flatmates as well, but mainly birth control pills were only available to married women.

My second pregnancy occurred when I had an IUD in place and was in a committed relationship with the man who eventually became my husband. He had two children already and we were not prepared to become parents at that time. This was around 1969, when one could obtain a safe, legal abortion in a hospital if one could prove that it would be a danger to the life of the mother to continue the pregnancy. With counseling and sound advice from our local Planned Parenthood, I was referred to two psychiatrists who were supportive a woman's right to choose. They had to interview me -- at some expense, I might add -- and state that my life was endangered by bringing my pregnancy to term. Both were male. So I needed two male authority figures and a male M.D. to affirm my decision.

The standard method in those days was dilation and curettage (D&C). This requires shaving the pubic hair. At the hospital I had a hostile nurse who scraped my skin with some vigor, I must say. I had been shaved for delivery of my first child, but this was wicked. I swear she used a rusty razor. Regardless of shaving, a D&C is invasive and carries some danger.

The third time I became pregnant, my late husband Rod and I had our beautiful and much-loved Deirdre Blessing. She was born at home in our North Beach flat with the help of midwives Nan Bowe, RN, CNM, and Vani Garabedian, Lay Midwife, coaching by Rod and photography by the late Richard Smith.

During the time surrounding my divorce I again became pregnant. I was not in a position to take responsibility for another child at that time, nor did the father wish to have it. I had an abortion at Kaiser. By this time, the procedure was placing some kind of seaweed in the cervix to dilate it before vacuum aspiration. The most difficult part was enduring the pokes and jabs from nurses and doctors trying to find a vein for the saline solution or sedative or whatever it was they were giving me intravenously. My veins are not close to the surface of my skin; I always have this trouble when donating blood or getting lab work done. I recovered much more quickly from the VA than from the D&C.

My fifth pregnancy, with the same man (a seven-year monogamous relationship) as with the fourth, was terminated by VA at the Oakland Feminist Women's Health Center (unfortunately now defunct). One of the founders was the late poet June Jordan. It was she who greeted me when I came in for my abortion. There, they assigned me a companion who stayed with me throughout the procedure, offered care and comfort. Ironically, the doctor who performed the abortion was Dr. Gore.

Who cares about my personal reproductive history? Probably no one but my loved ones. I offer it here to show how profound the changes have been since I came of reproductive age and now that I am past that age.

I'm glad we now have personal choice in making such a difficult decision. My daughter and her contemporaries take it for granted. The great news is that Deirdre is now training to be a midwife with Elizabeth Davis at Hearts & Hands.

Marin Remembers MLK

The Marin Interfaith Council and the Marin Interfaith Youth Outreach presented an event in honor of Dr. King called Jubilee: Civil Rights & Marin County 50 Years Ago at Congregation Rodef Sholom tonight. I went alone. Some of the speakers were people I'm acquainted with, mostly through the MIC.

Rabbi Stacy Friedman, the senior rabbi of the host site, spoke of the meaning of the 50th anniversary, or jubilee. The jubilee is a year of restoration and celebration, called in Hebrew yobel, or "ram's-horn trumpet" with which the jubilee year was proclaimed. Besides celebrating 50 years of civil rights activism in Marin, the event also celebrated the jubilees of none Marin religious congregations.

Noah Griffin recapped significant events in the struggle for civil rights, citing legal rulings, Rosa Parks' bus ride, and his own few meetings with prominent civil rights leaders. He just rolled off all these facts; probably is asked to to it a lot.

Sister Chandru Desai of the Brahma Kumaris Meditation Center (soon to open a meditation center in Novato), in her very gentle way, lead us in chanting "Om Shanti Peace."

Interspersed between the speakers was some lively gospel singing. Fortunately, for me at least, most of the gospel singing was of well-known freedom songs rather than Christian hymns. Many, if not most, of the 500 people in attendance, sang and clapped and stood up and rocked. I'm always happy to join in good-time song.

The highlight of the evening was a screening of "Civil Rights & Marin County: 50 Years Ago," a film by Scarlet Shepard. Most of the interviewees were in attendance. Among those interviewed were American-born Nisei who'd been rounded up and interned during World War II -- a shameful chapter in U.S. history. Others were African-Americans whose families had come to Marin during WW II to work for Bechtel building Liberty Ships at Marinship in Sausalito. One of the women spoke of growing up in Marin City, how most of the housing for the workers had been temporary and Marin City itself had been integrated. The housing complex at Marin City was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.

A white woman who was graduated from Tam High in 1950, spoke of the covert racial discrimnation she witnessed in earlier years, and noted landscape architect Lawrence Halprin and his dancer wife Anna spoke of their thwarted efforts to buy real estate in Kent Woodlands because they were Jews and how Roger Kent stepped in and made it happen.

I found the interview footage fascinating, yet I think the film needs to be expanded to contextualize the interviews and some polish. I'm viewing it as a work in progress.

One of the speakers preached, and as preaching goes she was good, but I don't want to be preached to no matter how skilled the preacher. I feel that preaching is inappropriate in interfaith contexts, even ones that celebrate the life of another African-American preacher.

I must admit that when one man sang a song he'd written about 'the Lord,' I just had to walk out for a while. He was a fine singer with a good strong voice, but the song made me so uncomfortable. Daresay it offended me. I know it was meaningful to him. But was it appropriate to all present? I don't think so. Not to me anyway. I returned after he finished.

What should a nice Pagan woman do in such a situation? I felt the only option I had to address my own discomfort was to absent myself for the duration. I did mention to the Director of MIC, who was one of the main organizers, how I'd been put off by such overt religiosity of a particular stripe. Maybe I'm just not cut out for this kind of work. I don't seek it out. It comes to me -- not this particular event, but in general I participate in interfaith activities because someone asks me to. I pass such opportunities to others when I can, and generally I feel I do a credible job, but still -- I'm never sure I'm the best person to be doing it.

We share many values -- peace activism, concern for the poor and homeless, opposition to capital punishment, green concerns -- and when we work together on those problems, I'm just fine. But still I find that the majority Abrahamics tend to slip into their assumption that all the world's population is monotheistic. It bugs me. I feel I should try to bring it up in as constructive a way as I can. How do others deal with it?

News with a Witchy Flavor

A couple of interesting news stories came to my attention this morning.

Two days ago Starhawk had put out a call for someone to lead a spiral dance at a rally to save some Valley Oaks (quercus lobata) on the UC Berkeley campus, and to support the urban tree-sitters there. I didn't volunteer because I was unsure of the specifics of the protest and how I might feel about it (both the validity of it and the methods) and I had a scheduling conflict. I certainly love the trees. I know they grow slowly and become very large. In addition, I love leading spiral dances, or just dancing them. They're seductive and intoxicating. They make you feel really good. Today this story, with plenty of photos, appeared in the Sunday SF Chronicle. Not surprisingly, the reporter, or the editor, played up the "California woo-woo" angle. This part in particular gave me a chuckle:

They chanted "Om," someone began drumming and then it began: an ancient pagan ritual known as the spiral dance.

Singing their song and forming one long line, they walked around and around in circles within circles, forming a spiral. A man told them it was key to look each other in the eyes during the spiral dance. "It's pretty amazing," he said.

"An ancient pagan ritual known as the spiral dance." I love it!

The second story, in the same edition but also sent by a Pagan friend who was among the 1200 who participated, is about a large-scale plea for impeachment. While not quite as audacious as the Baring Witness shoots I've taken part in, the scale is immense. What a job it must have been to get all those people settled in the right places. And then having to shoot the photo from a helicopter!

Madame Speaker -- Huzzah!

I've been happily absorbed in all the media coverage of Nancy Pelosi's ascension ot Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives. I caught a smattering of it on the tube as I was leaving for work Wednesday, then read the text of her speech online and found some video on my iBook at work, then spent too much time in my local Peet's Coffee reading the many articles about her, her career and family in the SF Chronicle. I got teary listening to her eloquent acceptance speech. I wave my pointy black hat in celebration.

At the tea given for Nancy the day before her swearing in, she specifically pointed out the influece of one of her mentors, the late Congresswoman Sala Burton of San Francisco (wife of Rep. Phillip Burton, he who brought the splendid GGNRA to the Bay Area) and the late Gov. Ann Richards of Texas. (Ann once said of our current President, "Poor George, he can't help it...He was born with a silver foot in his mouth.") I got misty watching her bring all the House women up on stage with her (including our own Lynn Woolsey), plus Senators Barbara Mikulski and Dianne Feinstein. I've watched all of their careers for so many years, with admiration.

When Congresswoman Geraldine Ferraro was chosen at Walter Mondale's Vice Presidential running mate in 1984, I cried. I found Second Wave Feminism in the '60s, and the idea of a woman actually running for a national office of that magnitude struck many of us as a great accomplishment that women of my generation could barely have imagined possible.

But even before that, in 1972, I campaigned for the first African-American woman to serve in the U.S. Congress, the late Shirley Chisholm of Brooklyn, in her bid for the presidency in the primaries. Congresswoman Chisholm gave this speech in support of the Equal Rights Amendment in 1970, and in spite of our now having many, but not enough, women in the Senate, the House, governors' mansions, state legislatures, city halls and school boards, we still have not managed to pass an amendment to the Constitution guaranteeing our equal rights as women.

I'm encouraged by Nancy Pelosi's accomplishment, her sense of optimism, and her energetic beginning. Recent conversations with younger women, my daughter and stepdaughter among them, and with friends of my vintage about their daughters' attitudes, lift my spirits and warm my heart. I'm on board with Third Wave Feminism. Let's keep the dialogue going. Let's keep up the pressure for our rights. Let's change culture.

Thank you, Madame Speaker, for your work, and for the role model you offer our daughters and granddaughters.

Lilith Is Gone

Corby and I decided it was time to give our kitty Lilith the peace of passing. She'd lost her eye some time ago, and it only got worse, just a dead eye in her head. The vet could do nothing about it. She'd basically been well except for drinking a lot of water because her kidneys weren't working well.

When our friend Raven Moonshadow was ill and dying, he wanted his two cats, Lilith Nightmare (perhaps named for me?) and Shadowfax, to remain together. We adopted them and brought them to live with us and our grey-and-white longhair tuxedo cat, Buster. Raven, who had AIDS-related dementia by that time, had told us that Lilith was 10 and Shadow was 5; that was in 1996. We only know that they were adults when they came to us and both had 10 good years with us. Both were black, Lilith shorthaired and round; we called her our Sicilian cat for her robust swarthiness. Shadow was more elfin, fine-boned, fluffy and longhaired.

Lilith was always the more social of the two. She got out of the carrier first. She greeted people and explored fearlessly. She took longish, for a cat, neighborhood walks with us. She even followed us one night when we were walking to downtown San Rafael. That means she had to cross Second and Third Streets, both main arteries to and from Highway 101. She loved laps but never wanted to be picked up and carried. She protested when we insisted on carrying her across those two streets; we did it anyway. The walk was maybe a mile and a half, quite a hike for a little cat.


Another time she was sleeping in the sunlight on the roof of the cab of Corby's yellow truck when he ran an errand to the local 7-11. He didn't know she was there and just drove off. People were waving at him and pointing to the roof as he drove but he didn't realize that they were trying to tell him there was a cat on the [hot tin] roof. When he pulled into a parking space in front of the store, this terrified kitty came sliding down the windshield onto the hood. It's a wonder she didn't fall off on the bumpy ride. There was nothing for her claws to grip. Corby put her in the cab and brought her home with his purchases.

We live in a condo complex on Picnic Hill. Lilith spent most of her days wandering around, sleeping in the sunlight on the steep driveway, wandering in the gardens, snoozing amidst the flowers, greeting one and all with her little barely-audible croak and wreathing their legs in hopes of some petting. For some of the younger residents, Lilith was their first encounter with a feline. Lilith made friends with everyone.

She quit eating about two weeks ago and just stayed indoors sleeping, mostly on the couch. She sought affection most of that time and purred when she got it. She loved her lap time. She'd go out on the deck from about five minutes at a time. Neighbors noticed her absence out front; they missed her welcomes and inquired about her well-being.

Sometimes it's difficult to judge when a living being has ceased living and moved on to simply existing in a miserable and often painful state. I've never believed there's any value in unnecessary suffering. I've had to make the decision to euthanize my share of animal friends. I'm glad to say that every one of them lived a long, good life in our family. They'd just reached the point where their bodies had worn out. We took Lilith to the Marin Humane Society where we'd taken her sister Shadow this past June. Lilith went easy, very easy.

Remembering the Homeless

Tonight, in a constant mist of rain, I participated in the 19th Annual Memorial Service for Homeless People Who Have Died in San Francisco This Year, an interfaith service sponsored by the Coalition on Homelessness and San Francisco Network Ministries.

I had no idea what to expect. I knew that the woman who organizes it, the Rev. Glenda Hope, is well regarded and considered quite a dynamo. She wanted to assure that this event was an inclusive as possible. One of her colleagues contacted me through a circuitous route, and lo! there I was. I'd have preferred to find a San Francisco Pagan, but didn't know of any who might be good at it and willing to do it on December 21. The actual moment of Solstice being late Thursday afternoon, the longest night was December 20th this year, Wednesday, so many Pagans had already celebrated.

Religions represented were Islam, Roman Catholic, the SF Zen Center, a Protestant (Presbyterian, I think), Judaism, someone from a group connected with Tom Waddell, perhaps the Gay Olympics, and Pagan. There was a news truck from KTVU there and someone else who was videotaping the ceremony. The Muslim man spoke quietly and didn't seem to know how to use a mike. The Zen folks -- there were several -- spoke and then chanted words that they'd handed out ahead of time. They chanted in a monotone.

Between speakers someone read names of people who'd died in the streets in 2006. After each name was read, one of the Zen folks struck a bowl. Glenda had gotten the names from the SF Coroner's Office. I loved the reading of the names. Everyone loves the reading of names. People of many religions know in their hearts and bodies that speaking aloud the names of the departed reaches us in a different way than just reading them. That's one of the things about Spiral Dance Samhain rituals in recent years that most disappoints me. People complain that the list is too long, the reading takes too long, it's boring. Well, I think it's only boring to those who aren't listening. I know that for those who've lost someone that year hearing that person called to dance with us is an important part of their mourning.

I read a prayer by Starhawk from our book, adapted for this situation.

"For One Who Has Died Violently or in Great Distress"

Mother of healing,
Help us to believe in the
Place where wounds can heal.

Mother of weaving,
Show us that what has been torn
Can there be mended.

This worst has happened.
How can we believe again
In hope, love, kindness?

Boatman, Ferryman,
They have had rough crossings.
Carry them gently.

Comfort them, Mother,
In your warm arms of
Night; rock them to sleep.

And by our rage,
Mother of Justice,
May justice be done.

I followed with a simple four-line chant by Anne Hill and Starhawk, a C&W-sounding lament called "When We Are Gone." I explained that because we never knew when we'd encounter death, it was good to have something to meet death with, anyone's death, and that this simple chant was good for that. Before we began, I suggested that people might want to take the hand to the person next to them, if they felt comfortable doing so. I asked them to look around at the faces of those around them. I suggested that if that didn't feel right, they might want to close their eyes and see the faces of those they'd lost. I asked those who liked to sing to add harmonies when they wanted, and said we'd break into a four-part round -- we stood in a rather clumpy circle, about three or four deep -- when we got going and everyone knew it well enough.

I taught the chant by speaking the words once. Then I sang one line at a time and asked those assembled to repeat it; then I did the whole chant again two lines at a time, with repeat. Then I sang all four lines and asked them to join it.

Well, I'm telling you, getting them to sing, even such a simple little chant, was like the proverbial pulling of teeth! The Zen folks, bless them, did sing. I looked all around the circle several times as we sang, seeking connection with my eyes to others. I'd guess that maybe 20% of those there actually sang. Needless to say, we never broke into a round. I brought it to a gentle end by drawing out the last word.

The ceremony didn't last long but it was satisfying. It was over in time for me to get to Berkeley to celebrate the Solstice with Coven Trismegiston.

Spiral Dance

The promised -- and anticipated (by some) -- critique of the 2006 Spiral Dance, in terms of its technical deficiencies, appears below on December 5, the day I started to write it. Other SD reviews here and here.

Bewildering Invitation

Like most folks around this time of year, I receive my share of invitations to holiday parties, celetrations, and religious observances. One that I received this season especially caught my attention. Under a subsection of the e-mailed invitation is a topic called "What else should you remember?" It addresses two subjects:

Be sure you have showered before hand, trimmed your nails, freshened your breath, washed your hands and the like before coming. That's not only polite, but it's also important for ritual purity.

Please come sober and OFF drugs. Alcohol (such as mulled wine) will be served to non-minors who want it, but it's important for ritual to be powerful to start out in a normal, grounded state of mind. Otherwise, you're just partying all the time, rather than starting out grounded and ending grounded. Ritual is about improving mundane life rather than being an escape from it.

Well, I can see the drug and alcohol policy, particularly since such a celebration might be confused with a party where such things may be indulged. But the first one????? One wonders what types of folks the hostess usually invites to her events. Perhaps I'm overly bourgeois, but maintaining good personal hygeine is high on my list of priorities. I find this cautionary in an invitation extended to (presumably) adult Pagans to a private gathering appalling. Am I naïve?

Review of New Mel Gibson Movie

Friend and colleague Traci Ardren, an anthropologist, has written this review of Mel Gibson's new movie, Apocalypto, about the Maya for Archaeology magazine. On November 16, 2006, Traci was featured on Good Morning America in a report about newly designated Wonders of the World, talking about Chichén Itzá. What a gal!

SD Postmorten -- Technical

I begin this entry with a quote that bears repeating:

Whether we are creating a ritual, writing a poem, or building an altar, the point is to honor the gods and not to stroke our own egos. Then our priorities will be properly in place and we will generate worthy art.

~ Steven Posch and Sparky T. Rabbit

Technically, the 2006 Spiral Dance was a disaster. In this entry, I'm not speaking of artistic, theological, musical, choreographic, magical or any other aspect of the event, only of the technical.

Arriving on Site

Preceding technical, when Corby, who had volunteered to be a dragon as he's done many times, and I arrived in mid-afternoon, as requested. we were not asked who we were or to be checked in from a list of participants. Folks were trusting, I guess. Anyone could have come in. This made me a bit uncomfortable because we usually put our things (backpacks, costumes, makeup, implements, supplies, money, etc.) in a room that is not necessarily guarded at all times. Theoretically there's a dragon on duty in these places, but that was not something I felt I could count on. I suppose one could consider that a technical oversight. In any case, I left my stuff and it remained safe.

When we arrived, all bazillion masked goddess dancers were trying to rehearse outside under the trees. That seemed not such a good way for them to have to rehearse, without a proper floor, without music or lights.

First, there was no full rehearsal, always a mistake. I realize it costs lots of money to rent the space and equipment. I don't know if the technical people were hired or volunteers. I know how hard it is to get a large group of volunteers all together at the same time and focused on a single task, i.e., a full rehearsal. Evidently there was some kind of run-through.

The noise inside was deafening and any small groups, such as graces, who were meeting had to shout at one another. I was memorizing and since there was nothing else going on that involved me and I was getting a headache from the sound check, I wandered around outside working on my part. Apparently when my name was called to come in, no one knew where I was. In any case, I had no clue (1) when to come in, where I fit in the series of speakers/performers; (2) where or from whom to get a mike; (3) where to exit; and (4) any other technical or choreographic information I needed.

Doors Open

Before I knew it, the doors opened, and I still did not know where they wanted me to pick up my mike, when I was on (whom did I follow), from where I was expected to enter the circle, or from which direction to exit. I assumed lighting wouldn't be a big deal, since it was only me and the spots could follow me. I was mistaken in that assumption.

Even after the doors opened, there was a big triple screen in the center of the space (the space being a basketball court). It was comprised of three panels held rigid by PVC pipe with black fabric stretched across each, mounted in a triangle so that each square screen faced a different direction from the center. I couldn't imagine how I was supposed to navigate around it when I proclaimed the feast.

I asked Starhawk, "Is that going to be there when we speak?" "What is it supposed to be?" "Why is it there?" She responded that the intent was for it to be a screen upon which names of the Beloved Dead (in white, presumably) would be projected. This was yet another way to try to name the Beloved Dead at a major ritual honoring them without naming them. ::sigh:: She said it was an idea gone wrong and would be removed before the ritual started, which it was.

An idea gone wrong? What ever could be the aesthetic behind (a) using a black ground in a darkened room, (b) having it in the middle, blocking views, and (c) expecting that words would show up and be readable? I'm amazed that such an idea got as far as having screens erected.

Meanwhile, Suzanne Sterling had begun filling the space with her sweet singing, as the program indicated she'd be doing as people filled the space.

I asked Star when and how the Beloved Dead names would be spoken if they were not being read aloud during the ritual and not being projected. Oops! Turned out that a recording of their names was supposed to have been playing as people entered the space. Someone was immediately dispatched to ask Suzanne to stop her singing, while someone else was dispatched to the front of the house to tell them to put the recording of the names on. According to my friend Victoria who was taking tickets at the front of the house, no one had said a word to them about playing those names.

More Scrambling

In order to figure out when I was supposed to speak, I dashed out to the front of the house and grabbed a program. The program detailed three -- not one but three -- different welcomes/introductions. First a man I didn't know was to make announcements about where the restrooms were, who and what were Graces and Dragons, turning off of cellphones, bringing non-ambulatory folks, drummers, and toddlers and babies to the center of the circle when the spiral dance was forming, and how to begin the dance. Second, Starhawk spoke of the intent of the ritual; and third, I was to proclaim the feast. The Proclamation of the Feast is a standard spoken piece I think is beautiful and which has remained essentially the same for 27 years. It's "traditional."

As if having three different announcements by three different announcers weren't enough, the program also said that Evelie was going to teach the songs beforehand from the center of the circle. To further complicate things, I was uncertain whether the group that planned this particular spiral dance had an emcee or ringmistress or something of the sort. I hate that. Regardless of my feelings about it, I was not among the planners and had no say, so I was just trying to do the best job I could with the part they'd asked me to perform. Just as I have for the past two years -- last year with the triple invocation of the Ancestors, the Mighty Dead of the Craft, and the (unnamed) Beloved Dead, and the previous year of the Mighty Dead for the 25th anniversary. If they were having an emcee, we who were speaking would wait until we were announced.

My pal Urania found me and asked when I was going on. That was because she'd been told she, who was doing the grounding meditation, was told she was to follow me -- and probably have me hand her the mike when I walked out of the center of the circle, if I exited from the same place where I'd entered.

Ritual Starts

Jonathan entered with a mike and began making his announcements. The program said that after he spoke, Evelie would teach the songs, then Starhawk, then me, then Urania with the grounding. Well, after Jonathan spoke, Starhawk told the intent of the ritual. Not quite knowing what to do next, I went looking for Evelie, who was supposed to have preceded Starhawk. She didn't know that, but she did dash over to the south-facing aisle where others had entered and prepared to take the mike. This she did, while I waited and tried to compose myself -- I have a little centering routine I like to do before speaking a long memorized piece -- and Urania stood nearby awaiting her cue.

Evelie didn't teach any songs. She was out there for something like a whopping ten seconds! Before I knew it, she was walking towards me with the mike, which I was reaching out to take, when Jonathan dashed up the aisle to take it from Evelie and give it to me. Now what sense does that make? The entire sequence of mishaps. miscommunications and non-communications only served to unsettle me.

I took the mike and walked into the light. I began well. I know I should be better able to ride such confusion, and usually I am, but in the case of a memorized piece, I work better with a little more order. In any case, I'm one who becomes slightly disoriented when I get feedback of what I'm speaking. That's exactly what I got that night. I'd speak a line and then hear it come back to me. I tend to lose my concentration on exactly what words I'm saying. To add to my increasing disorientation, sometimes when I spoke I could hear my words clearly broadcast and other times I couldn't hear them at all. So I got to worrying about whether everyone else could hear me.

Not only that, but as I walked, the lights did not follow me. If I turned in the direction of the chorus, I experienced bright light in my eyes, and if I turned towards the entryway, I was in darkness. So among the inconsistent lighting, the inconsistent miking, and the repeating sounds, I lost my words. I didn't lose my message. I did manage to say more or less what I'd intended to say, only I don't think I said it as eloquently as it had been written. I suppose some who knew the piece may have noticed, but no one else seemed to. I was annoyed with myself, though, and disappointed. Even so, I think my contribution properly advanced the ritual in ways it was intended to have.

Lights and Sound in General

As I said above, the tech for this ritual was pathetic. I've no doubt much could have been remedied with a full rehearsal. I've described my own experience with lights and sound. Laura Wyrd. wearing a shiny sliver unitard, summoned the Element Air with her tissu work from the rafters, similar to what she does here from an oak. But for the facts that she was wearing reflective clothing and was above the crowd, she wouldn't have been very visible because no lights illuminated her, resulting in the bright light of dawn being obscured.

The chorus was never audible. They just sounded like muted mush. It's a shame that such a fine group of singers and musicians who'd rehearsed independently for months could not be heard.

In spite of technical incompetence and many other features I didn't feel advanced the magic or were even well executed -- and about which I won't be blogging -- the spiral dance itself was as wonderful as always. Better in many ways because it was more intimate and community-based instead of showy and exhibitionistic.

College Interfaith

Last night I spoke on an interfaith panel sponsored by by Beta Beta Sigma chapter of Phi Theta Kappa. the Honor Society at the Napa Valley College in Napa, California, part of a study called "Gods, Gold, Glory and The Global Dynamics of Power." This taste of world religions forum of seven panelists was comprised of Jewish, Islamic, Buddhist, non-denominational Christianity (represented by a Presbyterian minister), "Goddesses-based Wicca"* [sic], contemporary Pagan, and Religious Science speakers.

I estimate there were 150-200 people in the cafeteria for this event, some of whom were attending for credit. All were attentive. Many were taking notes, and some of us provided handouts. I had prepared a two-page selected bibliography on Pagan studies specifically for this venue. I think it's a good one; let me know if you'd like a copy.

In two hours, including Q&A, we each had a whopping eight minutes to lay out our "beliefs and practices." How can you do that about any religion, much less such a diverse cluster of religions as contemporary Paganism? Aiyee! I was saved having to speak of beliefs because I believe, as Michael York (the scholar, not the actor) explains in his book Pagan Theology, that what unites us is more practice than actual belief. Within an individual coven or circle you can find differences in belief about what all are doing together. That wasn't much help, though, when you consider the complexity of Paganism, the very meaning of the word Pagan. Not to mention the various groups that fall under the large umbrella of Paganism: Witches & Wiccans, Druids, Heathens, reconstructionists, ethnic religions, the meaning of the very word Pagan, etc. As well as the need to address the meanings of such symbols as the pentacle; what magic is (or might be) and the ethics of spellcrafting; immanence; revealed vs. experiential; polytheism, pantheism, panentheism and all the other "isms." I was doing my best, talking fast, wandering far and wide, when the bell rang signaling that my time was up.

Henry Michalski from Congregation Beth Sholom spoke very well from a prepared speech. The Presbyterian minister spoke as though he were giving a sermon, not in the sense of trying to convert people but more in his style. An intense young Muslim named Basim Elkarra from the Sacramento Valley CAIR (Council on American-Islamic Relations) spoke about Islam; Maxine Wright from Mahakaruna Buddhist Meditation Center spoke about Buddhism; Leilani Birely of Daughters of the Goddess Dianic coven spoke well about goddess spirituality and sang a Hawaiian devotional song. And finally Rev. Janet Garvey Stangvik representing the Napa Valley Center for Spiritual Living spoke authoritatively on religious science. Leilani's talk and mine complimented one another. It's strange, though, that there were two Pagans when we are such a minority of the population, yet no one from Roman Catholic, Native American, African diaspora religions, or Hindu religions, considering the presence of all those religions in Northern California's multicultural population.

A common concern spoken of by all speakers was for tolerance and a world of peace. This was especially true among the three Abrahamics presented; it was also the underlying concern of most of the audience questions. Leilani spoke of the fact that she considers animals and the wind and sea and Nature to be relatives and teachers. I was the only person who mentioned green awareness, our interdependence on all of life, the necessity of a sustainable future for our descendants.

Phi Theta Kappa did a great job producing this event. Judging from the turnout and questions, I'd say it was edifying and appreciated. I was glad for the opportunity to participate.

It makes me think, though, that I could teach a semester on Pagan religions if I could find the right sponsor for such a course. I have nothing formal beyond a B.A., but lots of life experience and independent scholarship of sorts. The authority by which I do such activities is my P&W. I take it seriously.

* This was how it was listed in the program, but the speaker actually said she was talking about goddess spirituality, which seemed much more accurate to me.

High-Flying Witch

I'm constantly amazed at the talent in this world, and especially the talent among my Pagan friends. Laura Wyrd is an old colleague from my active days in Reclaiming Collective who now distinguishes herself as an aerialist, among other things. I don't know her well, but we always appreciated one another and we renewed our friendship at the Spiral Dance this past Samhain, where she invoked the element of Air from the high in the air. Here's a video of her recent work. Enjoy!

Statement re: Ethics & Boundaries

Some of my colleagues in Reclaiming and myself have come up with this statement which we now make public:

As a group of Witches who have all been active in Reclaiming for 10-25 years, we want to voice our concern at the new consensus reached which says that all Reclaiming Witch Camps are autonomous and can make their own decisions regarding drug and alcohol use, or sex between students and teachers.

We will not move to alter the consensus, but want to go on record as being against this new policy. We are not opposed to alcohol and drug use in private or non-ritual events, but we are against it in open rituals and Witch Camps. Reclaiming events often include transformative work in which people are already significantly altered, and it can be disruptive, even dangerous to add drugs and alcohol to the mix.

While we are certainly sex positive, we do not think it is wise for teachers and students to have sex at Witch Camps. Both parties have power, but there is also present a spiritual and psychological openness that can be easily manipulated by the person who has taken on the role of guide. We are against polices that allow for this possibility. Magic is not safe, but certain safeguards are still a good idea.

Anne Hill, Dawn Isidora, Deborah Oak Cooper, Fern Feto Spring, M. Macha NightMare, Medusa, T. Thorn Coyle

I signed this post not because I have any connection with Witch Camps, but rather because these stated policies are consistent with my feelings and belief. I choose not to involve myself in public Reclaiming activities, or in Reclaiming teaching, where these policies are not expressly agreed to ahead of time.

Gripes

I cannot be the only person who's sick to death of defining and redefining and going over the same stuff over and over and over and over again. This comes up particularly in the environment of Reclaiming (and CoG as well, for that matter), when topics have been discussed to death and then beaten some more, something more or less suitable has been written to memorialize the discussions, and then, lo! six months later that same topic comes up again like it's brand new, like no one ever thought of if before. Aargh!

This bears, to some extent, on what my friend Katrina claims is a lack of respect for elders, in the sense that elders carry the history. It also arises from people not bothering to learn their history or to care about whence they sprung. If you don't respect your ancestors and your heritage, and pay them the courtesy of learning something of their experiences and what they know, then what kind of movment are you?

WTF is Reclaiming? I don't know what Reclaiming is but I do know who I am, and that I practice a form of Craft that I clearly see as Reclaiming tradition, at least the trad as I learned it, helped to create it, and continue to practice it. Which is not to say that trads, or any other living thing, don't evolve, and that Reclaiming hasn't evolved or isn't evolving. But one might think that a good working description (as opposed to definition) might work in a general way, at least for a few years. Sheesh!

I'm just running this off the top of my head right now because of recent posts in various communities that have been irritating me. Obviously this is not a considered essay of any sort.

Am I just a crotchety old fart, or do you, dear reader, appreciate similar experiences?

Second question: why would I care? Why would anyone care?

Love Blooms in Cyberspace

I can't help crowing about this lovely turn of events. These two fine Pagans found each other in a class called "Call of the Dark Mother: Working with the Dying, Death, and Grieving," originally created and taught by me at Cherry Hill Seminary. Among many other things, they went on to found the Washington-Baltimore Pagan Clergy Association. They recently married. Long live love!


Angela Roberts and Michael Reeder

FAWR Launch

The official launch of the Foundation for the Advancement of Women in Religion took place tonight at the Grand Hyatt Washington Hotel. Lots of folks came and all appeared to enjoy themselves. The Pagan contingent was noticeably strong. It makes me happy to see Pagans supporting each other and supporting important projects. Please consider going to the website linked above and joining. It's not expensive and the potential for good work in the world is great.

Below is a photo of the Board members who were able to be there.


Ben Hamlin, Assoc. Exec. Dir.; Cyra Choudhury, Founder and Exec. Dir.; Jan Willis, and yours truly. Photo by Leslie M. Ortiz

AAR - Contemporary Pagan Studies Consultation

Note this is not the Conference on Contemporary Pagan Studies which precedes the AAR Annual Meeting. It the Contemporary Pagan Studies Consultation, an offical designation of the AAR, sponsored by the AAR and listed in the program.

More photos cuz it's 1:45 am and I plan to attend the New Religions Movements Group at 9 am. "Group" is the AAR's term for a more established area of study, while "section" is the big heavy.



Above, Murph Pizza reading her paper “The Fourfold Goddess and the Undying God: Anatomies of Minnesotan Bootstrap Witchcraft Traditions.” I might add that it was the folks of Paganistan (Minneapolis-St. Paul) who paid for Murph to get to the AAR so her papers could be heard. So huzzah for Paganistani Pagans for supporting their local anthopologist!!!!!



Laura Wildman-Hanlon on “Children of Converts: Generational Retention in the Neo-Pagan New Religions Movement.”

Conference on Contemporary Pagan Studies

I know I said I wasn't gonna post photos often, but I feeling proud and going by the old saw that a picture is worth 1000 words, so here's a photo taken today here in Washington, DC of our Cherry Hill Seminary presence at the second ever CCPS preceding the AAR Annual Meeting:


l-r, Michael York, Judy Harrow, Patrick McCollum, Macha NightMare, Laura Wildman, Murph Pizza, and Marion Mason. Photo by Sarah Whedon

Murph (Univ. of Wisconsin-Milwaukee) gave a paper called “Sharkey’s End: Paganism’s Public Challenge and the Limitations of Legitimacy in the Minnesota Twin Cities,” and Judy Harrow presented an utterly brilliant panel discussion with Amanda Wolfe of Georgia State Univ. on Paganism and the psychological establishment.

Reclaiming also had a strong presence, both among the attendees and within the context of papers read. Laura Zwissler, Univ. of Toronto, referenced Reclaiming in her paper, “Public Spirituality, Personal Religion: Pagan Activists and Political Community,” and SpiralHeart's Pam Turtle Detrixhe, Temple Univ., spoke on “Performing ‘Religion’ in Public: The Pagan Cluster at the Interfaith,” in which she spoke of Katrina Messenger.

Besides Macha (CA) and Pam (PA), other Reclaiming folks in attendance were Katrina (DC), Ishtar (NY), Endora (VT), Yarrow (VA), Grove (MA), Jone (Norway), Sarah Whedon (CA) and whoever else I may be missing.

My thanks to Cat McEachern for organizing the conference, and to everyone there for joining in this ground-breaking work.

I’m having so much fun!!!!!

How To Die

Friday night Patrick and I managed to meet to conduct some CHS business, socialize as friends are wont to do, and catch a theater piece together.

The theater piece was How To Die, by and with Keith Hennessey, Jules Beckman and Seth Eisen. How to Die is the second on a three-part series called MANIfesti-VAL, Dance Brigade's Festival for Social Change at Dance Mission Theater in San Francisco's Mission District.

I've been a fan, and distant friend, of Keith for many years. He's frequently, sometimes with friends, invoked God at Reclaiming's Spiral Dances as well as taught workshops to folks in the wider community and at WitchCamps. I admire his Circo Zero, and especially loved a production called Spell, which really was a spell, a pre-election spell in 2004, in which he collaborated with Krissy Keefer and The Dance Brigade, the fabulous Copper Wimmin, and the goddess Hekate.

I warned Patrick this performance would be edgy, and indeed it was. Inspiration for the piece arose from the endemic phenomena in the cities of this country of homelessness, so shameful in a society of abundance; AIDS; suicide; and tweakers.* Among the unusual amalgam of media used were photos of homeless men in the immediate neighborhood passed among the audience; recorded statistics about suicide, suicide by train decapitation in particular; helium voices and condoms; digital self-photos taken and then slide-showed on an iBook; strings of shiny CDs; dance and costume.

The intimacy of the Mission Dance Theater performance space lessened the separation between performers and audience, which I assume was what the creators desired and which is something I prefer.

Perhaps three techniques were most unique. The first was a bathing in a galvanized tub, using tattered underwear as washcloth, followed by the character standing on head and hands in the washwater for a seemingly interminable amount of time. I can say that throughout this performance, as disturbing as it was at time -- as it was intended to be -- the performers held every audience member captive.

Second, and perhaps strongest, was having the primary character literally strung out with a string across the entire width of the performance space through his septum.

Keith is known for pushing boundaries, going beyond 'normal' limits. Tweakedness, dancing, glitzy over-the-top costumes and mock intercourse were not unexpected, but I must say that I could have done without the many spotlighted displays of Keith's asshole. That's the third.

I know to expect strong statements and kick-ass displays. Keith's tendency towards exhibitionism is one of his greatest strengths as well as one of his weaknesses. Yes, it certainly commands people's attention, but is also tends to undercut his message somehow. I haven't quite figured out why that is.

No surprise, I saw a few Reclaiming folks in the audience, and Patrick encountered some people he knows from St. Mary's College. I spied Erik Davis in an upper row as we were filing out of the bleachers and wanted to speak to him, perhaps remind him that we'd met before at the launch of Modern Pagans at the SF Art Institute when I bought his Techgnosis and asked him to autograph it, not that he'd have any reason to remember me. Anyway, for whatever reason, I passed on that. I eventually got around to reading Techgnosis and loved it, and at SheShamans this past June I bought his most recent book, Visionary State (with photographer Michael Rauner). I've browsed the photos and read bits and pieces of it, but have not yet gotten into it with both feet (or eyes, I guess).

If the reader finds oneself in San Francisco at a time when Keith is performing, one would find attending a performance stimulating, thought-provoking, perhaps disturbing, certainly promoting of reflection, and hopefully well worth the effort.

(More of the promised SD postmortem anon.)

* From the program: "The following drugs are somewhat or very tweakish, i.e., chemical assistants to speed and multi-tasking: caffeine, sugar, Ritalin, prednisone, crystal meth, ecstasy (mdma is almost always cut with meth), mda, OxyContin, Wellbutrin, Prozac, Ephedra, Sudafed and anything contgaining ephedrrin/pseudoephedrine, Vicoden, Lorcet, Sustiva, Red Bull, and the many herbal speeds that are so comon now including ginseng, maté."

Colored Poppies & Election Celebration

I don't intend for this blog to be a photo album, but sometimes you just can't help it if you have something visual you want to document or show off. Today it's the latter. My left arm is just about completed; it may only get some minor touch-ups.

This first photo shows both arms, one with only the outline, as shown in a previous entry.

The second one shows the color, except that my skin is still traumatized and a bit swollen because it was only completed hours ago. At it heals, the shadings will become more distinct.

For the next little while, I'll be posting mostly words.

On a different matter, I'm really happy about the election results. Most of the candidates and propositions I voted for won. That's a novel experience for me, since usually my vote is the kiss of death. The Dems have the House; the Dems have the Senate. Nancy Pelosi is the first woman Speaker of the House and third in line for the Presidency. (Does that give you any ideas?) Now if the Dems would only show some spine. We need more than the few like Barbara Lee and Lynn Woolsey to speak for constituents of my sentiments.

More, we have the first Socialist Senator in many, many years. Of course, you've read all this a zillion other places, but I wanted to join the rejoicing.

Now it's time for the Greens, my party of choice, to elect people to fill local and regional offices, and work their way up the way the religious right did. We cannot afford the luxury of not being organized and well-funded.

Here's to universal health care, living wages, good educational opportunities for all, improved public transportation and other infrastructure, fewer jails and inmates, a more equitable division of wealth, clean water, clean oceans, clean air, sacrosanct wilderness, alternative energy sources, nutritious food for all (preferably locally grown and organic), and peace, blessed peace.

Vote Clean Sweep

Michael Moore urges voters to bring a broom and sweep 'em out of office. I did my part.

Photo taken at San Rafael, California by Corby Lawton.

From Peak to Pits

Honoring the Dead:

My day started out high from last night, when about 30 of us met on the hill to dance with the ancestors. It turned out to be a beautiful night, cold with a bright gibbous moon and wisps of clouds.

Starting with kEATH being an excellent gatekeeper, to Prudence’s witchy challenges and admonition to keep solemn silence, to the exquisite magic of those witchy voices (Corby, Pasha, Patti, Denise, Nicole, Maenam and whoever else I may be forgetting), the the purifications done so carefully by Juliana and Karen, to the partially lighted broken steps, courtesy of Kirk and Tansy -- no one had any accidents, thank the gods! -- to the welcoming and everything that came afterwards.

I loved the way people came together with salt and water in the absence of tools and supplies: plastic cup from someone, green tea, and flakes of salt and pretzel from a snack bag of pretzels.

I love the silent walk through the dark tunnel. I love the opportunity to sit in silence at the top of the hill while all, living and dead, gather.

This was the first time I heard every single name. I found myself leaning forward and listening intently to every soul Victoria called. The widdershins walk and chanting “what is remembered lives” fostered a trancelike state of mind.

I loved the silence while we communed with the dead before we danced the spiral beneath Moon and the swirling spiral of clouds.

The energy of that spiral dance Denise led, for me, was a sweet as they come. Utterly lovely, and loving.

I like seeing who actually turns up. If they don’t want to make the effort, they miss the magic.

This was the first year without Vibra; we missed her. I also missed due to last-minute crises in their prison ministries, Patrick and Barbara, for whom this is the only ritual of the year they have no responsibility for and can simply surrender to.

Surprise Package:

So when the doorbell rang today and the UPS man delivered a surprise package, I was in a good mood to receive whatever it was. It turned out to be a five-volume series of religious studies textbooks called Introduction to New and Alternative Religions in America, edited by Eugene V. Gallagher and W. Michael Ashcroft. British scholar and eco-Pagan Adrian Harris and I co-wrote a piece called "New and Alternative Religions in the United States: Ritual and Neopaganism" in the volume entitled Metaphysical, New Age, and Neopagan Movements." I note that several other colleagues from the Nature Religions Scholars Network have also contributed. I must say it's a heady feeling to be in a textbook. This is my first text contribution, other than encyclopedia entries. I'm working on another for a high school textbook now.

Perhaps I'll finally meet Professors Gallagher and Ashcroft at the upcoming American Academy of Religion Annual Meeting later this month. I know I'll finally meet Adrian face to face.

Ending in Sorrow:

Yesterday in my fit of Hallows posts, I scanned a photo of my paternal grandparents. I also emailed it to several family members, including my cousin Gerry Gregorio. Gerry and I had recently renewed our close childhood friendship -- there was never any falling out, just poor correspondents and life getting in the way. She still lives in the same town where our grandparents and fathers lived all their lives, Moorestown, NJ, across the Delaware River from Philadelphia. Last November her husband Joe brought her to Philadelphia for a brief visit at the hotel when I was there for the AAR. She had been suffering from colon cancer. She put on a brave face, but I could tell that the visit was taxing her. It was clear that Joe was devoted to her. We had fun catching up, we took some photos, and then I lost my camera later that night. That was the last time I saw her.

This evening I received an email from Gerry's daugher, Nicole, telling me that Geraldine Frances O'Brien Gregorio had passed away on September 17th. In the confusion of grieving and making arrangements, the family had forgotten to notify the few of us here on the West Coast. Here's a photo of her taken last May with daughter Nicole and grandson Chaz at the latter's confirmation.



I'm very, very sad she's gone. I didn't have her name to call last night. I'll dance with her next year.

What is remembered lives.

Summoning the Ancestors

Summoning the Ancestors

M. Macha NightMare
© Samhain 2005 C.E.

Oh, mighty, many, myriad Ancestors, as we spiral in and out of time, we call to you.

You who first stood upright and walked the savannahs of Africa.

You who explored the inland waters of all the continents in curragh, canoe and kayak.

You who ventured out onto the open sea in triremes, galleons and long ships. You who crossed the middle passage in the bellies of slave ships.

You who learned to read the stars, to harness the trade winds, to ride the oceans’ currents.

You who followed the reindeer and caribou beneath the Northern Lights. You who swept across the Great Plains with the thundering bison.

You who climbed mountains with goats, hunted with dogs, worshipped cat and crocodile, monkey, ibis, bear and eagle.

You who rode great distances on the backs of animal allies – the horse, the camel, the elephant.

You who gathered in the wild rice. You who planted wheat and corn, beans and squash, orchards of olives and apples. You who found the precious seeds that give us chocolate, dark and rich.

You who kenned the healing properties of vines in the Amazon jungle, of roots and barks and mushrooms in the deep, dark forests, and of the flesh of cactus in the burning desert.

You who spun flax and wool, gifts of field and sheep, into garments both cool and warm.

You who shaped clay into pots; dug ore from Earth’s depths and pounded metal into tools; painted cave walls.

You who clustered in the Fertile Crescent, in Sumer and Akkadia, erected cities and wrote laws.

You who built the Great Wall of China, the great pyramids along the Nile, the great passage graves in the Boyne Valley.

You who fashioned flutes from reeds, and drums from skins. You who danced and rhapsodized.

You who brought us every gift, it is your DNA that thrives within our bodies tonight. We thank you, dear Ancestors, and we bid you welcome.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

For your use, if you choose.

My Irish Grandparents

This is a photo of my paternal Irish grandparents. I never knew my grandfather, Edward Joseph O'Brien, because he died before I was born. He was born into an Irish immigrant farm family in Moorestown, New Jersey.

My grandmother, whom we called Mom-Mom, was Kate Reilly from Ballinasloe, Co. Galway, Ireland. An orphan taken in with her siblings after her parents' deaths by her mother's sister Una, who already had a houseful of kids to feed, Mom-Mom came to Moorestown when she was about 19 or 20 under the sponsorship of a loving Quaker family. She served in their household until she worked off the cost of her passage.

Her sisters and brothers went to Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, PA, and to Australia. Kate married Ed and together they had nine children, six girls and three boys. My father was the second boy, but one of the youngest children, just before John and Catherine, both of whom had bright red hair and freckles. My dad took after the black Irish side, with that light creamy skin and dark hair and eyes.

Although Mom--Mom was old and wrinkly and frail when I knew her, I always felt close to her and felt I resembled her a bit. She grew up speaking Gaelic. I often asked her to teach me, but she never did. They were nice Roman Catholics who probably preferred to assimilate.

What is remembered lives!

That Quote I Mentioned

Versions of this sentiment have arisen in many conversations with Sparky and Steven over the years. It's now been set down. This is accurate according to my conversation with Sparky today:

Whether we are creating a ritual, writing a poem, or building an altar, the point is to honor the gods and not to stroke our own egos. Then our priorities will be properly in place and we will generate worthy art.

~ Steven Posch and Sparky T. Rabbit

I intend to keep this in mind whenever I do sacred work, and it is with this in mind that I critique the Spiral Dance in past and future posts.

Spiral Dance and Other Samhain Press

Here's a fine article about the Spiral Dance, written by a reporter who is brand new to Pagan ritual. It features photos of Lauren Raine's glorious goddess masks embodied. I created a fine ritual employing 13 of these masks several years ago, performed at PantheaCon and later in a more refined form at New College. I have use of these masks should another opportunity and sponsor present themselves.

And here's another interesting series about Halloween by some young writers in Vermont.

My friend Victoria writes movingly about her experience in the center of the spiral when I offered her arms to a mother who wanted to dance but was holding her a sleeping baby

Blessed Samhain!

SD Postmortem -- Altars

As always, the altars were beautiful. The Quarter altars were in different places than they were last year; guess someone used a compass.

Teri Compost, Mallory and others erected their usual glorious North altar in memory of all our Beloved Dead but specially dedicated to the woman who created the original North altars, Judy Foster. I had brought my big copper pentacle made by Yuri Toropov years ago, and its stand. This pentacle has featured in many a SD North altar.

I was perplexed to see one with a big Latin cross or crux ordinaria on it until I saw upon closer viewing that it was an altar in memory of those who've died crossing the U.S.-Mexican border.

Last year saw the first altar to the unborn and newborn deaths: miscarriages, stillbirths, abortions, etc. Suzanne Pullen initiated the practice of having such an altar last year, and boy! is it ever important! So many women were moved by it last year that it had to have its own on-duty priestess. I know it has been an important part of her own healing. This year she spoke a "Blessing of the Babies, alive and dead."

Ivory Fly and friends did another Fire/South altar this year. Last year Ann Flowers from England made herself invisible and controlled the magic technology that made smoke issue from the volcano on that altar.

The only problem with the altars, all of them, is one that can, and hopefully will, be remedied in the future. That's one of lighting. No candles or other open flames are permitted in the building. Many altars were strung with garlands of holiday lights in different colors, but they didn't offer sufficient illumination to make the altars really stand out. I hope future altar builders will consider more lights and maybe using those cool new battery-operated votives and tea-lights.