The Tower

The Tower is kind of a disturbing card to receive on a daily card draw.  Every morning I do a quick shuffle and draw a card. It helps me get familiar with the deck, and provides me with a touchstone to consider throughout the day. Drawing the Tower always stymies me a bit. I surreptitiously look around for cracks in the walls and wait for a rumble of thunder. I mean, the meaning of the card is pretty forthright: destruction, catastrophe, radically shifting paradigms, fast movement, etc.

I thought the best way to approach it was to write down some thoughts that have been changing in my life, or thoughts that have the potential to prove to be transforming down the line. That worked and provide valuable insight into what may be coming next.

Later that evening, after J and I had watched out TV show, and I had taken my magnesium to help me go to sleep (’cause I’m obviously an old lady, right?! :) ) I got a sudden urge to clean. It started by remembering that I wanted to purge the pantry of the gluten-containing items that we don’t use any more.  Besides making me feel sick, C also seems to be allergic to either wheat or all gluten, so I decided to get rid of everything but white flour and sugar (since, if I wanted to bake for friends, that’s what I’d use). I packed up the whole-wheat flours and couscous and specialty pastas and then…suddenly…I remembered that I had empty jars that I could fill with our bulk bin items still in plastic. Did that. Then just started cleaning, rearranging, wiping, muttering,  you know. I had ‘The Clean’ on me and followed it till I leaned back against the counter and realized…

I had put the flour and sugar canisters in the pantry.

Most of you reading this don’t know me personally, but if you had for any length of time you’d know that I bake. Or I did. I learned to cook and bake sitting on my grandma’s counter, early as two. She always had flour and sugar out, and mixed biscuits up about every morning. Rolls, biscuits, cakes, cookies–all delicious, all made without a measuring cup in sight. Just took handfuls of ingredients out of canisters sitting on the counter.

My mom is the same, and I’ve continued that ‘tradition’. Always have the goods within reach, always in sight, always homey and comforting. It was my mark of ability as a cook that I could mix up biscuits without measuring cups, that I was able to judge the completion of a dough or batter by its looks rather than following a recipe.

But now, since those ingredients are actually detrimental to Claire and me, and I don’t even use them that much anymore, they went into the pantry. Without me even thinking about it.

I know. It’s just flour and sugar.

But at the same time that I’m proud for changing, I’m more than a little uncomfortable to be leaving that behind. Or in the pantry.

Book Discussion: The Tree of Enchantment by Orion Foxwood (Part One)

So, this isn’t going to be a book review so much as…a book discussion. Because this book is…

Difficult? Complex? Dense? A little…strange?

All of the above?

The Tree of Enchantment is by (“a conjurer in the Southern folk tradition, a traditional witch, and founding elder of the Foxwood Temple of the Old Religion…”) Orion Foxwood. I’ve heard him mentioned several times on various podcasts, and the shopkeeper at Ancient Mysteries recommended the book to me when I asked for something with more structure.

Well. Boy howdy.

The book details Orion Foxwood’s Faery Seership tradition.  He posits that we, humans, are each three different ‘walkers’ operating with one soul, in three different planes of existence. They are all separate (the Dream/Surface/Star Walker and the Sea/Stone/Star Worlds), but they all interact at different levels. He maps out personal, spiritual, and magical development on a Kabbalistic-like grid called the Tree of Enchantment.

Ugh. I already feel like I’m writing in circles.

It would be wrong to categorize Tree of Enchantment under typical Wicca or Witchcraft books. This isn’t a new Wiccan ‘tradition’ with Celtic and Southern magic white-washed on top. However, there are numerous influences from all sorts of esoteric teachings, including Kabbalah, neo-Celtic, neo-Native-American, Appalachian Folk, and even some Christian symbolism.

Faery Seership and T.o.E. comes across as a personal or individual-coven-based system, one that is very well-developed and thought out. Obviously, it’s had personal success with Foxwood, and he’s decided to elucidate the concepts for the rest of us.

(Here’s a more in-depth review of all of the book’s influences, if you’re interested.)

My major annoyance was the fact that it is a personal tradition, but it’s written about as if this is the way it is. As if Faery Seership is the best, or only, way to get in touch with the Fay, the Underworld, the spirits, ancestors, whatever. Kind of weird, given his admission of syncretism and synthesis of many different traditions.

Now, all that said, it is a well-developed system. I actually took notes on the text just to keep it straight, something I’ve never done (or had to do!) with a Pagan book. It’s highly structured, and there are numerous practices, meditations, and exercises. He writes in a style that is redundant but ever-evolving to the next “ah-hah” moment.

The book contains much food for thought. Much of it is poetic, obviously written with passion and dedication. Also, unlike most of the tripe chucked at the Pagan audience, T.o.E. is composed by someone who has actually spent a good part of his years developing, practicing, and experiencing his tradition. It’s definitely not another gussied up book of correspondences.

Still, I can’t really get into it. A part of me would like to–and I probably will do some of the exercises, just because they seem well thought out–but, so far, I think this is a case of a spiritual tradition that I’m glad is out there for those who like it, but is ultimately not for me. The most use it has had so far is illuminating things that I don’t want (at least, right now) in a tradition. If I even want a tradition. Who knows?!

I will finish it though, and return for Part Two.

Have any of you read it? What do you think?

Devoted, Part Two.

I can’t quiet recall how Greece came into my consciousness. It might have been reading some of Star Foster’s blog Pantheon. Or that I stumbled upon a copy of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology for a dollar at the best place in the world. Truthfully, it seemed to kind of all happen at once.

Then it kind of just happened.

Friday I had a wedding to attend and nothing to wear. As I drove away from dropping C off at a play-date, it popped in to my head to ask Aphrodite and Hera for help. Weird, because I’ve never worked with any of the Hellenic pantheon. But I obliged the nudge. And I found some great stuff for a great price. Chalking it up as something to be looked up/honored later (you know, sometime next week), I went home happy.

Later that afternoon as I was preparing to get ready I got another nudge. Ask Aphrodite for help. Lord knows I can always use makeup, hair and beauty help–it’s not my strong suit, to say the least–and in an hour I looked great. I had done things with my makeup and hair that I have never done before, or since, and had never looked that good. At this point, I started to feel a little…I don’t know the word. When I looked down to find that the eyeshadow I was using was named Celestial Silver (two of Aphrodite’s epithets are Urania, heavenly, and Asteria, starry) I shivered a little. I felt (feel) One part of each crazy, tickled and pleased.

Then it went on from there. At the wedding I felt a strong urge to pray to Aphrodite, Hera and Hestia for blessing on the wedding. The next morning as I researched/read stuff on the Internet I just kept finding…resonances. A book that I previewed on Amazon called Aphrodite’s Priestess seemed to speak just to me. As I picked up dinner that evening I swung by Joanne’s with the idea for an altar, and ideas just kept coming to me (and, it must be said, pretty much everything I got was on sale…awesome.). Etc.

I guess this all seems pretty small. But for someone who hasn’t…felt…experienced…anything like this in so, so long–and never really since I’ve identified as Pagan–it feels significant. To me, it is significant.

I’ve vacillated over whether or not I wanted to publish this. My more rational, skeptical self keeps saying Wait another month, another year, don’t tell anyone. For fear of looking stupid, I guess. Especially at this beginning/new stage–after all, I want to be taken SERIOUSLY, right? Have read all the right books and have the right practice and say the right things…

Ugh. Bull shit. Here’s the truth:

I don’t know where this is all going. I know that I’m not a Reconstructionist, and I have no desire to be. I like celebrating the Sabbats. I like my nascent magical practice. I know that Aphrodite is a goddess I want to honor, but I’m also interested in Demeter and Dionysus and…well, most of the Hellenic Pantheon.

Does this make me the dreaded Eclectic?

Perhaps. But it’s a step forward from General (which is no bad place to be.) And I feel a sense of resonance, of truth, that my footsteps are orienting towards the wine-dark sea, to the dry, scrubby, sunlit hills that remind me so much of my own home.

Devoted, Part One.

For the past 18 months or so this has been the blog of a General Pagan. I identify as capital-P Pagan, and I muck around in pretty trodden territory.

From the time I first comfortably self-identified (three years ago now?) till a couple of days ago, I’ve tried to make everything that fell under capital-P Paganism fit: Wicca, ADF, OBOD, Reconstructionism, Heathenry, etc. None of it fit very well, and I wasn’t really connecting to any deity in a particular way. I still offered and prayed to Brighid, for the great gifts She has bestowed on me, but…I got this feeling from Her that…I don’t know. While she liked me, and did indeed comfort me, maybe we just weren’t a…fit. I say that and feel like I’m betraying Her in some way, but that’s not the case. I do honor Her and will always.

I’ve always thought that I’d be into Celtic Paganism of some sort. Druidry/ism, Celtic Polytheism, Reconstructionism…something. I triedreally reallyhard to make it fit. When I was a teen I went through a HUGE Celtic phase. Enormous. Seriously, for ten years, pretty much all gifts given to me were Irish and Celtic mythology, folklore, music, etc. I was the girl with the Celtic obsession.

(It fit the hair.)

But…I could never make it stick. I wanted it to stick. I felt like itshould stick. I started reading more heavy-duty Celtic history and archaeology, expecting to be fascinated, expecting that I couldn’t put it down and…all the books collected dust. It was like using Super Glue to bond something, but it no matter how long you held it together it just always fell away. Honestly, it made me sad and disappointed.

Still, I had the trees and the wind and thunderstorms and the way the sun shone through the trees in the park. I had Nianna, a water spirit in said park, and I had vague whisperings and tugs as I read different stories, watched different shows, cooked dinner or kissed my daughter.

It was enough. I was Pagan in my orientation, and though yearning, still fine. What did the gods owe me, anyway? They’re so…other. So…vast. They already gave me life and numerous blessings and gifts…if this was what it was…then, I could live, and joyfully. Though it definitely irked that when I wanted to pray I just prayed to the heavens. It felt…impersonal.

That expectation–the personal relationship–is definitely a holdover from Christianity. In polytheism, the personal relationship is not guaranteed. It’s something I struggled with as I moved from Christianity into very-soft polytheism (more…Wicc-ish deity duality) into a newly realized medium-hard polytheism.

That realization, made some time in the past few weeks, almost took me by surprise. As I was trying to firm up some personal theology, I realized that I believed that the gods, while definitely having definite bleed over, meshing, immersing, etc., are mostly separate entities to me. And while there might still be one Divine, somewhere, I felt polytheist, truly, for the first time.

Then it was kind of like the doors were blown open.

And I knew exactly where to go.

Herbs: Calendula (Pot Marigold)

Open fresh your round of starry folds,

ye ardent marigolds!

Dry up the moisture from your golden lids,

For great Apollo bids

That in these days your praises should be sung!

—”I Stood Tiptoe” by John Keats

Latin name: Calendula officinalis from the Asteraceae family. The asteraceae family is huge! It includes sunflowers, daisies, lettuce, safflower, dahlia, Texas Tarragon, echinacea, chamomile….and the list goes on!

Native to: Probably Southern Europe, though it’s not certain.

Popular Cultivars: The cultivars are basically differences in colors and petal production. Some flowers have double-layered petals. Most calendula flowers range in color from pale yellow to bright orange-red.

Growing Calendula: Calendula is a relatively easy plant to grow, especially from seed. You do need to plan though. For this year’s crop, I sowed the seeds in late last September (I’m in Zone 8B, click here to find out your Zone) and kept them moist throughout the winter. Winter was mild, so I didn’t have to protect them much. The seeds sprouted in October.  Greenery grew slowly throughout the winter, and I saw the first buds in early February. I began harvesting in early March. I pulled up the plants in early April, because they were attracting too many caterpillars.

Next year, I’d plant calendula (and chamomile) in a completely separate bed from any vegetable seeds you might be starting. Calendula tends to attract the bugs with the munchies, and chamomile attracts aphids.

As with most flowers, cut the bloomed flowers as you see them. This will encourage more blossoms. Drying them is easy: lay them on a kitchen towel in a well-ventilated area, dry, room that doesn’t receive much (if any) sunlight. Rotate them around every couple of days to ensure even drying.

Using Calendula: After the flowers have dried thoroughly (2-3 weeks) pull the petals off and place into a clean glass jar. Keep the jar away from sunlight and too much heat (don’t store next to your oven, etc.).

Calendula is typically used to help with inflammation, eczema, and sunburn. It has antimicrobial, antifungal and antiviral as well as astringent properties. Truly, a very useful herb.

The easiest way to use dried calendula is to simply make a tea with it. Take a couple of tablespoons of dried leaves, pour near-boiling water over the, steep for 10. Strain and drink. The tea can be used for upset stomach or sore throat. You could use the tea topically either in a bath or by making a compress.

Since I haven’t worked much with my own batch yet as far as actual products go, here is a good link on how to get started with salves, creams, sprays and oils.

Magically: Calendula/Marigold is associated with the sun (as are many of the asteraceae family). Calendula’s element is fire, and its associated gender is masculine. According to Cunningham, marigold aids in protection, prophetic dreaming, legal matters and psychic powers.

To me, calendula has a gently masculine feel. It was the first hot-colored bloom of the spring, vigorous and so showy! But when working with the plant itself, the feel was comforting and…old. The petals gave off a calm, warm, healing energy as I processed them. As if to say, “Lady, I’ve been around a long time.”

Resources Used:

1. Complete Guide to Medicinal Herbs, DK Natural Health, Penelope Ody, 2000

2. Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs, Revised Edition, Llewellyn,  Scott Cunningham

3. A Druid’s Herbal for the Sacred Earth Year, Destiny Books, Ellen Evert Hopman, 1995

4. Growing and Using Healing Herbs, Rodale Printing, Gaea and Shandor Weiss, 1985

(On that note…I need a  more up-to-date herbal!)

(One more note…be careful when using Calendula/Marigold that you’re using the real deal: Calendula officinalis, not the other ornamental ‘marigold’, whose botanical name is Tagetes. Tagetes is *not* a medicinal herb.)

Disclaimer: Before using any herbal remedy, check with your doctor.

Religious Progression

Saw this on a forum and thought it was interesting. What’s yours?

Southern Baptist —> Angry Teenage Agnostic, flirting with Paganism —> Conservative Evangelical Charismatic (wha?) —> Angry and Confused CEC —> General Pagan —> Medium-Polytheistic Pagan, flirting with ADF (do I want to take their course? Do I? ::waffles to and fro::), practicing low kitchen witchery, with a hyper-local practice, attending a UU church.

Obviously, labels become much more confusing in Paganism. Hahah.

On Loss, #1

Sometimes, grief is an ephemeral thing. A fragment. A figment. It comes and goes, flitting in and out of time, spaces, dreams. Looking at the cat-food bowls still sitting empty on the kitchen floor. Thinking of my grandpa’s funeral, hazy with time, me in a somehow sad floral dress with a huge early-90′s bow and frizzy red hair. Glancing outside at Thor-tree, my petition tree, that has died from last summer’s drought.  Walking out of HEB realizing, in that moment I pushed my cart through the store and onto the sidewalk, that I am not pregnant anymore.

Grief is also constant. It’s lead in the heart, rattling around like loose ammo. Sometimes the ball pings against something else, makes a connection, and that shoots to the surface. Reminding you that yes, you’re in mourning. Don’t you forget it!

Times like these make me wonder if we’re just always in mourning. That grief is one of the ingredients in the concrete of our foundations, along with joy and love and wonder and ?

There’s no Pagan angle to grief, really. Everyone, in every belief-system, experiences sorrow.  I suppose I could talk about comforting deities or prayers, but mostly this week I just prayed to not be alone. I don’t know who answered me, but I wasn’t alone. There was my husband and my toddler and some mother-sense that countless mothers all over knew this particular grief–the grief of children lost, the grief of children never-born. And in that knowledge I was saddened, but comforted.

Only a Flower

Only a flower marks my grave,

Marks my grave, marks my grave.

I don’t need no wooden cross,

I don’t need granite for my name,

May my name be ever lost.

Only a flower marks my grave.

Marks my grave, marks my grave.

I’ve been trying to write a post for awhile now. Sitting, thinking, starting, erasing. I had it all planned out in the shower. It sounded good, too. Poignant, sad, but ultimately hopeful. The trouble is I just can’t get my fingers to write those words at the moment. I’m a writer. Writing is what I do; it’s what I love. It’s how I cope. But, I suppose, sometimes things are beyond words. Especially when they’re not over yet. For now, this:

Baby,

We miss you. We miss the nascent hopes and dreams we had for you and for our family. There will never be another you, and one hopes that in someway, somehow, we will get to know you. In another realm, in another life, who knows? But you brought joy to our hearts while you were here. Wherever you are know that you, our child, are forever in our hearts and our family.

Love,

Mama and Dad

Fairy Tales and Folklore: The Frog Prince (Grimm)

Last night, in want of something to read, I pulled a compilation of Grimm’s Fairy Tales from a shelf. Fairy Tales seem to be popping up all over entertainment nowadays what with Grimm, the fairytale episode on Castle, Snow White and the Huntsman and Mirror, Mirror. There was also this wince-worthy article in Slate declaring fairy tales as being…out of fashion.

It’s a natural progression from the cultural focus on vampires and werewolves, and I love it. As a kid I lost myself in big tomes of Grimm’s, Hans Christian Anderson, Celtic folktales and Native American legends. Those stories were the backdrop of my imaginary life and still are. I love basing my own stories in dense forests where no amount of sunlight can lighten the deep shadows. Where animals speak, fairies exist, and we are challenged to become something…more. To do the right thing. To complete the quest.

I’ve been thinking that now is the time to start becoming reacquainted with these tales. C’s about to be of age to be told the milk-and-bread versions, and I just generally want a refresher course. So, I fluffed my pillows all around, opened the book and dug in.

The first tale is The Frog Prince, not my favorite. I much prefer The Seven Swans or The Twelve Dancing Princesses. Still, it’s a nice little tale that is ostensibly about doing the right thing. Little princess loses the ball, frog makes her promise to take him home, she agrees, he gets the ball, she backs out of her promise. Then, he follows her home, tells the king, and the king makes her live up to her word. Later, she takes him up to her room. The princess is so disgusted when he asks to sleep on her pillow that she throws him against a wall. Boom! He becomes a prince. They marry and live happily ever after. In the Grimm’s version, the prince’s servant carried grief like three iron bonds around his heart when the prince went missing. As the prince and the princess drove away in carriage they heard a snapping sound–the bonds breaking off the servant’s heart.

In Jungian analysis the golden ball is the self. When the princess–an immature self (or whole self–no individuation between the person and the self)–loses it, she is effectively losing herself in the dark well. She needs some agency of transformation (the frog–life circumstances, middle age, just an awareness of being divided) to help her rescue it. Even still, she needs an authority (the King–Highest Self) to guide her to accepting that ‘frog’,  and ultimately be grateful that it has helped her get her ball back/become whole again.

The next discussion we could have, of course, is about whether or not such analysis is worthwhile. What does it mean to us? Does it have a meaning or is this just a story about keeping promises and being grateful?

Hm.