But then again, I wake-up this morning and I create a new blog for the Pagan group while I reread what I posted last night before I fell asleep... and, I wonder.
I wonder what it is I gain spiritually from the Pagan path. It does not offer up any code of conduct for people to practice and improve their way of life. It is all left up to the individual. There are no great philosophical works, no great spiritual teachers, no intellectual forums that discuss the human condition or an answer or solution for it. Often times it feels like empty rituals and role playing. A spiritual journey through fantasy. An indulgence for my weak and unstructured mind.
I become easily lost. Confused. Torn.
The one big appeal of it for me is its creative nature. But, as a friend would say sarcastically, "As long as your doing it for the right reasons." Granted, she could care less about it for it falls outside of her norm (christian) and is categorized by her as voodoo nonsense. Is my muse that important? More important than who I am as a person in the world? Does feeding my muse make me a better or worse person in society? Is it improving me in any way?
Honestly, no.
So why do I bother? Why do I leave the path of Buddhism so easily whenever an obstacle is presented. Surely I do not care nor do I have to associate myself with those elements that I feel detract from what I believe Buddhism to be.
But yet, here I am again.
All my Buddhist trappings are packed in boxes and hidden in the attic or shed. I erased it all to help me forget about it in order that I could focus on something else. Art. Buddhism ticked me off because the group I was in started looking very much like all the other Western organized religions. Money. Money. Power. Money. I could not take it, so I walked away. Re-embraced my Pagan side.
Yet here I am. Missing Buddhism, again.
Why does my seesaw plagued me so?
Why can't I just be happy with what I have and quit thinking about it?
What is it I am searching for?
UGH.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Can It Feel Any Weirder Than This?
Weird.
A word often used when I think of myself.
When Tom and I went our separate ways, I could not imagine life without him.
At the time I was practicing Eclectic Wicca with my Coven in LaPorte. I remember that first night, in the basement of my friend Kim's house: on my knees, sobbing, shaking hands lighting candles and incense, through blurry eyes pleading with the God and Goddess to hear my prayers and fix this broken relationship. I begged them to help Tom see beyond the scars of my past. I begged them to free me from the chains of my abuse to I could be a better person for Tom.
Tom said the reason our relationship was ending was because of me, that all of our problems could be traced back to the fact that I refused to get help concerning my self-mutilation and sexual abuse. The only way he would ever consider a reconciliation was if I got help.
I did not make it to the second night. I told Kim the next day that I would rather kill myself--and I had a plan of action in place--than relive my past with some stranger. I loved Tom, but stirring up all that old pain that I had strive to bury for so many years was too much. Luckily, Kim worked on the mental health ward of the local hospital. She had me committed to, what I lovingly refer to as, GOTHICA.
I was there a little over a week. The entire time searching for help, solace, comfort from my duotheistic gods. To no avail.
Nothing. Instead of comfort, it became worse. I learned that Tom was a cheater. He had been cheating on me from the first year we were together. It seemed as though everyone but me knew about it. While I was in the hospital, he was out living it up... and already moving on by sleeping with several people--in order to find comfort. For somehow, I had gone from the boyfriend with unbearable mood swings who was too difficult to live with because he was always fearful of my self-mutilating turning to something worse, TO, the boyfriend who was abusive. He had told people he was fearful of me. It started as emotional abuse and somehow escalated over time to physical abuse.
And there was no comfort to be found. I was learning all this about my "soul mate" while also attending a very rigorous schedule of counseling and therapy. Thank goodness for the medications they were giving me or I think I definitely would have fallen off the edge.
I was a walking raw nerve. An emotional train wreck. And slowly becoming aware of something... no one, nothing, was coming to my aid. No matter how deeply I prayed, I found no comfort. No outside force was coming to my rescue. No divinity seemed to give a crap that I had suffered, that I was suffering, or that I would probably continue to suffer for quite some time.
If there was some greater power in the universe, it felt as though I had been selected to play out some cosmic joke. Molested for the better part of my childhood and early adolescence. A war torn family unit, that seemed to be my fault. Unspecified seizure disorder courtesy of the government. Gay, which in this country is not exactly a blessing. I could not stop self-mutilating. Night terrors. Panic attacks. Low self esteem. Unbearable depression and mood swings. A twisted sexual fantasy life. And now this... my almost eight year relationship ended a week before the anniversary and it was all planned out.
The whole move to Indiana, the changing the locks of the house, the end of our relationship had been premeditated--and I never saw a bit of it until it was too late.
Why?
The only thing I could think of is: I had been living my life in a fantasy world. I saw what I wanted. Believed what I wanted. All in some miserable attempt at happiness. Blind happiness. Blind love. Blind faith. Blind.
If there are gods, where are they? What have I done to deserve this? Why couldn't they protect me? Spare me some of it?
Fantasy. Was that all my life was? Was that all my religious beliefs were? It sure felt that way. It was like waking from a really convincing dream that takes you a few minutes to realize where you are.
So, I ran away. I ran back to Buddha. His path seemed to help me out when I was first diagnosed with seizures. It helped me out when my family disowned me. It taught nothing except dealing with and being present in this moment. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else truly existed except for this present moment. The past no longer was, the future cannot be known. Therefore, live here, live now.
I jumped back into Buddhism with such fervor. It made sense. It allowed me to deal with things in a whole new light. The past no longer seemed that terrible because it had no power over me. The future no longer seemed so overwhelming because it had not happened yet. It all made sense.
It had too. I had reached bottom and there was no where else to turn.
I packed up all my pagan belongings. Those that held sentimental value I gave away to friends. Those that did not went into boxes that were delivered to the local Goodwill. Along with all the other religious crap I had accumulated over my lifetime of searching. I was stripping my life down, getting rid of all the baggage.
Eventually that would include my past: Tom, family issues, and the childhood abuse.
It has been quite some time since those days. A lot has changed. A lot has not.
Granted, I do not self-mutilate any more. Well, not in the old way. Now I get tattoos and piercings when the urge strikes.
The night terrors have slacked off dramatically. I might have one, maybe two a year. The doctors say that is normal. They will probably never completely stop, but the important thing is that I do not let them gain control.
Not depressed any more. That is this biggest relief. To know that there are other moods out there beyond the torch songs...
My sexual imagination... well, we never got to that. I just keep suppressed as long as I can, and when it needs to surface, I take care of it in my own quiet way. There are some things in life people find hard to express to others in words--this would be that department for me. I use to paint and draw it out, but Tom kept all my art supplies and my artwork. Hopefully he threw it all away with everything else he kept and never looked at or showed anyone else. Not ready to be the next Maplethorp. Not ready to explain it.
My religion... in a word... OY!
I stayed with Buddhism for well over four years. And then I discovered an underside to it I did not like at all: it is an organized religion with all the wonderful trappings I so loathe.
So, I am back to Paganism, again. This week.
It seems I have traded in all that other crap for spiritual crisis. I have my reasons for loving this, and my reasons for loving that, and this again, and that again... why can't I just be happy in one? Stick with just one? Say to myself, "Self! This is the Path I choose. This is the Path we are going to stick with until death do us part!"
A friend asked me what I believed in an attempt to help me figure out where I should be, religiously. That's my problem. I agree with so much of a lot of them, and disagree with just about the same amount. I find just as many flaws in one Path as I do it's pluses. It leaves me, on nights like tonight, on the brink of tears and wanting to pull my hair out.
Kevin has suggested just walking away from all religion. Ugh. I cannot help that I am a spiritually inclined person. Finding that Path seems to be the quest of my current state. A friend Chris says that is the important thing, the quest. But, it is SO frustrating, especially coming from a guy who is so confident in his Buddhist way. Then there are my "pagan" friends. A witch. Her husband, who I have yet to pin down on religious views. A pagan-in-search-of a path. Her agnostic, possibly atheist boyfriend who I discovered has a "darkside" that I feel kindred to. Kevin, who has his own beliefs that don't really fit anything--might be close agnostic, bordering on lethargy. Then I have other friends... Stephen, the Mormon, who wishes on some level I could check my gay sex acts at the door and revel in the ecstasy of his scriptures. Tom, the zen-Buddhist, sometimes Unitarian Universalist, who has a bond to a guru that I have serious doubts about. Ann, the born-again, though she got it right the first time. Dierdre, who attends a church where they speak in tongues. Not sure what that is about. The choices are many...
And I cannot figure out where I belong. Luckily, I know where I do not belong: anything of the Judeo/Christian/Islamic persuasion is out. I like sex, for the most part, when I am not going through my hang-ups and denial phases of it. And, I cannot for the life of me believe that I am condemned, or a sinner, simply based on the fact of who I love. Nor can I believe that books written by men are holy and the final authority on life.
Which leaves very few choices.
And leaves me feeling like a complete basket case because I am constantly wrestling with where I belong. And if I choose one, will I lose all the people that are not a part of the one I have chosen? Will they understand? Will they still want my company? Logic says yes, but there is that little shadow in me that says without those ties they will quickly slip away.
This is so stupid. But there you go. This is how my mind works. And this is just the subject of religion. One day I may endeavour to write about my mind's workings when it comes to my sexual fantasy life. But then again... it's probably best I do not. I am not sure what you can and cannot write on these things. If you decide to get graphic, will they kick you off? I have no idea.
Now I am tired and rambling, but there you are.
I thought this might help. Funny. It has not. Could I possibly feel any weirder?
A word often used when I think of myself.
When Tom and I went our separate ways, I could not imagine life without him.
At the time I was practicing Eclectic Wicca with my Coven in LaPorte. I remember that first night, in the basement of my friend Kim's house: on my knees, sobbing, shaking hands lighting candles and incense, through blurry eyes pleading with the God and Goddess to hear my prayers and fix this broken relationship. I begged them to help Tom see beyond the scars of my past. I begged them to free me from the chains of my abuse to I could be a better person for Tom.
Tom said the reason our relationship was ending was because of me, that all of our problems could be traced back to the fact that I refused to get help concerning my self-mutilation and sexual abuse. The only way he would ever consider a reconciliation was if I got help.
I did not make it to the second night. I told Kim the next day that I would rather kill myself--and I had a plan of action in place--than relive my past with some stranger. I loved Tom, but stirring up all that old pain that I had strive to bury for so many years was too much. Luckily, Kim worked on the mental health ward of the local hospital. She had me committed to, what I lovingly refer to as, GOTHICA.
I was there a little over a week. The entire time searching for help, solace, comfort from my duotheistic gods. To no avail.
Nothing. Instead of comfort, it became worse. I learned that Tom was a cheater. He had been cheating on me from the first year we were together. It seemed as though everyone but me knew about it. While I was in the hospital, he was out living it up... and already moving on by sleeping with several people--in order to find comfort. For somehow, I had gone from the boyfriend with unbearable mood swings who was too difficult to live with because he was always fearful of my self-mutilating turning to something worse, TO, the boyfriend who was abusive. He had told people he was fearful of me. It started as emotional abuse and somehow escalated over time to physical abuse.
And there was no comfort to be found. I was learning all this about my "soul mate" while also attending a very rigorous schedule of counseling and therapy. Thank goodness for the medications they were giving me or I think I definitely would have fallen off the edge.
I was a walking raw nerve. An emotional train wreck. And slowly becoming aware of something... no one, nothing, was coming to my aid. No matter how deeply I prayed, I found no comfort. No outside force was coming to my rescue. No divinity seemed to give a crap that I had suffered, that I was suffering, or that I would probably continue to suffer for quite some time.
If there was some greater power in the universe, it felt as though I had been selected to play out some cosmic joke. Molested for the better part of my childhood and early adolescence. A war torn family unit, that seemed to be my fault. Unspecified seizure disorder courtesy of the government. Gay, which in this country is not exactly a blessing. I could not stop self-mutilating. Night terrors. Panic attacks. Low self esteem. Unbearable depression and mood swings. A twisted sexual fantasy life. And now this... my almost eight year relationship ended a week before the anniversary and it was all planned out.
The whole move to Indiana, the changing the locks of the house, the end of our relationship had been premeditated--and I never saw a bit of it until it was too late.
Why?
The only thing I could think of is: I had been living my life in a fantasy world. I saw what I wanted. Believed what I wanted. All in some miserable attempt at happiness. Blind happiness. Blind love. Blind faith. Blind.
If there are gods, where are they? What have I done to deserve this? Why couldn't they protect me? Spare me some of it?
Fantasy. Was that all my life was? Was that all my religious beliefs were? It sure felt that way. It was like waking from a really convincing dream that takes you a few minutes to realize where you are.
So, I ran away. I ran back to Buddha. His path seemed to help me out when I was first diagnosed with seizures. It helped me out when my family disowned me. It taught nothing except dealing with and being present in this moment. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else truly existed except for this present moment. The past no longer was, the future cannot be known. Therefore, live here, live now.
I jumped back into Buddhism with such fervor. It made sense. It allowed me to deal with things in a whole new light. The past no longer seemed that terrible because it had no power over me. The future no longer seemed so overwhelming because it had not happened yet. It all made sense.
It had too. I had reached bottom and there was no where else to turn.
I packed up all my pagan belongings. Those that held sentimental value I gave away to friends. Those that did not went into boxes that were delivered to the local Goodwill. Along with all the other religious crap I had accumulated over my lifetime of searching. I was stripping my life down, getting rid of all the baggage.
Eventually that would include my past: Tom, family issues, and the childhood abuse.
It has been quite some time since those days. A lot has changed. A lot has not.
Granted, I do not self-mutilate any more. Well, not in the old way. Now I get tattoos and piercings when the urge strikes.
The night terrors have slacked off dramatically. I might have one, maybe two a year. The doctors say that is normal. They will probably never completely stop, but the important thing is that I do not let them gain control.
Not depressed any more. That is this biggest relief. To know that there are other moods out there beyond the torch songs...
My sexual imagination... well, we never got to that. I just keep suppressed as long as I can, and when it needs to surface, I take care of it in my own quiet way. There are some things in life people find hard to express to others in words--this would be that department for me. I use to paint and draw it out, but Tom kept all my art supplies and my artwork. Hopefully he threw it all away with everything else he kept and never looked at or showed anyone else. Not ready to be the next Maplethorp. Not ready to explain it.
My religion... in a word... OY!
I stayed with Buddhism for well over four years. And then I discovered an underside to it I did not like at all: it is an organized religion with all the wonderful trappings I so loathe.
So, I am back to Paganism, again. This week.
It seems I have traded in all that other crap for spiritual crisis. I have my reasons for loving this, and my reasons for loving that, and this again, and that again... why can't I just be happy in one? Stick with just one? Say to myself, "Self! This is the Path I choose. This is the Path we are going to stick with until death do us part!"
A friend asked me what I believed in an attempt to help me figure out where I should be, religiously. That's my problem. I agree with so much of a lot of them, and disagree with just about the same amount. I find just as many flaws in one Path as I do it's pluses. It leaves me, on nights like tonight, on the brink of tears and wanting to pull my hair out.
Kevin has suggested just walking away from all religion. Ugh. I cannot help that I am a spiritually inclined person. Finding that Path seems to be the quest of my current state. A friend Chris says that is the important thing, the quest. But, it is SO frustrating, especially coming from a guy who is so confident in his Buddhist way. Then there are my "pagan" friends. A witch. Her husband, who I have yet to pin down on religious views. A pagan-in-search-of a path. Her agnostic, possibly atheist boyfriend who I discovered has a "darkside" that I feel kindred to. Kevin, who has his own beliefs that don't really fit anything--might be close agnostic, bordering on lethargy. Then I have other friends... Stephen, the Mormon, who wishes on some level I could check my gay sex acts at the door and revel in the ecstasy of his scriptures. Tom, the zen-Buddhist, sometimes Unitarian Universalist, who has a bond to a guru that I have serious doubts about. Ann, the born-again, though she got it right the first time. Dierdre, who attends a church where they speak in tongues. Not sure what that is about. The choices are many...
And I cannot figure out where I belong. Luckily, I know where I do not belong: anything of the Judeo/Christian/Islamic persuasion is out. I like sex, for the most part, when I am not going through my hang-ups and denial phases of it. And, I cannot for the life of me believe that I am condemned, or a sinner, simply based on the fact of who I love. Nor can I believe that books written by men are holy and the final authority on life.
Which leaves very few choices.
And leaves me feeling like a complete basket case because I am constantly wrestling with where I belong. And if I choose one, will I lose all the people that are not a part of the one I have chosen? Will they understand? Will they still want my company? Logic says yes, but there is that little shadow in me that says without those ties they will quickly slip away.
This is so stupid. But there you go. This is how my mind works. And this is just the subject of religion. One day I may endeavour to write about my mind's workings when it comes to my sexual fantasy life. But then again... it's probably best I do not. I am not sure what you can and cannot write on these things. If you decide to get graphic, will they kick you off? I have no idea.
Now I am tired and rambling, but there you are.
I thought this might help. Funny. It has not. Could I possibly feel any weirder?
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Wiccan Mythology
I may be the only one, but I would truly enjoy a well developed Wiccan Mythology.
I see a lot of problems in the borrowing of other existing cultures pantheons and incorporating them as something Wiccan. What has been given us is a crude outline of the cycle of life for the Seasons and of our God and Goddess. I think if this story was better envisioned we might not need those cute little sections in the back of all the Wiccan 101 books that list Deities from the existing Pantheons as a "pick and you choose" as you will buffet. It is an insult to those groups and a little ignorant on our part.
We should embrace our God and Goddess and learn their story. Give voice to who They are through spiritual communion. We need not look any further than our own backyards to learn this story. Pray, honor, worship and listen. Let them guide us. Let them use us to bring their lessons to life and help us to develop a Wiccan mythology that is it's own and free from borrowing the names and attributes of others Holy Ones.
Well, at least that is what I hope to do in upcoming blogs. Below is a rough draft of some existing material I found online. I will add to it as I find other bits and pieces. From there, through my own personal experiences with honoring the God and Goddess, I hope to paint a more vivid and cohesive mythos for this budding religion of ours. It is a dream...
NOTES: concerning the Wheel of the Year and current renderings of the God and Goddess story through the Seasons.
(Our days start at sundown on the previous day. Therefore, "November 1" is actually the night of October 31 through the day of November 1.)
Samhain (sow' en) - Major Sabbat
Oct 31-Nov 1
Wiccan mythology:
The death of the God
The Goddess enters her Dark phase as she mourns her son and consort, and the Dark God takes up the rulership of Winter, leading the Wild Hunt.
Yule (yool) - Minor Sabbat
Also know as Midwinter, Winter solstice (around December 22)
Wiccan mythology:
The birth of the God
Imbolc (im' molc) or (im' bolc) - Major Sabbat
February 1
Wiccan mythology:
Goddess recovers from childbirth, becomes Maiden.
The child God continues to mature, as can be witnessed in the lengthening days.
The Crone Goddess of Winter makes way for the Maiden, who has recovered from childbirth and prepares the earth to begin its growth cycle once more.
Eostara (os tar' a) - Minor Sabbat
Vernal equinox (around March 22)
Wiccan mythology:
Sexual union of the Goddess and God
Beltaine - Major Sabbat
May 1
Wiccan mythology:
Sexual union and/or marriage of the Goddess and God
On Beltaine, the Light God has matured to the age of rulership and takes over from the Dark God. The pregnant Goddess becomes Mother.
Litha - Minor Sabbat
Also known as Midsummer and Summer solstice (around June 22)
Wiccan mythology:
Apex of the God's life
Celebrating the God's life, when the God transforms from young warrior to aging sage.
Lughnasadh (loo' na sah) or (loon' sah) - Major Sabbat
Also known as Lammas, August 1
Wiccan mythology:
Aging God and preparation for the God's impending death.
The Goddess enters her phase as Crone.
Mabon - Minor Sabbat
Autumnal equinox (around September 22)
Wiccan mythology:
Decline of the God
I see a lot of problems in the borrowing of other existing cultures pantheons and incorporating them as something Wiccan. What has been given us is a crude outline of the cycle of life for the Seasons and of our God and Goddess. I think if this story was better envisioned we might not need those cute little sections in the back of all the Wiccan 101 books that list Deities from the existing Pantheons as a "pick and you choose" as you will buffet. It is an insult to those groups and a little ignorant on our part.
We should embrace our God and Goddess and learn their story. Give voice to who They are through spiritual communion. We need not look any further than our own backyards to learn this story. Pray, honor, worship and listen. Let them guide us. Let them use us to bring their lessons to life and help us to develop a Wiccan mythology that is it's own and free from borrowing the names and attributes of others Holy Ones.
Well, at least that is what I hope to do in upcoming blogs. Below is a rough draft of some existing material I found online. I will add to it as I find other bits and pieces. From there, through my own personal experiences with honoring the God and Goddess, I hope to paint a more vivid and cohesive mythos for this budding religion of ours. It is a dream...
NOTES: concerning the Wheel of the Year and current renderings of the God and Goddess story through the Seasons.
(Our days start at sundown on the previous day. Therefore, "November 1" is actually the night of October 31 through the day of November 1.)
Samhain (sow' en) - Major Sabbat
Oct 31-Nov 1
Wiccan mythology:
The death of the God
The Goddess enters her Dark phase as she mourns her son and consort, and the Dark God takes up the rulership of Winter, leading the Wild Hunt.
Yule (yool) - Minor Sabbat
Also know as Midwinter, Winter solstice (around December 22)
Wiccan mythology:
The birth of the God
Imbolc (im' molc) or (im' bolc) - Major Sabbat
February 1
Wiccan mythology:
Goddess recovers from childbirth, becomes Maiden.
The child God continues to mature, as can be witnessed in the lengthening days.
The Crone Goddess of Winter makes way for the Maiden, who has recovered from childbirth and prepares the earth to begin its growth cycle once more.
Eostara (os tar' a) - Minor Sabbat
Vernal equinox (around March 22)
Wiccan mythology:
Sexual union of the Goddess and God
Beltaine - Major Sabbat
May 1
Wiccan mythology:
Sexual union and/or marriage of the Goddess and God
On Beltaine, the Light God has matured to the age of rulership and takes over from the Dark God. The pregnant Goddess becomes Mother.
Litha - Minor Sabbat
Also known as Midsummer and Summer solstice (around June 22)
Wiccan mythology:
Apex of the God's life
Celebrating the God's life, when the God transforms from young warrior to aging sage.
Lughnasadh (loo' na sah) or (loon' sah) - Major Sabbat
Also known as Lammas, August 1
Wiccan mythology:
Aging God and preparation for the God's impending death.
The Goddess enters her phase as Crone.
Mabon - Minor Sabbat
Autumnal equinox (around September 22)
Wiccan mythology:
Decline of the God
Epileptic, Oklahoma
(note: this was written many years ago, before my seizures were under control)
The hospital came to a halt when every window in the complex began to rattle uncontrollably. In the distance a low and unnatural thunder rolled its way across the flat horizon. When the rattling glass and thunder had ceased, all that remained was silence: no one spoke; phones did not ring; the air was sill; birds had stopped singing. For a brief moment it seemed as though the world had stopped breathing and this peaceful silence was Death's harbinger. This silence awakened a horror that would stalk me the rest of my life.
At approximately 9:30 in the morning on April 19th 1995, a chorus of ringing phones throughout the hospital, where I worked, broke the silence. When I answered my station's phone I discovered it was the National Disaster Preparedness Team (I was just assigned to this team three months prior) signaling for all members to scramble immediately.
Before I knew what was going on, I was standing knee deep in what once had been the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. At 9:01 that morning, a bomb had ripped a hole in the center of downtown Oklahoma City. I was assigned to search and recovery.
All day I sifted through the twisted rubble and dust. With each piece of concrete I lifted, I hoped to find someone. My body was in sad shape: my mouth was dry; my head was pounding; my muscles ached and throbbed; eyes burned from all the dust and fumes that choked the air. After three and a half hours of searching I made my first and last recovery: a head.
I was mesmerized and sickened by what I held. The sheer oddity of it was unreal. I knew that I was staring at a person's decapitated head. The fact that it was inside a broken computer monitor and had become fused with the glass and plastic made it difficult to accept. That is when everything went silent again, and then faded to black.
I was informed later that I had been rushed to a local hospital because I had suffered several grand mal seizures. Apparently the stress of what I had seen and experienced triggered the seizures. The silence I experienced in the rubble is called an aura. It is my body's signal that a seizure is coming. The only way I have ever been able to describe it is by that silence I experienced the day the bomb went off in Oklahoma City--like the Earth herself stopped breathing. Considering I have at least one seizure every month, I am constantly reminded of that day and of the head within a broken monitor.
The hospital came to a halt when every window in the complex began to rattle uncontrollably. In the distance a low and unnatural thunder rolled its way across the flat horizon. When the rattling glass and thunder had ceased, all that remained was silence: no one spoke; phones did not ring; the air was sill; birds had stopped singing. For a brief moment it seemed as though the world had stopped breathing and this peaceful silence was Death's harbinger. This silence awakened a horror that would stalk me the rest of my life.
At approximately 9:30 in the morning on April 19th 1995, a chorus of ringing phones throughout the hospital, where I worked, broke the silence. When I answered my station's phone I discovered it was the National Disaster Preparedness Team (I was just assigned to this team three months prior) signaling for all members to scramble immediately.
Before I knew what was going on, I was standing knee deep in what once had been the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. At 9:01 that morning, a bomb had ripped a hole in the center of downtown Oklahoma City. I was assigned to search and recovery.
All day I sifted through the twisted rubble and dust. With each piece of concrete I lifted, I hoped to find someone. My body was in sad shape: my mouth was dry; my head was pounding; my muscles ached and throbbed; eyes burned from all the dust and fumes that choked the air. After three and a half hours of searching I made my first and last recovery: a head.
I was mesmerized and sickened by what I held. The sheer oddity of it was unreal. I knew that I was staring at a person's decapitated head. The fact that it was inside a broken computer monitor and had become fused with the glass and plastic made it difficult to accept. That is when everything went silent again, and then faded to black.
I was informed later that I had been rushed to a local hospital because I had suffered several grand mal seizures. Apparently the stress of what I had seen and experienced triggered the seizures. The silence I experienced in the rubble is called an aura. It is my body's signal that a seizure is coming. The only way I have ever been able to describe it is by that silence I experienced the day the bomb went off in Oklahoma City--like the Earth herself stopped breathing. Considering I have at least one seizure every month, I am constantly reminded of that day and of the head within a broken monitor.
Monday, February 15, 2010
GRIPE
I have a little gripe about something I noticed recently... wonder what you might think.
Llewllyn Worldwide
They are by far, the largest publishing house of all things Wiccan and Pagan for the Western hemisphere. And, being such a gigantic voice you would assume they hold true some of the basic principles or ideals of the community they represent, right?
I had assumed this for a long time.
They were the publishing house of one of my favorite author (Scott Cunningham) when I first started down this Path back in the late eighties. When I joined my first coven (Church of Magick; Dragon Tradition) in Indiana, I ran into some opposition of what had been in my mind, the leaders of bringing Paganism to the forefront--Llewllyn. My new tribe had nothing good to say about them: they edited too much out, they changed the original intent, they watered everything down and were the leading cause of what came to be known in our Circle as the "Fuzzy-B.M.", (fuzzy bunny movement: clueless practitioners with a cut and paste mentality... also known as posers or fashionably Wiccan.). I did not agree or disagree with them at the time, because I really did not know too much on the subject and did not find it very important. I kept my love of Scott Cunningham to myself when in their presence.
Over the years I have grown to loathe the Pagan/New Age section at bookstores. What once was a sanctuary had now become a thorn. To me, no matter the Publishing house, all Pagan and Wiccan books seemed the same to me--Introductions, 101's and how-to's. It was boring...
But I digress.
My gripe.
To me, one of the basics of Western Paganism is that it is a Nature-based spirituality. In some way, shape or fashion, no matter what Path or Tradition you follow, the Earth, Gaia, Nature, whatever, is sacred to us. We are typically the biggest proponents of a more Green society--trying to save that which is most sacred to us, our Environment.
But yet, there is Llewllyn.
I first discovered something was amiss with them when I was reading a recipe in my Witches' datebook a couple of years ago. Everything being used in it was either processed, canned or frozen and picked up at your local grocer. A light went off in my head. WHY were they not saying things like "organic" or "locally grown" or "farmer's market" or at least "fresh"? So I scanned the little datebook and discovered that all the recipes were like this.And all the articles were written in a 101 mindset...
AND worst of all, I could not find the RECYCLE emblem anywhere on my datebook. No suggestion to recycle or that it had been created from any percentage of Recycled waste.
So I ran to my bookshelf and started tearing through all of my Pagan books... the same. Not a single one was created using post consumer recyclables.
I have yet to find a book on green living by any of our leading pagan authors.
I have yet to find anything online about how Llewllyn (or any other capitalist Pagan Org or Inc) is leading the way in this green revolution that has started.I find this all very disturbing.
And yet one of our leading periodicals, Pan Gaia, in their 5oth issue salutes the work of Carl Llewllyn... which, granted, bringing the Pagan community into the light is a HUGE accomplishment, but if you are breaking one of that communities leading and most basic tenants, should you really be saluted? And also in this issue they saluted the most influential pagans of our time, but no where was there a category for Environmental Action or Activists.
We are the religious movement of NATURE.
We are Nature's guardians.
We are supposedly Nature-Based Religions...REALLY??? Maybe individuals within these groups ARE, but as a whole, I think we may have missed the boat. Our leaders have dropped the ball and are turning our Earth-Based Faiths into the hypocrisies of all the other religions that we were/are trying to escape. Have they become so entranced by the BIG GREEN dollar that they themselves have become Fuzzy-B.M.'s?
If we want our religious identities to be taken as seriously as our neighbors' in this world then we need to ask those within the public spotlight, what are you doing to promote us as a TRUE Nature-based religious movement? They need to be held accountable before we are the biggest joke next to clean burning coal.
AND if the powers-that-be cannot, then it is up to all of us to change this.
When our Judeo-Christian-Islamic brothers and sisters think of Pagans, the Devil should not be the first thing that comes to their minds... it should be NATURE LOVING fanatics, Eco-terrorists, tree huggers, RECYCLE thumpers. WE should be the face of the GREEN movement! Llewllyn, AzureGreen, whoever, should be leading this movement. ALL of our periodicals should at least have a section or column on this. If our authors are searching for something new to write about beyond the 101 manuals (of which there are way too many) here is a WHOLE area you have missed out on. The Spirituality of the Green Way of Life. There is a title of a best seller if ever I saw one.
By the Gods! What have we done to ourselves? We have been so focused on equality of our religious freedoms and trying to educate the world of our legitimacy and the fact that we are not evil cults that we forgot the most basic and over looked cause of our Traditions... Mother Earth.
How can this be changed?
Does anyone else out there care?
Mother Earth, Sky Father, forgive us.
--Mouse.
Llewllyn Worldwide
They are by far, the largest publishing house of all things Wiccan and Pagan for the Western hemisphere. And, being such a gigantic voice you would assume they hold true some of the basic principles or ideals of the community they represent, right?
I had assumed this for a long time.
They were the publishing house of one of my favorite author (Scott Cunningham) when I first started down this Path back in the late eighties. When I joined my first coven (Church of Magick; Dragon Tradition) in Indiana, I ran into some opposition of what had been in my mind, the leaders of bringing Paganism to the forefront--Llewllyn. My new tribe had nothing good to say about them: they edited too much out, they changed the original intent, they watered everything down and were the leading cause of what came to be known in our Circle as the "Fuzzy-B.M.", (fuzzy bunny movement: clueless practitioners with a cut and paste mentality... also known as posers or fashionably Wiccan.). I did not agree or disagree with them at the time, because I really did not know too much on the subject and did not find it very important. I kept my love of Scott Cunningham to myself when in their presence.
Over the years I have grown to loathe the Pagan/New Age section at bookstores. What once was a sanctuary had now become a thorn. To me, no matter the Publishing house, all Pagan and Wiccan books seemed the same to me--Introductions, 101's and how-to's. It was boring...
But I digress.
My gripe.
To me, one of the basics of Western Paganism is that it is a Nature-based spirituality. In some way, shape or fashion, no matter what Path or Tradition you follow, the Earth, Gaia, Nature, whatever, is sacred to us. We are typically the biggest proponents of a more Green society--trying to save that which is most sacred to us, our Environment.
But yet, there is Llewllyn.
I first discovered something was amiss with them when I was reading a recipe in my Witches' datebook a couple of years ago. Everything being used in it was either processed, canned or frozen and picked up at your local grocer. A light went off in my head. WHY were they not saying things like "organic" or "locally grown" or "farmer's market" or at least "fresh"? So I scanned the little datebook and discovered that all the recipes were like this.And all the articles were written in a 101 mindset...
AND worst of all, I could not find the RECYCLE emblem anywhere on my datebook. No suggestion to recycle or that it had been created from any percentage of Recycled waste.
So I ran to my bookshelf and started tearing through all of my Pagan books... the same. Not a single one was created using post consumer recyclables.
I have yet to find a book on green living by any of our leading pagan authors.
I have yet to find anything online about how Llewllyn (or any other capitalist Pagan Org or Inc) is leading the way in this green revolution that has started.I find this all very disturbing.
And yet one of our leading periodicals, Pan Gaia, in their 5oth issue salutes the work of Carl Llewllyn... which, granted, bringing the Pagan community into the light is a HUGE accomplishment, but if you are breaking one of that communities leading and most basic tenants, should you really be saluted? And also in this issue they saluted the most influential pagans of our time, but no where was there a category for Environmental Action or Activists.
We are the religious movement of NATURE.
We are Nature's guardians.
We are supposedly Nature-Based Religions...REALLY??? Maybe individuals within these groups ARE, but as a whole, I think we may have missed the boat. Our leaders have dropped the ball and are turning our Earth-Based Faiths into the hypocrisies of all the other religions that we were/are trying to escape. Have they become so entranced by the BIG GREEN dollar that they themselves have become Fuzzy-B.M.'s?
If we want our religious identities to be taken as seriously as our neighbors' in this world then we need to ask those within the public spotlight, what are you doing to promote us as a TRUE Nature-based religious movement? They need to be held accountable before we are the biggest joke next to clean burning coal.
AND if the powers-that-be cannot, then it is up to all of us to change this.
When our Judeo-Christian-Islamic brothers and sisters think of Pagans, the Devil should not be the first thing that comes to their minds... it should be NATURE LOVING fanatics, Eco-terrorists, tree huggers, RECYCLE thumpers. WE should be the face of the GREEN movement! Llewllyn, AzureGreen, whoever, should be leading this movement. ALL of our periodicals should at least have a section or column on this. If our authors are searching for something new to write about beyond the 101 manuals (of which there are way too many) here is a WHOLE area you have missed out on. The Spirituality of the Green Way of Life. There is a title of a best seller if ever I saw one.
By the Gods! What have we done to ourselves? We have been so focused on equality of our religious freedoms and trying to educate the world of our legitimacy and the fact that we are not evil cults that we forgot the most basic and over looked cause of our Traditions... Mother Earth.
How can this be changed?
Does anyone else out there care?
Mother Earth, Sky Father, forgive us.
--Mouse.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
A Lacerated Photograph
It is amazing how painfully sharp images of the past can be. Moments caught in time by the flash of an Instamatic camera. To the bystander, these photographs are like any photographs that might be found in a family's home--except I know the secrets that lie within those scarred smiles of my fourth birthday. Burned into the slightly orange Kodak paper, these faces, like tarot cards, reveal the truth behind my childhood and dictate my death.
The night before my fourth birthday, while my parents took a break from parenting, I was sexually molested by a man fourteen years my senior. He was the baby sitter, he was my Father's favorite nephew. It was the first time he entered my room, and it would not be the last. For the next nine years he would sexually and physically abuse me. It was during the first year that I started self-mutilation as a means of escaping the emotional and mental pain. I would stick myself with sewing needles and safety pins while he touched, and poked, and fondled, and penetrated me. Pain was my escape.
As I grew, so did the means by which I inflicted the pain. Needles and pins soon gave way to razors, knives and fire. By age eight, I was no longer just self-mutilating during the rape; I was doing it after. Any time I remembered (or thought about) what he was doing to me, I would cut, stab or burn myself. The pain made the thoughts go away. The pain made him go away.
At age thirteen, the molestation came to an end when my family moved across country. Even though the late night incursions had stopped, the night terrors and flashbacks did not. Neither did the mutilation. Both were burned onto the negative of my life.
I contemplated suicide upon entering high school. My best friend was no longer the boy next door, it was an old straight razor I had stolen from my father's toiletry bag. The cuts I made upon my flesh were becoming deeper and more precise. No longer was I inflicting pain to forget, I was hoping to cut something more vital so the pain would never return.
The night before my sixteenth birthday, I opened a photo album and flipped through my past. It was this night that I saw the eyes of myself at age four pleading with me to bring the nightmare to an end. I went to my bedroom, locked the door, retrieved the razor from under my mattress and slashed an artery in my hand. The last thing I remember was how much fun my third birthday had been...
The night before my fourth birthday, while my parents took a break from parenting, I was sexually molested by a man fourteen years my senior. He was the baby sitter, he was my Father's favorite nephew. It was the first time he entered my room, and it would not be the last. For the next nine years he would sexually and physically abuse me. It was during the first year that I started self-mutilation as a means of escaping the emotional and mental pain. I would stick myself with sewing needles and safety pins while he touched, and poked, and fondled, and penetrated me. Pain was my escape.
As I grew, so did the means by which I inflicted the pain. Needles and pins soon gave way to razors, knives and fire. By age eight, I was no longer just self-mutilating during the rape; I was doing it after. Any time I remembered (or thought about) what he was doing to me, I would cut, stab or burn myself. The pain made the thoughts go away. The pain made him go away.
At age thirteen, the molestation came to an end when my family moved across country. Even though the late night incursions had stopped, the night terrors and flashbacks did not. Neither did the mutilation. Both were burned onto the negative of my life.
I contemplated suicide upon entering high school. My best friend was no longer the boy next door, it was an old straight razor I had stolen from my father's toiletry bag. The cuts I made upon my flesh were becoming deeper and more precise. No longer was I inflicting pain to forget, I was hoping to cut something more vital so the pain would never return.
The night before my sixteenth birthday, I opened a photo album and flipped through my past. It was this night that I saw the eyes of myself at age four pleading with me to bring the nightmare to an end. I went to my bedroom, locked the door, retrieved the razor from under my mattress and slashed an artery in my hand. The last thing I remember was how much fun my third birthday had been...
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Human Route
Coming empty-handed, going empty handed--that is human.
When you are born, where do you come from?
When you die, where do you go?
Life is like a floating cloud which appears.
Death is like a floating cloud which disappears.
The floating cloud itself originally does not exist.
Life and death, coming and going, are also like this.
But there is one thing which always remains clear.
It is pure and clear, not depending on life and death.
What, then, is the one pure and clear thing?
When you are born, where do you come from?
When you die, where do you go?
Life is like a floating cloud which appears.
Death is like a floating cloud which disappears.
The floating cloud itself originally does not exist.
Life and death, coming and going, are also like this.
But there is one thing which always remains clear.
It is pure and clear, not depending on life and death.
What, then, is the one pure and clear thing?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
How to go Grey without being Grey
I was always told that as you got older life became less black and white and more shades of grey.
I do not find this true within myself. I have stayed very much in the realms of black and white. The only thing that seems to be grey in my brilliant thirties is my thinning hair.
For example:
I am a part of a Pagan group called Tribe of Gaia. It is made up of a rainbow of spiritual personalities. We have a Witch of no particular school; one I am unsure of--have not had a chance to discuss it; an In-Search-Of Pagan, looking for a Path that best suits them; a Neo-Pagan curious, there is interest... I think; an Agnostic with heavy Atheist leanings; an Agnostic; and me--the spiritually torn.
I don't feel like I should really be there until I commit. I am either a Pagan who attends this Pagan group or I am a Buddhist and then I don't? But no one else seems to have a problem with being who they are spiritually and attending and participating in something that does not exactly fit within their worldview entirely. So, why do I?
I do not feel like I belong anywhere right now. When I attend the Buddhist group on Thursday nights, I feel like an outsider. When I attend the Pagan group, again, I feel like an outsider. Because in my head I am either one thing or the other... I cannot find middle ground between the two... and right now I am searching and feel alone.
So, if tomorrow I decide I am a Buddhist why would it feel wrong to attend the Pagan functions? And vice-versa? If I decide to rededicate myself to a Pagan path would I feel wrong in attending the zazen group? For some reason, I would.
Because I am not truly greying as I get older. Everything still remains black and white in my head. Especially in the realms of religion.
In America the idea of "mutt" is a proud thing... but in a way I feel it has gone beyond the melting pot of physical identity. It is now in everything we do. We mutt-up ideologies, philosophy, religion and I am not so sure that this is a good thing.
Should everything grey? Or should some things remain black and white?
Confused is my word du-jour.
I do not find this true within myself. I have stayed very much in the realms of black and white. The only thing that seems to be grey in my brilliant thirties is my thinning hair.
For example:
I am a part of a Pagan group called Tribe of Gaia. It is made up of a rainbow of spiritual personalities. We have a Witch of no particular school; one I am unsure of--have not had a chance to discuss it; an In-Search-Of Pagan, looking for a Path that best suits them; a Neo-Pagan curious, there is interest... I think; an Agnostic with heavy Atheist leanings; an Agnostic; and me--the spiritually torn.
I don't feel like I should really be there until I commit. I am either a Pagan who attends this Pagan group or I am a Buddhist and then I don't? But no one else seems to have a problem with being who they are spiritually and attending and participating in something that does not exactly fit within their worldview entirely. So, why do I?
I do not feel like I belong anywhere right now. When I attend the Buddhist group on Thursday nights, I feel like an outsider. When I attend the Pagan group, again, I feel like an outsider. Because in my head I am either one thing or the other... I cannot find middle ground between the two... and right now I am searching and feel alone.
So, if tomorrow I decide I am a Buddhist why would it feel wrong to attend the Pagan functions? And vice-versa? If I decide to rededicate myself to a Pagan path would I feel wrong in attending the zazen group? For some reason, I would.
Because I am not truly greying as I get older. Everything still remains black and white in my head. Especially in the realms of religion.
In America the idea of "mutt" is a proud thing... but in a way I feel it has gone beyond the melting pot of physical identity. It is now in everything we do. We mutt-up ideologies, philosophy, religion and I am not so sure that this is a good thing.
Should everything grey? Or should some things remain black and white?
Confused is my word du-jour.
you dont have to kill the BUDDHA if you see him, he is already dead.
The Three Precious Gems of Buddhism:
1. Buddha, Guru, or Teacher.
2. Dharma, or Teachings
3. Sangha, or Spiritual Community
In the West we tend to stumble upon these a little out of order--if there was ever an order in which needed to be followed. First we stumble upon the books, or, the Dharma. Those quaint little sections of the local bookstore labeled Eastern Philosophy seem to fascinate a great many of us. And for a lucky handful, that fascination culminates after much reading into searching out others, or a Sangha. Through finding a Sangha in which to practice this awesome new revelation we eventually meet our Teacher and take refuge:
I take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha until all sentient beings are free from suffering.
Well, what happens when you were a happy book-Buddhist who ventured out one day and found a very cool satellite Sangha and eventually through brief encounters met the "Teacher" of this Sangha who turns out to be a bit on the Power-stingy-greedy side of the human condition?
My first interaction with said "Teacher":
Mouse: I wish to eventually follow a Priestly path in order to help others.
Teacher: I do not recommend anyone following the Priestly course until they are of retirement age... you cannot make a living off of being a Priest.
Mouse: I do not wish to make money, just want to give more of myself to others within the framework of Buddhism.
Teacher: The best way you can do that is buy donating to the Sangha... You could also start your own practice group in your area and affiliate with the Center.
My second interaction was through online conversations concerning my practice group via Skype, in which I was informed donations would be needed for his time talking with me.
My third interaction was the Jukai, or Entering the Stream ceremony in which I made an official declaration of my Buddhist Faith... again, donations appreciated.
The fourth was through emails in which I had asked for help in organizing some literature to hand out to our Buddhist Troops on base. Again, donations--and a brief discussion on copy write infringements and his time.
The fifth never happened. I had scheduled a time for me and my partner to travel up to Atlanta (about two hours away) to have lunch with him and then attend the evening zazen service at the center. The day we were heading up I called him to find out where to meet him and was informed he would not be able to have lunch with us because he had already made plans with one of his senior students (who he sees on a most regular basis) but looked forward to seeing us at zazen. I spent part of the day fuming, part crying, and in the end said fuck going to the center.
The sixth was a continuation of the previous emails in which I was informed that more money was needed and that I had no right in representing Soto Zen by holding a practice group or lay leading the troops on base.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am a very passionate and loyal guy. In the arena of religion or spirituality, especially in the context of Buddhism, I give my all. BUT, since that last interaction with unnamed Teacher I ran screaming from the Buddhist Path. I have never been a lover of Christianity because I have always felt that what is taught and what is practiced are not on the same page. Buddhism I thought was different. But here, somehow again, I found a shinning example of Buddhism gone BAD.
If he was my first encounter with bad tasting Buddhism, it would not be that big a deal... but he is the third. And, sadly, I do not think I can progress upon the Buddhist path without the support of a competent teacher... and if there is to be no growth or learning, then what is the point? I can sit zazen (seated meditation) until the cows come home, but without the instruction or guidance of a seasoned veteran I will never progress any further than I have--and I feel have gone as far as I can alone.
So, then what is the point?
I find myself standing on the doorstep of my Pagan roots again. It is not an adventure I look forward to because I have yet to find the Path in Paganism that best suits me, and I wander aimlessly until frustration sets in and I throw my hands up. But what else is there? At least within a Pagan context, the only person responsible for my spiritual growth is me... and the avenues of spiritual awakening are limitless in the Neo-Pagan community.
Are they the same as Buddhism? Definitely not. Completely different mindset... but a mindset I may have to get use to since Buddhism has run into a wall. I am at the point where I do not know what to do.
On one hand, I have a Pagan group that is new and exciting and I could easily lose myself in it. Paganism has always inspired my artsy nature--and my sexual side. Draw backs--it is often too "fantasy" oriented and lacks philosophical girth and intellectual scholarship. Buddhism on the other hand, makes a lot of sense and challenges me to be a better person... not only for myself but for the world around me. It is steeped in history, tradition and plethora of scholastic rhapsodies. Draw backs--it does not inspire my artistic nature. I do not like the way in which the West seems to be corrupting it (materialism, consumerism, power struggles and pissing contests). And the lack of a teacher leaves me inert... which only stunts my spiritual growth and turns me off...
OH TEACHERS!, where art thou?
I expect if I lifted the robe of the person I spoke of before I would see him wearing a t-shirt that reads, "I killed Buddha." And so he has, for me at least.
1. Buddha, Guru, or Teacher.
2. Dharma, or Teachings
3. Sangha, or Spiritual Community
In the West we tend to stumble upon these a little out of order--if there was ever an order in which needed to be followed. First we stumble upon the books, or, the Dharma. Those quaint little sections of the local bookstore labeled Eastern Philosophy seem to fascinate a great many of us. And for a lucky handful, that fascination culminates after much reading into searching out others, or a Sangha. Through finding a Sangha in which to practice this awesome new revelation we eventually meet our Teacher and take refuge:
I take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha until all sentient beings are free from suffering.
Well, what happens when you were a happy book-Buddhist who ventured out one day and found a very cool satellite Sangha and eventually through brief encounters met the "Teacher" of this Sangha who turns out to be a bit on the Power-stingy-greedy side of the human condition?
My first interaction with said "Teacher":
Mouse: I wish to eventually follow a Priestly path in order to help others.
Teacher: I do not recommend anyone following the Priestly course until they are of retirement age... you cannot make a living off of being a Priest.
Mouse: I do not wish to make money, just want to give more of myself to others within the framework of Buddhism.
Teacher: The best way you can do that is buy donating to the Sangha... You could also start your own practice group in your area and affiliate with the Center.
My second interaction was through online conversations concerning my practice group via Skype, in which I was informed donations would be needed for his time talking with me.
My third interaction was the Jukai, or Entering the Stream ceremony in which I made an official declaration of my Buddhist Faith... again, donations appreciated.
The fourth was through emails in which I had asked for help in organizing some literature to hand out to our Buddhist Troops on base. Again, donations--and a brief discussion on copy write infringements and his time.
The fifth never happened. I had scheduled a time for me and my partner to travel up to Atlanta (about two hours away) to have lunch with him and then attend the evening zazen service at the center. The day we were heading up I called him to find out where to meet him and was informed he would not be able to have lunch with us because he had already made plans with one of his senior students (who he sees on a most regular basis) but looked forward to seeing us at zazen. I spent part of the day fuming, part crying, and in the end said fuck going to the center.
The sixth was a continuation of the previous emails in which I was informed that more money was needed and that I had no right in representing Soto Zen by holding a practice group or lay leading the troops on base.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am a very passionate and loyal guy. In the arena of religion or spirituality, especially in the context of Buddhism, I give my all. BUT, since that last interaction with unnamed Teacher I ran screaming from the Buddhist Path. I have never been a lover of Christianity because I have always felt that what is taught and what is practiced are not on the same page. Buddhism I thought was different. But here, somehow again, I found a shinning example of Buddhism gone BAD.
If he was my first encounter with bad tasting Buddhism, it would not be that big a deal... but he is the third. And, sadly, I do not think I can progress upon the Buddhist path without the support of a competent teacher... and if there is to be no growth or learning, then what is the point? I can sit zazen (seated meditation) until the cows come home, but without the instruction or guidance of a seasoned veteran I will never progress any further than I have--and I feel have gone as far as I can alone.
So, then what is the point?
I find myself standing on the doorstep of my Pagan roots again. It is not an adventure I look forward to because I have yet to find the Path in Paganism that best suits me, and I wander aimlessly until frustration sets in and I throw my hands up. But what else is there? At least within a Pagan context, the only person responsible for my spiritual growth is me... and the avenues of spiritual awakening are limitless in the Neo-Pagan community.
Are they the same as Buddhism? Definitely not. Completely different mindset... but a mindset I may have to get use to since Buddhism has run into a wall. I am at the point where I do not know what to do.
On one hand, I have a Pagan group that is new and exciting and I could easily lose myself in it. Paganism has always inspired my artsy nature--and my sexual side. Draw backs--it is often too "fantasy" oriented and lacks philosophical girth and intellectual scholarship. Buddhism on the other hand, makes a lot of sense and challenges me to be a better person... not only for myself but for the world around me. It is steeped in history, tradition and plethora of scholastic rhapsodies. Draw backs--it does not inspire my artistic nature. I do not like the way in which the West seems to be corrupting it (materialism, consumerism, power struggles and pissing contests). And the lack of a teacher leaves me inert... which only stunts my spiritual growth and turns me off...
OH TEACHERS!, where art thou?
I expect if I lifted the robe of the person I spoke of before I would see him wearing a t-shirt that reads, "I killed Buddha." And so he has, for me at least.
Friday, February 5, 2010
4 o'clock
If you ever sleep in this house and are woken up for whatever reason, look at the clock. I am willing to lay money on the fact that it will read somewhere in the area of 4:00am.
This morning I was jolted out of sleep because my partner was sitting up in bed screaming as he pointed up to the corner above the door. In that corner is a small altar to Kwan Yin or the Bodhisattva of Compassion. On it are two statues of her and a few Guardian statues. Every night I light two tea lights and place them within these beautiful metal and glass lanterns that Kevin bought me for my birthday. It creates a beautiful scene and is a soft night light as we sleep.
It took me several minutes to figure out what was going on. Apparently the fire alarm was going off and it scared the piss out of him. The wick on one of the tea lights had apparently gunked up and broken off causing a bigger flame that started melting the plastic container in which it sat. That caused smoke. To Kevin, without his glasses on and being startled out of a deep sleep, it appeared that the house was on fire. It took almost an hour to calm him down and get him back to sleep.
I on the other hand, well, here I sit. His screaming was crazed, like something you would hear in a horror or gore film. It really bothered me... I have never seen him like that. He was paralysed with fear. I know that feeling and feel bad for him, but I don't know what to do...
So, I am wide awake. Listening to the rain while I sit in the cold darkness of the living room knowing that I will probably never go to sleep to my lit altar of Kwan Yin again.
This morning I was jolted out of sleep because my partner was sitting up in bed screaming as he pointed up to the corner above the door. In that corner is a small altar to Kwan Yin or the Bodhisattva of Compassion. On it are two statues of her and a few Guardian statues. Every night I light two tea lights and place them within these beautiful metal and glass lanterns that Kevin bought me for my birthday. It creates a beautiful scene and is a soft night light as we sleep.
It took me several minutes to figure out what was going on. Apparently the fire alarm was going off and it scared the piss out of him. The wick on one of the tea lights had apparently gunked up and broken off causing a bigger flame that started melting the plastic container in which it sat. That caused smoke. To Kevin, without his glasses on and being startled out of a deep sleep, it appeared that the house was on fire. It took almost an hour to calm him down and get him back to sleep.
I on the other hand, well, here I sit. His screaming was crazed, like something you would hear in a horror or gore film. It really bothered me... I have never seen him like that. He was paralysed with fear. I know that feeling and feel bad for him, but I don't know what to do...
So, I am wide awake. Listening to the rain while I sit in the cold darkness of the living room knowing that I will probably never go to sleep to my lit altar of Kwan Yin again.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Native American Ten Commandments
We found this in a friend's shop in Helen, GA called Dreamcatchers. Thought it was really cool and could very easily be adapted for the Pagan community at large.Native American Ten Commandments.
1. The Earth is our Mother, care for Her.
2. Honor all your relations.
3. Open your hearts and souls to the Great Spirit.
4. All life is sacred.
5. Take from the earth what is needed and nothing more.
6. Do what needs to be done for the good of all.
7. Give constant thanks to the Great Spirit for each new day.
8. Speak the truth; but only of the good in others.
9. Follow the rhythms of Nature; rise and retire with the sun.
10. Enjoy Life's journey, but leave no tracks.
1. The Earth is our Mother, care for Her.
2. Honor all your relations.
3. Open your hearts and souls to the Great Spirit.
4. All life is sacred.
5. Take from the earth what is needed and nothing more.
6. Do what needs to be done for the good of all.
7. Give constant thanks to the Great Spirit for each new day.
8. Speak the truth; but only of the good in others.
9. Follow the rhythms of Nature; rise and retire with the sun.
10. Enjoy Life's journey, but leave no tracks.
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