The zen of kitchen witching or: People have souls in the morning, too.

I can’t seem to focus on anything internet-related for more than ten minutes for the last few weeks. I think it’s the weather – it really wants me to be outside, admiring the leaves. Unfortunately, I live in the city, and there’s no real opportunity.

I’d been thinking about kitchen witchery all summer though, and these weeks have been a phenomenal impetus to start practicing it. I know the theory, that you can bring your practice into anything and everything sustenance-related, but I just can’t feel it in the stir-fry. For me, kitchen witchery always means baking, and that’s hard to justify when the weather is hot.

There’s another problem we face too, that I don’t think most “cooks” have, but I think a lot of people who would like to cook do. Namely, my kitchen looks like this:

'

That’s the whole thing. You can fit one person and a cat, generally, and washing dishes while simultaneously using the counter for chopping is akin to a block puzzle. It’s roughly 2’ by 5’, generously.

So, heat and space are both practical obstacles. Still, I managed a day of pride last week. The following things were produced:

Egg Muffins: They freeze well, and are mini omelettes. These have jalepenos that I grew in my ghetto bucket garden. I am inordinately proud of said garden, and glad I managed to cook with at least some of it.

Banana Cardamom Muffins: Also freeze well, but I don't have the excuse of providing for anyone but myself - I use whatever bananas I forget at work over the weekend, and I'm the only one that eats them.

Bread! Real, honest-to-Goddess, yeast-risen bread. I know for some of you homesteaders, this is pretty basic, but....I made bread! And it worked! This will be amazing to me whenever it happens.

So, in conclusion, it can be done. Most of this is for reheating for breakfast, or toasting for breakfast, at work for the next weeks. I find breakfast to be the most challenging meal, in terms of remembering that I, and everyone else, is a real person who deserves sustenance. Habits in the past have been drinking a pot of coffee, and telling everyone to f* off.

I'm still drinking a pot of coffee, but I'm at least slightly more personable when I eat food. This is a spiritual win, or at least it feels like progress.

Lunch is next. I'm not really sure what to do, but I'll work on it. Dinner will be the biggest challenge....because Taun-taun cooks it at least 75% of the time, and it's really hard to not be lazy when I know he'll feed me. I'm much better at cooking something to freeze, and letting that be the meal the other 25%.

Blessed Be!
Pennanti

Pagan Artist: Kellee Maize

Kellee Maize is a pagan hip-hop artist. I love the genre shift – as mentioned, I don’t always trend towards folksy guitar stylings, so I’m predisposed to pagan artists who break that mold. Her music relates to club and dance genres with the beats and actual music, while the lyrics wouldn’t be out of place at any pagan festival.

The music is electronic, for the most part (I love my beepy sounds), with chimes and hand claps and more standard instruments buried in among the synth. It’s very catchy, and easy to bop along to, which is another good point. It does start to sound the same when you listen to too much of it at once, but when thrown in with other pagan mixes, it’s a refreshing breather. I love, love, love dance music, so it’s hard for me to get tired of it. Kellee Maize seems to find the same spiritual elements in dancing – even in clubs – that I do, and I really connect through that where I have trouble with other artists.

This allows me to forgive her for the one thing throughout the first album (Aligned Archetypes) that drives me absolutely out of my mind – there’s a twenty second or so piece at the end of some tracks that is completely disconnected with the rest of the songs. Sometimes it accapella singing, sometimes it’s just spoken word poetry, but it completely breaks the rhythm, and frequently the topic is only tangentially related to the song, or not at all. It’s like a whole different song, in a different style, buried in bits and pieces throughout the album. That might be your thing, but it makes me twitch. Not enough to make me stop enjoying everything else, fortunately.

The lyrics themselves are unabashedly democratic on pagan topics. It sometimes crosses into slightly fluffy all-is-light-and-love territory, but so confidently that it makes me feel a little ashamed for being self-conscious about it. Crystal children, higher consciousness, past lives, auras, third eyes, chakras, stones, Isis, Goddess, God, psychic powers, karma, astrology, spellwork – it’s all fair game. That alone marks her apart; these songs aren’t always focused on one pagan thing, but rather on an emotional topic and the rest comes intertwined with writing about it. It makes all the rest seem more naturally part of life, and less forced than otherwise.

I really like her, anyway. Third Eye and Friday Night Flu are probably my favorites, but feel free to check out the rest! I’m not as familiar with the other singles and albums she’s released, but I have liked what I heard, so don’t expect any significant style changes from one to the other.

On a positive note, she's freely available on Jamendo (creative commons licensed music), though you can also buy her music from Amazon. The link at the top goes to the Jamendo site, so you can listen or download whatever you like without gambling on your hard-earned pocket-change.

Blessed Be!

Pennanti

Amon Amarth- a TaunTaun music review

While not precisely a pagan band, Amon Amarth hits enough points on pagan-friendly material enough to be worth talking about here. Also, extra dork points for naming their band after Mount Doom. So, here we go!

To say Amon Amarth likes vikings and old Norse mythology is something like saying the sun is hot. It's true in the strictest technical sense, but it doesn't nearly cover the reality of the situation. You can't go more than two songs on an album without tripping over a track about Thor, or Odin, or Tyr, or vikings pillaging and burning. Which is one thing I like about their song content- they don't really shy away or try to paint over the fact that if you saw a viking ship on the horizon, shit was probably about to get real in a hurry.

Musically speaking, they're a melodic death metal band from Sweden. If you don't know, Sweden is pretty much the birthplace and main headquarters of that particular musical style. What that means is basically a lot of melodic guitar work over a lot of really heavy rhythms, with a vocalist singing in what can uncharitably be called a cookie monster scream. All of these things are present in Amon Amarth's music, except that Johan Hegg, singer and master of all beard-related matters, actually has some of the best vocals in the death metal style. Which isn't to say that it's still anything but an acquired taste. But, he's actually quite intelligible most of the time. Which is an accomplishment for death metal, really. The guitarwork on most of their songs follows the same pattern- chugging, grinding guitar riffs which break into pretty cool solos. The drums and bass are just sort of there, not doing anything overly special.

Which is really the band's biggest downside- once you've heard a few, you've pretty much heard them all. Still an enjoyable band, but not one that I can listen to for hours on end. That said, here's some songs!

Runes To My Memory

Asator

With Oden On Our Side

Death In Fire

Gods of War Arise

Twilight Of The Thunder God

Tattered Banners And Bloody Flags

Happy Mabon!

Happy Mabon and a good harvest for your year's endeavors!

I've been sitting here organizing whatever music seems "Mabony" (Mabonish? Mabonlike?), and it's making me realize that I have conflicted views on what this holiday entails. It's also making me realize I have time to organize music, and I'm deeply grateful for that, too, but still confused.

On the one hand, Mabon is essentially pagan Thanksgiving - an extra one, but still carries 'Thanksgiving' connotations for me. What that means, musically, is that I immediately lean towards irish and guitar instrumentals, because that's what my family always played as background Thanksgiving music.

Of course, Thanksgiving makes me think of family, so I also want songs about family or that remind me of family.

Except, Mabon is about the turn of the season to the Holly King, and the waning of the Oak King. So suddenly songs about goodbyes, endings, and lost things start to creep in.

And naturally, as the Equinox, it's also about the slow growth of the night. And that brings out the goth music, the slightly creepy lyrics, and songs that evoke the general anxiety that comes with being thankful for the second harvest - but worried about the third and last, and the length of the winter beyond that.

Of course, anxiety, over-planning, and family holidays go together like a pair of gloves, so there's more overlap inside my head than you'd think. After a bit of rearranging, I struck on the idea that the popular, more mainstream songs should head first - it's better cooking music - followed by the songs that are slowly, or clumsily, topical (sort of.), ending with the instrumentals. Which range from Irish jigs to this French dude I found on Jamendo who makes awesome background music filled with trepidation.

In conclusion, this is my two 1/2 hour playlist for Mabon:

Show Your ColoursShow Your Colours by Lonely Drifter Karen
Brother by Murder By Death
Artist in the Ambulance by Thrice
Time Is Running Out by Muse
Say Goodbye by DMB & Phish
White Light by Gorillaz
'til My Dying Days by Glengarry Bhoys
20/20 by Josh Woodward
Don't Go by TenPenny Joke
Bye Bye Beautiful by Nightwish
Last Dance by The Raveonettes
A Hole In The World by Thursday
Something Sacred by Kellee Maize
Witch's Rune by S.J.Tucker
My Destiny by Leaves' Eyes
Rose Red by Woodland
The Mabon by Damh The Bard
Scarborough Fair by Leaves' Eyes
Equinox by Noblesse Oblige
Hunter by Pandemonaeon
Raven's Lore by Spiral Dance
Water's In The Hold by Tricky Pixie
Mabon by Threefold
Chickies In The House by Tricky Pixie
Breath by Petite Viking
Level by Petite Viking
The Red-Haired Boy by Al Petteway
Arianrhod by Faith & The Muse
Instrumental by Hadrian's Wall
Roadside Jigset by Hadrian's Wall
Elbow Grease and Whiskey by Hadrian's Wall
Patterns in the Ivy by Opeth
Salt River by Petite Viking

Well, that was a total linkstorm. Most go to full recordings, hope you like something!
Blessed Be!
Pennanti

An especially nerdy Mabon

Mabon’s shaping up to be one of my busier weekends in a while. Taun-taun and I have private holiday dinner plans tomorrow; roast chicken, potatoes, carrots, and kale, followed by open circle at Psychic’s Thyme. Bringing a dish to pass – thus, squash apple bake will be featured as well.

Circle Of The Green is leading the Mabon circle. Psychic’s Thyme invites different groups to lead their circles, so there’s a changing line up. I’m already a little familiar with CotG, so I warned Taun-Taun that it will be All Goddess All The Time, but he’s still game. Maybe I’m picky about balance issues, but they opened their last open circle with a creation retelling of First There Was The Goddess And Then She Got Bored And Split Off To Make The God, and that makes a statement about where their focus is, really. Still, they’re fairly well organized and have a broad view towards attendee participation, so it should be fun regardless.

Then, it’s Game Night at a friend’s, and Saturday there’s the final test for Wicca 101, followed by Rochester Anime Sci-Fi Con, followed by public Mabon dinner at The Viking/The Fairy’s house, and then Sunday we’re committed to a ShadowRun session. I may not breathe all weekend.

The Wicca 101 finale will be interesting. In theory, we’re doing a brief dedication ritual together after the test. (In my case, dedicating to “further learning” since I’m not intending to be Wiccan.) In practice, there’s a Meeting Of The Tribes happening at 12:30 pm somewhere, and all the teachers need to leave at noon to get there in time. That gives them an hour to get everyone tested, graded, organized, and magical.

I’m skeptical. It will be entertaining at worst, but with the high Hot Mess probability factor, I’m not walking in with transcendental experience expectations. Also, since I’m heading straight to the Con afterwards, I’ll be dedicating myself to further learning while dressed like Princess Leia.

Magic Nerd Powers Activate!

Blessed Be,

Pennanti

SJ Tucker

One of my favorite all-time pagan artists that I’ve discovered is SJ Tucker, both as herself and as Tricky Pixie. Discovery rights go to K’ia Dragon of Pagan Chaos Magic – at least, that’s how I discovered her music.

I understand she’s fairly popular in multiple circles, but there’s a reason for that. The two albums I own most of are Mythcreants and Blessings; Mythcreants is just plain fun. There’s a ten minute song retelling of Tam Lin that’s fantastic, and a few other notable fun tracks – Taglio and Water’s In The Hold for me, but most of the album is pretty solidly along the same lines. The lyrics are all myth, magic,and the great outdoors, running a gamut between vaguely creepy to humorous. It’s folk music, so there’s guitar, fiddle, and various percussion, etc.

Thank all gods for the percussion. Without something to hold a tune together, whether it’s tambourine or a full drum kit, my attention span falls apart in moments. It’s a personal fluke, but it means that a lot of “stripped down” and live recordings drive me up the wall.

Firebird’s Child, off of Blessings, has percussion, singing, and no other instrumentals, and that works better for me than the other way around. Blessings was written with pagans in mind – many of the tracks work well as bonfire chants, mood music, or ritual mood music. Personally, I like Firebird’s Child and Hymn to Herne best, but again, the whole album is pretty cohesive. The lyrics are really where it shines – they manage to walk the line between magically symbolic and completely hokey without ever crossing too far into the wrong side. If everything else I’ve ever seen is any indication, that’s a really difficult balance to maintain.

In conclusion, here’s Tam Lin. I hope you enjoy it!

Blessed Be,

Pennanti  

Announcing a Weekly Pagan Musician Spot:

It’s been established in previous posts that I don’t know anything about music. My ear is so bad that foreign language songs make exactly as much sense as English ones do, lyrically speaking, and I frequently try to describe music in physical terms. (Am I the only one who thinks Dave Matthews voice sounds like jello? Taun-Taun assures me this is so.)

Nevertheless, I really love trying to find new music, especially pagan music, if only because the field is darn confusing. A Darker Shade of Pagan gives me a weekly fix of the goth stuff; other podcasts also occasionally provide, but mostly I stumble around the internet like a wounded chicken – afraid of viruses, hoping for the best, and with an attention span of about 10 minutes.

I have managed to collect together a bunch of artists of varying styles and quality, though. My definition of “pagan music” is fairly broad – music by pagans, or music for pagans, or music that appeals to me for pagan-ish subtext, basically. See, I love Lady Gaga, and Girl Talk is my mp3 player’s new BFF, but it doesn’t really count as “pagan music” even though it appeals to me. Eluveitie, on the other hand, has a mythological subtext that I really love as well, so it counts. (Speaking of foreign languages, no, I have no idea what they mean. I just sort of imagine a story to go with it.)

So, starting on Wednesday, I’m going to start running a weekly music review for a bit. Just one artist at a time, what I like and don’t like, and I might squeeze a guest post out of Taun-taun every now and then. (He *does* know quite a bit more about music than me. If you want anything cohesive, you should wait for him.) Appropriate links to youtube, myspace, or personal band pages will also be provided as appropriate.

I may also branch out to ‘well-known’ pagan artists that drive me bonkers, if I can find at least one song I like, but there’s certain styles of folk that are very, very difficult to do correctly.

In theory, thinking about it more often will help me find more albums and bands that I like. In practice, I’m hoping one of my 10 readers chimes in with some suggestions!

Blessed Be,

Pennanti.

Monday Morning Rant- Life is not a game

TaunTaun again, here under notice that if I keep doing this, I’m going to have to get my own blog. Pfft. Anyway, the title of today’s official, yet not-exactly-pagan Monday Morning Rant doesn’t mean that I think everything should be all serious business, all the time. Kind of the opposite, actually. Today, we cover a monster pet peeve of mine- people who lack the ability to let things go. I’m not talking about holding a grudge, or staying upset about something longer than may be reasonable. No, today’s grumblings are about people who like to treat life like a game scored in points. Apparently, the way you get points is by being an obstinate jerk to everyone around you.

Well, that’s somewhat inflammatory, isn’t it? Let me explain via example. Exhibit A- You’re driving down the highway when you see somebody tailgating you. Do you react by getting over a lane and letting this person pass you, because hey, if they want to get a speeding ticket, you won’t stop them? Or do you slow down to ten miles below the speed limit to teach that jerk a lesson, and that’ll show him? If you chose option two, I have bad news- you’re an asshole. No, the guy behind you shouldn’t have been tailgating you, and that’s his fault. Likewise, by slowing down, you’re creating MORE of an accident risk, slowing down everyone else behind you, and you’ve upgraded the guy behind you from Bad Driver to Angry Bad Driver. Sorry, you don’t collect any XP or gold, but you might get the Tire Iron Through The Window achievement if you pissed off the wrong person.

Exhibit B finds us looking back at my college days, to my roommate for about two weeks in my senior year. I'd had a spectacular streak of luck with roommates in prior years, all of whom were clean, quiet, and overall nice guys. In fact, I was pretty much the lousy one in those situations. But I got a bit of comeuppance on that year. This roommate kept ludicrous hours and threw tantrums when I would ask him to turn his music down a little at 4:30 AM. He ate nothing but delivery pizza and left all of it in the mini-fridge, leaving no room for anything else. He showered maybe once or twice in the three weeks I lived with him. But his crowning glory was his assertion that the fridge made too much noise at night, so he just unplugged it instead. You get the idea- total disaster. So I took the necessary steps to move the hell out, which were greatly sped up by my understanding RA. I told an acquaintance all this a few weeks after the fact, and the only observation was "Well, you were the one who moved out, so you kinda lost, you know? He gets to stay." This just blew my mind, really. I get what I want(a room not inhabited by a cousin of Jabba the Hutt),and somehow I've "lost"? Er...alright, then, I guess I'll go walk to the locker room hanging my head in shame. And then jump on my bed and have a one-man dance party. In my new single room. Yeah, I laugh like this every time I lose.

Exhibit C is something we all do to some extent, probably without even realizing it a lot of the time. We all like to talk about things we’re interested in with our friends, whether it’s movies, TV, music, video games, sports, or whatever you’re into. How many times have you been talking about something with someone, and gotten into an argument over who told who about it, or who was listening to it first, or some other point of contention that doesn’t make a freaking bit of difference? Okay, fine, you told me about this band. In fact, you know what, you invented them. You were their founding member. Can I go back to listening now? Awesome, thanks. Like I said, we’re all guilty of this at some point or another, but some people will just not rest until they get credit for telling you about that band you like, or that show you watched. Once again, no XP or gold for winning that battle. In fact, if you check your inventory, you might have lost a friend or two.

My question is, why? What do we get out of this kind of petty, arbitrary nonsense? When I catch myself doing this(because yeah, I do it too) ten minutes after the fact, I’ll stop and think “Why did I even care about that?” I don't pat myself on the back for a point well-argued, I mostly just wonder why I'm being such a stuck-up jerk. It’s not important. It doesn’t make my day better. Sometimes it makes it worse, in fact. One of the reasons why my marriage to Pennanti is in solid working order is the fact that we both hate this kind of thing. Don’t get me wrong, there are some things we’ll stay up arguing about until much later than we should have, but we like to think they’re serious issues that need resolving. These things do not include fighting over who did or didn’t do the dishes, or the laundry, or the kitty litter.

The words “I’m sorry”, “I was wrong” or “You were right” don’t taste all that great coming out, but they’re important ones if you plan on having functional social relationships that run on something other than shared spite, one-upmanship, and schadenfreude. Because sometimes, you ARE wrong. Sometimes, they're right. And sometimes you damn well should be apologizing. Seriously guys, let’s take a step back and consider what’s really worth making a stink about here. You might be pleasantly surprised at how much easier day-to-day living gets when you learn to stop, breathe, and just let stuff go. Life’s too short to keep a tally sheet.

end transmission

Feminism and Me: Not so much a love story...

One of the people I spoke to last Saturday invited me to register a stall at an annual Dyke Fest happening next year - they like supporting and encouraging women-run businesses and crafts. I said I'd think about it, because I don't know what I'll be up to next year, but I like to be open to new things.

Then I went home and Facebook immediately reminded me why I never actually attend feminism-oriented events, though I support them in theory: Status update - 'If you don't agree with feminism, then you should lose your right to [fill in a bunch of stuff here].' (paraphrased)

You couldn't launch me onto my high horse faster without help from the Mythbusters team. That, up there, is the crux of every single varied-decibel match I've ever had with a feminist...and I've had a lot. I think I might be alive right now because SUNY New Paltz FMLA couldn't afford to take a hit out on me.

If you can't see the irony in a feminist telling other women that they should lose their rights if they don't mindlessly agree, then you need an emergency room visit for chronic mental anemia. This isn't the first time I've run into the attitude, though. It's not even the 6th. Somewhere in third-generation feminism, every chick with an ax to grind decided she was the personal representation of feminism, and disagreeing with her is exactly the same as stabbing Susan B. Anthony in the back. (After saving Hitler with your time machine, I can only assume.)

It started with paintball club. Rather, we didn't have one, and someone decided to start one. Except FMLA stepped forward to argue that they shouldn't be allowed to form, because some dudes at some other college shot some women with paintball guns at some point in time. Paintball is, therefor, obviously anti-woman. The paintball rep stated they had a girl in the club - and they had to produce me as proof - in order to be approved.

Then I had to take a Woman's class for a pre-req. The professor, who defined the gender by a collection of shared flaws, weaknesses, and traumas, culminated the class by asking us to dump our boyfriends for our final project. I had to tell her I was a future FTM to pass.

I had a girlfriend who, after repeatedly calling me a 'bad lesbian' for not listening to certain bands or having seen certain movies, and refusing to believe that I was bisexual, yo, for realz, finally concluded I was a gender traitor.

I've had countless arguments on the topic of what I 'should' be wearing, who I 'should' be listening to, what my vote 'should' be, and how I'm betraying an entire force of history by not falling into auto-lockstep. Someone even managed to say, with a straight face, that I would be a great feminist if I would just stop arguing all the time, and put my faith in womyn. I've also been stuffed in lockers, beat up, gossiped about, told to sit down, shut up, be quiet, or stop reaching for what I want, and a woman has been at the other end every time. I do have good female friends, don't get me wrong, but bitches ain't shit till they establish some cred in these here parts.

It doesn't matter to me who is at the other end of "Sit down, shut up". 'But I'm a feminist!' is not a magic spell that will stop my reaction, which is fairly succinct.

Piss.

Off.

Feminism is not an esoteric sphere that exists outside of human experience. It's a political movement at it's heart: Feminism is made of people identifying as feminists, and these are the people I run into, over and over and over. I can't wave them away with a wand and say, "They're not real feminists, so it doesn't count!" One, maybe. But they are legion, and I can't just summarily discount 30-odd extremist encounters in less than 5 years. Something in the subculture of the movement is spawning these people, and then they end up in positions of leadership. Pushing agendas I may or may not agree with. Taking media at it's word...or taking it way too far. And regularly becoming judgmental and divisive. Demanding the whole thing be taken as one pill - all 100-odd years of it - to swallow or reject wholesale? I don't buy it. And that, in a nutshell*, is my problem with the movement today.

In conclusion, I'm still considering the fair - I'm not going to write it off just because of repeated bad experiences - but Valium could feature in my marketing plan. And with all these bad examples of feminists gone wrong, may I please draw your attention to my new favorite style/fem power place on the 'net?
http://rookiemag.com/

Blessed Be,
Pennanti

*The fairytale nutshell, obviously - the sort that's big enough to fit dresses and castles and small laughing dogs.

Rochester PPD

Rochester Pagan Pride Day was this weekend! And it was made out of awesome and rainbows. I tried my hand at being a vendor this year. It’s been in the back of my head for years – I like woodburning, and making things, and the things I make don’t really look like most of the other widgets currently on the craft market. I really want to do it again. I met a whole ton of other people, vendors and guests alike, and I got to talk to people all day. I also broke even, and considering I’ve barely got my shit together, in the display and inventory-side of things, that’s a fairly good sign. I named my stall Pennywoods on the fly when I filled out the form, and as you can see, I liked the name enough that I changed my blog too. :) I may set up an etsy at some point, or some other website, since it was requested a few times, but it may take a bit. The second-to-best part of doing this was finding out what most people are actually looking for in the wand-and-rune-set market, and I need to adjust and experiment on some of my designs. The best part? I’m setting up a coffee moot! There’s a few organized pagan churches in Rochester, and Psychic’s Thyme runs classes, but the only social moot is in Henrietta and it’s on a Thursday once a month. A lot of people can’t make it, and there’s no other organized thingy for just getting together and chatting. I find it frustrating. So I set up a Facebook event, printed out some business-type cards, and passed them out all day. There was a lot of interest! So, if you’re in the Rochester area, look it up – Rochester Pagan Coffee Moot (creative, huh?) – and if you’re not, wish me luck! Blessed Be! Pennanti

Y Chromosome Troubles

TaunTaun here again. Pagan pride day was overall a pretty good experience, but it always seems to bring up a particular issue for me. Most branches of paganism I've run across generally tend to have a feminine-centered type of outlook, what with the whole goddess thing, which is both fine, and expected. I HAVE had a few of the more militant Dianics get kind of nasty at me, but if we judged everyone by their extremists, I don't think there'd be anything left in the world to like.

Anyway, pagan pride day. Lots of goddess-oriented things for sale, goddess chants, goddess-centric groups, so on and so forth. There wasn't any actual discrimination or anything of the kind, just sort of a general lack of mention of the god. Which has always bothered me. I understand a lot of modern pagan traditions got their start in the 60s and 70s, so they were tied up with the feminist movements of the time. But it's 2011. I feel like the tables have turned all the way around to the point where pagan men are just sort of a "oh yeah, sure, I guess you can come too" add-on to goddess worship. At some of these things I feel like I'm the only one holding it down for the Horned One. We were married in sight of and in the name of the lord and lady, and our vows were said together, as "We do". I guess I'd like the same kind of experience out of the rest of my religious goings-on.

I don't know, maybe I'm not looking in the right places or I haven't gone to the right rituals(the Great Rite stays in-house, thank you very much). But as pagans, we do our best to be accepting and non-judgemental of others. So why, some days, do I feel like we don't extend our own the same courtesy? I've hit this particular brick wall a number of times now, with varying levels of vehemence running the gamut from things as innocuous as my wife getting invited to "Connecting to the goddess within you" workshops to a death glare that said "I was talking to your owner, male pig."

Don't get me wrong, I haven't got any problems with my relationship with the goddess, either in physical form or spiritual, when I say hi out at the fire at night. But as a fairly active guy, it's generally the god that I high-five after a big accomplishment. What I really want to know is, what's wrong with that, and why can't I find anybody else who does the same?

end transmission

The Mists of Avalon

I read The Mists of Avalon for the first time this week. I’m pretty sure that makes me a bad pagan, that it took me so long to get around to it. My mother owned it when I was in high school – it was on her shelf, I just never picked it up.

It may make me an even worse pagan that I didn’t really like it. Don’t get me wrong, there were things in the plot that I enjoyed. Morgaine’s analysis of the Guinevere/Lancelot relationship was one of the most cynical, biting things I’d ever seen. Lancelot and Arthur being implied totally gay for each other, and simply transposing it through Guinevere because it was the only acceptable way to express it, was also an interesting touch.

But the most sympathetic character, for me, in the whole book was Morgause, and she was evil as shit. Half the female characters spend all their time simply doing what they’re told and obeying some higher authority, be it their husband, lord, priestess, or priest. The other half get their stuff together and organize or pressure authority – and then spend most of their internal, quiet moments bemoaning the fact that they have to live under the stress of being in charge, and envying how much simpler it would be if they could just be like the first half. They daydream about how much more pleasant and enjoyable being under someone else’s thumb would be. If only they didn’t have to make all these pesky choices!

And then there’s Morgause, who makes decisions and lives with the consequences. Spends no time on self-pity. When she makes a mistake, she shrugs and makes the best of it, or fixes it, but spends almost no energy on whining about how circumstances made her make the mistake, and she’s got no way out. I don’t care if she practices black magick, I’d rather hang with her than anyone else. Yeah, I know, she’s basically a sociopath. It’s really f-ed up, that the only confident, grounded female character is psychotic.

Even Arthur, as he makes massive mistakes, owns his own problems. Everyone else, I just sort of want to take a bat to their head.

It’s the most anti-feminist ‘feminist’ book I’ve ever read, and I had some hard-core problems with the one feminist class I took in college. (For many of the same reasons. Defining an entire gender by supposedly shared weaknesses and traumas is just plain weird.)

Well, at least I read it.

Blessed Be,
Pennanti

Monday Morning Rant: The Wise Mistik

(Yes, it's Thursday. But I wrote it on a Monday two weeks ago!)

This one is getting filed under “Pagan Pet Peeves”, though I could probably throw it under “New Age Personalities” just as easily. There’s a certain kind of person out there, who I’ve run into several times, who enters a ‘mode’ when they’re doing something New Agey. Their voice gets softer, higher pitched, and very, very dreamy. They stare deep into my eyes upon meeting, in an apparent attempt to “truly connect” to my inner person, and then promptly spend the rest of the conversation staring off blankly into space.

Honestly, if I thought these people were actually high, I’d cut them some slack. But they’re not. They’re acting out this bizarre interpretation of a wise mystic, filled with perfect trust and perfect love and oh-so-slightly more connected to karmic wafting than me. This is generally the purview of tarot readers, reiki practitioners, and teachers – anyone who’s trying too hard to gently remind everyone that they know more than their customers or students.
The Dalai Lama does not act like this, folks, and everyone who does drives me up the goddam wall.

They try so hard to “connect”, that they completely miss making an actual connection. Normally, I stand up and walk away. (I understand it’s part of some people’s shtick at Ren Faire, and I can appreciate a good marketing ploy, but still, eurgh) If I can’t though – if I’m in a class, or a workshop, or talking to someone nearby when Wise Mistik (sp intentional) pipes up – it brings out a very particular side. I’m not really trolling, at least not to the standards of the internet, but dry quips, pithy asides, and blasé statements meant for a giggle just start flowing freely. I can see it starting to slowly grate, but mostly I’m just aiming for a snerk. Maybe even a real smile.

When I want to connect to someone, I smile. If I’m really trying, then I try to make them laugh. Laughter is pretty much at the root of human connection, and if it’s uncomfortable, then something is wrong. Laughter does not undermine connection or understanding, it fosters it. Staring deeply into strangers’ eyes, while uttering breathy statements and nodding sagely, is the opposite of connection. It’s pantomime, a monologue designed with pauses for other actors to put in their own monologue bits, but no one is interacting.

Actually, I’ve seen Christian priests, and especially Sunday school teachers, who do the same thing. So I guess it’s not a New-Age specific personality, but I could do with it being a little less prevalent!

Ok, rant complete. Slack returning in 3…2…1…

Blessed Be!
Pennanti

On Weddings and Sermons

Busy couple of weeks, June is! Went to a wedding two weeks ago, then had Taun-Taun’s birthday and our anniversary. All was happy and good, I'm pleased to say.

The wedding, though, that was interesting. We gathered in Connecticut to witness the union (on the shoreline, how sweet is that?) of The Manly Italian and The Amazon. I’ve known The Amazon since the beginnings of college, and The Manly Italian only slightly less time. They’ve been together for years, and there are few partnerships better matched in love and aggression. As it happens, the Amazon is an atheist and the Manly Italian is Christian. She went with the religious ceremony only for her sweetie ad her in laws. She was not converting, a point that they’ve both been cheerfully clear on for a long time.
Too bad no one told the priest. (I’d call her a priestess, but that’s too much a term of respect for me.) Having been asked to take the term “good Christian wife” out of the vows, Priesty used it anyway. The Amazon actually broke out into giggles halfway through her vows, and dropped the adjective, much to everyone's amusement. Then, having successfully quoted the bible verse they requested (The one about Love being kind and never angry, or something like that. I suppose, in context, it comes up somewhere in the story of Ruth. Standard wedding fare, nevertheless.) Priesty went on to tell the whole tale of Ruth and what a good example for this couple it was.

At least, according to the priest, Ruth gets married and leaves her entire family and way of life behind. Her husband quickly dies, and she cleaves to her mother in law, taking on her new family’s customs and beliefs. Wink, wink. Nudge. Get it yet? About this time, our two lovebirds are obviously mouthing to each other at the altar, “Did you ask for this?” “No! She should be done already!” and Priesty quickly backed off, perhaps realizing that the bride was considering taking the microphone away, if only so the supposedly 15-minute, now 30 minutes ceremony would be done and the standing crowd could sit down.

It was cleverly done, Priesty's sermon, as the entire crowd was split between the twin thoughts of, “Did you really just tell The Amazon that she’s a Christian now whether she likes it or not?” and “Wait, can you go back to the part where the groom dies in, like, 5 minutes? And explain how that’s a good wedding story?” So no one could really object.

So, all in all, she managed to be both bizarre and completely inappropriate**, while not dampening the fact that everyone was extremely happy to see this couple get wed. The rest of the wedding was standard – too much to drink, lots of dancing, and some extremely excellent cake. A good Christian wedding, indeed.

Speaking of which, I’m terribly happy I got married last year, because I live in New York State, and there’s not going to be a wedding venue unbooked for a long, long time this year! I campaigned with The Human Rights Campaign to help make it happen – and while we couldn’t sway Robach (I’ll remember you come Election time, buddy.), we totally flipped Alesi! (I’ll remember you too, but in a far more pleasant fashion.) Rochester area helped make it happen, and I couldn’t be more pleased.

Blessed Be,
Pennanti

**Though not as inappropriate as a guest, at a different wedding last year, shouting ‘Fornication!” into the microphone several times at the reception. He really set the bar with that one.

I havn't heard from you in forever!

The title looks like a poor excuse for not posting, but it's not. (I have many poor excuses for not posting, but that's not one of them!)

Have you ever been randomly contacted by someone, out of the blue, that you havn't spoken with in years? I'm not talking about the facebook friend request - that's a split second of drunken nostalgia, generally, and forgotten by both parties just as quickly. I'm speaking of the text, or email, or phone call, that comes out of the blue.

Me, I'm a suspicious person by nature. When this happens, I invariably string the conversation along, wondering, "What do you want??" until some kind of answer presents itself. Except when it doesn't.

A few weeks ago, I received a text out of the blue, early Friday morning. "Happy Shabbos!"

Ooookay. After a brief flurry of "wrong number", "Isn't this Pennanti?", etc, it was established that this was from a kid I knew from college that I haven't spoken to in over 5 years. And this was how he chose to break the ice. Happy Shabbos.

We texted back and forth all morning, as he subtly and not subtly worked his way around to whatever he was wondering. He quickly established that he was happily married, so that's the Number One reason smacked down. (On a side note, that may be why I'm cynical. 80% of these 'random' catch-ups have boiled down to "So, are you single? No? Peace!")

After talking about being near rabbi-school completion, he finally sent an almost straight-forward question - "So, are you still on the same spiritual resume path as when I last knew you?"

Something about the question tweaked, in my mind. I knew, *this* is what he was trying to work around to. 'Yep, still pagan!"

And then he disappeared again. I didn't bother sending any follow-up texts - the silence pretty much answered my question, about what he wanted.

But it still irks me a bit. Who contacts someone after half a decade, just to ask if they're still the same religion? Rabbi-boy, apparently. What is up with that?

Blessed Be,

Pennanti

Beltane

Beltane is my favorite celebration of the year.

And for once, it's not about the food. Some of it is the activities - our maypole has, invariably, been accomplished in the dark, while drunk, and generally around a basketball pole. It's the final capstone of the evening though, so that makes sense.

Let me start at the beginning. A proper Beltane, for us, involves several friends, and the woods. This year, lacking a friend with the proper woods, we'll be camping. For several years, we attempted to attend the local Beltane festival, but as it waned in entertainment year after year, we finally gave up and just straight up have our own party.

First, we barbecue. It's a good impetus to bring the fire in right off the bat, and gives everyone a solid chance to start eating and talking. This is the warm-up of several hours.

When dusk is still a few hours away, the face painting begins. Everyone gets appropriately fierce faux-tribal markings of their choice, and we have accidentally roped in up to 15 non-pagans simply by having so much fun doing it. Beer, mead, and wine appears at this juncture, if it hasn't already.

Then, the Feats of Strength. We don't know how this started, but it's been an annual tradition for just about four years. The men-folk decide upon three or four events - push-ups, pull-ups, arm wrestling, real wrestling, whatever is appropriate to the attendees, and proceed to cavort for the women-folks amusement. The women-folk are the final judges and arbiters of all contests. Also, once, the administers of first aid to massive rug burns.

By the time the Feats have been accomplished, and the arguing is done, it's dusk and time for the bonfire. Fire goes up, people seat themselves, and more eating commences, along with story-telling. Story-telling ranges from mythologies and tales appropriate to the olden times to "You would not BELIEVE what did last weekend. It was a DISASTER..."

Eventually, this morphs into toasts, boasts, and oaths. Toasting seems to follow Newtonian law in that, the longer it goes on, the more force is required to stop it. It's a momentum thing.

At some point, as the fire burns down, we remember that we havn't done the Maypole yet. Attaching the prepared ribbons (or yarn, or scraps) to the basketball hoop is sometimes accomplished at this point, but if we were lucky, someone remembered to declare a Pole Shimmy as one of the Feats, and it's just waiting for us.

Then, everyone goes to bed. Or, 'bed', as the case may be.

I understand that some people get very irritated by the prevalence of sex in Beltane, but to me, trying to take it out is like trying to take Santa Claus out of Christmas. There are some hard-asses who succeed, in both cases, but it's kind of missing the larger point. Christmas is about giving and receiving (Christmas, Yule, Mid-Winter, every single mid-cold season holiday of greater Europe, as far as I can tell.) Beltane is about sex. It's about fertility, and kicking off the growing season, about creativity and sparks and energy. It's about fire.

As I said, it's my favorite. It's quintessentially about life, and passion, and growth. It is, for me, so unconnected to any Christian American holidays that it holds no other connotations. This is MY holiday, the one I get to tell other people, "Sorry, I'm busy. Maybe next time." The holiday that takes precedence over other obligations - instead of planning my holiday around and between.

And we're celebrating twice this year, which just makes it better. Life, Fire, and Goddess Bless the Winter's passing.

Blessed Be!

Pennanti

On Connecting to the Self

I should be writing a post-Ostara, pre-Beltane work-up post right now, but I'm not. Soon – Beltane is, hands-down, my favorite pagan holiday of the year. Some of that is it's the one I started celebrating first, and as such, as the most history with me now. Some of it is also that it's not connected, even tangentially, to any of the holidays I grew up with. There's no emotional baggage tied to it, and I can look forward to that every year.

Anyway. NOT the Beltane post. I mentioned, a few months ago, that I was going to try a kick-boxing/muay thai class and see how it went. I'm still going, and not only that, but I actually like it. Two times a week, mostly, though this week I made it three. It's strange, for me especially. I've never been overweight, at least, not by more than 10 or 20 pounds. This is because I realized early that I could counteract the effects of laziness by ramping up the laziness to the point of being too lazy to eat. Two meals in a day, or a snack in the morning and dinner at some point around 9 pm, has not been unusual in the past.

Throw in the sleep schedule (non-existant), and the fact that I've been running around in a state of mild-to-medium dehydration for the last ten years or so, and it would be fair to say that I'm good, even practiced, at ignoring what my body is telling me.

But with this new exercising thing, I can't do that anymore. I'm hungry all the time now, in a manner that I can't ignore. I'm more in touch with my body and energy than I think I have been since I was a kid.

That being said, my body is a noisy, complaining bitch. I don't know how people manage to take care of themselves properly and still get other shit done. Every time I turn around, I'm either hungry, or thirsty, or sleepy, or (and this is really new), I really want to go do something. I actually did squats in the bathroom at work last week, just to get my muscles to stop vaguely twitching. It felt a little like being some kind of addict (Like, really? You can't get through the workday sitting anymore? What's wrong with you? said the voice in my head). Also, because I'm drinking more, I have to pee, like, 5 times a day. It's bizarre.

I like yoga, and meditation, and all of those things, but they never put me in touch like this. Losing weight is nice, but the anxiety slowly resolving itself is even better. Score one for the psychic. When I went earlier this week, I had the sudden realization that I like being at the gym. It smells weird, and there's some kind of music I can't identify playing loudly (unless it's Rage Against The Machine. I can identify that through sheer dislike.), but in the corner my coach and one of the amateur fighters were beating the shit out of each other (laughing, both of them), and it felt good to sit down and get ready.

Why is it that the media interpretation of the monk is all about a guy who can ignore the physical – walk through fire, sit through snow, work without food or sleep – but everything that reaches us from the East is about slowing down and paying attention to exactly that? The dichotomy bothers me. I don't know anything about Eastern philosophy, because everything I've heard combines to not interest me. It's not my path (except the yoga. My family path is bad joints, so I'll deviate enough to hopefully avoid them for a few extra decades.)

Meanwhile, as I'm interrupting all my normal patterns – eating better, sleeping more, drinking more fluids – I can see a new pattern interruption coming down the highway. Squirt is visiting from FL in mid-May. You know how family patterns develop, and stagnate, as you grow up together. She's the aggressive, athletic one. I'm the tolerant, techno one. Always been that way. Neither of us are good at adjusting to change, at least for internal family behaviors. We're gonna fight.

At least I get to have Beltane first!

Blessed Be,
Pennanti

Stories, Ritual, and Sacrifice

It's been a while from my last post. New job, started classes, blah-blah work-life balance fail. Anyway.

Taun-taun has, twice now, brought a podcast to my attention that I should have immediately started following (second fail!), but is now firmly in my catcher-feed. I've only listened to two, plus a co-host/interview on Inciting a Riot, but I love it - New World Witchery, and it's made of hearts and magic. :)

An interesting question was posited by a listener in the most recent one, of whether or not story-telling and writing (as opposed to straight-up ritual and prayer writing) have a place in ritual and spellwork. I found it interesting in part because my answer was the precise opposite of the lovely host. He talked about publishing and readers as a way to spread the ripples, etc.

I have used writing, stories and poems, as well as art in pictures and scenes, in spell-work before, but not like that. For me, they have served the purpose of sacrifice. In this day and age (and place, for me), it is not always or generally possible to observe the traditional ways of sacrifice - chickens or cows, slicing yourself across the palm, etc; at worst, you get arrested and create a public incident that has the rest of us moaning, "Seriously, WHY?! This press SUCKS!", at best you're still covering for an injury that's not easily explained. (Moon-blood is the only blood I'd term as "freely given", and it has it's place in ritual as well. But that's a different post.)

Creative outlet, though, if you're already prone to it - the pain of burning a story you're proud of, a picture, a poem, is a sacrifice in and of itself. A story written for the ritual, with no copies, never read by another soul, and then consigned to the flames or the water with no recourse - this is a sacrifice for the gods and for no mortal eye.

It hurts. Really. Writing something, pouring your soul into something, and then destroying it to send it into the Beyond, feels the same or worse as getting dumped (Depends on the dumper. This is not the "I dodged a bullet" feeling. It's the "Oh gods, I can't fix this" feeling.) This is what I use as sacrifice, when I'm doing a ritual that is important, when I really want to get Someone's attention. And, it works. I don't do it often, and it's based in no research or historical record, but there it is.

What I'd love to hear is stories of the other way - the published, the passed around, the stories that were told and retold to gain their effect. I love writing, but I'd never think I could write something good enough, entertaining enough, that it could create the ripple effect of passing on and passing down. Now that it's been mentioned though, the idea is fascinating!

Blessed Be,
Pennanti

Sometimes wishing makes it so...

In the past three days:

- a pie pan (that I may or may not have been eating straight out of) flipped over for no apparent reason. It was lying flat on my hand, and I was sitting down.

- the fork I eat lunch with disappeared. We moved everything on the table. I borrowed a coworker's fork. When I cleaned up, it reappeared underneath the cheese bag.

- No one knows where my keys are.

I'm going to take this as a good sign, methinks?
Blessed be!
Pennanti

All those people with horoscope tattoos are going to feel really...wait, they won't care. http://huf

Apparently, some astronomer took it upon himself to "correct" the zodiac. (Um, what??)

I am not going to dispute anything here. I am not an expert on the horoscope - I think it's kinda fun to look at, and definitely a great topic of conversation, what with 5,000 years of historical and cultural depths to explore. I deeply identify with my sign. An expert though, definitely not.

However, one of the reasons I've never tried to be an expert is because there are quite a few out there, and could some of them please weigh in? Because this is looking really stupid from over here in the plebian zone.

Blessed be!
Pennanti

I need a brownie-attracting spell, stat!

I'll just come right out of the closet with this one, and let the puns fall where they may. I believe in fairies. There's reasons for that, among them being that I'm 1st generation Irish American, and I spent whole summers in the country with my Dublin-native grandparents, and also that a few used to live with us. As Catholic as Gramma was and is, she couldn't help herself with the stories and myths of the Fay. The Sidhe. The sprites and pookas and leprechauns. She also "can't help herself" when it comes to the other kind of fairy, to use the vernacular, but that's a source of considerable less glee on my part.

Doesn't everyone have at least one chore, that despite all best intentions, continously and ruinously kicks their butt? In our house, it's the Laundry Demon. The Laundry Demon has been slain, oh, mayhap 3 times in the span of the last 5 years, and rises again, hydra-like, worse than ever every time.

It doesn't make sense. Taun-taun throws loads in several times a week. I fold and put them away. We work on it constantly. We're only two people, but somehow the laundry multiplies as though we were two parents and 8 kids.

This is, seriously, not exactly a problem. Definitely not a problem that you pray/cast circle/summon gods' assistance upon. (Bridgid would laugh at me, and she would be right to.) I don't like calling for anything other than worship or sheer desperation, when you get right down to it. Feels wrong.

And it was these thoughts that made me suddenly remember - I can't remember the last time I sent out a more mundane plea, to fairies or otherwise. High school, I did it all the time. Energy constructs, fairies, small spirits and karmic waftings, whatever. It was a gleeful time, of trying whatever came into my damnfool head, with deeply mixed results. Along the way, as belief grew into devotion, the need for smaller spells sort of dissipated, and the memory of doing them also evaporated. Couplets and cantrips and sprigs of herbs tucked in odd places - you know, the fun stuff! The fluffy stuff.

Anyway, once upon a time, I didn't have this laundry problem. I was actually worse at doing laundry than I am now, but somehow, it wasn't an issue. And reflecting upon that, I remembered the brownie! More of a shy and grumpy gnome, actually. He lived in our basement for years, even followed us from house to house for a little while. In the apartment complex, he lived in the boiler room. Squirt and I had a rule, to always whistle while we were in the basement. That way he'd know when we left and wouldn't have to be scared.

I left for college, and he stayed. I'm sure he's long gone by now, given that neither of my parents are much for leaving out bits of candy and small bowls of Coca-cola when they leave for vacation (I was twelve, you work with what you have. Spilled cola, Dad will forgive or not notice. Spilled milk? Different story.)

How does one go about attracting a brownie? I've quite forgotten, but we'd offer him a lovely home, with an excellent basement and regular 'forgotten' bits of candy or bread. And we would never, ever thank him. Promise!

Blessed Be,
Pennanti