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.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
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
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
Sunday, May 1, 2011
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
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
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
Monday, April 25, 2011
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
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
Friday, March 25, 2011
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
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
Friday, January 14, 2011
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
Blessed be!
Pennanti
Thursday, January 13, 2011
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
Pennanti
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