Top Ten…. Stupid Things I did as a New Pagan Part 3

And finally the cream of the crop of the stupid things I did that make me shudder to this day!

4. Bonfire on the Hill: This was yet another one of my Year and a Day flubs. I think I really understand why many witches insist on the Year and Day period, it gives you enough time to do some really stupid things and if you live through them then you’ve earned your broom! Anyway it was June and the Midsummer Solstice was on its way. I had read a book that talked about bonfire jumping (this book talked about bonfire jumps at all the Sabbats) and had a great ritual for honoring the sun I wanted to try out, so I took great pains to write it into my own ritual. I then rewrote it several times.

Now the next day I was going to be leaving in the morning to go work for two months at a Summer Camp in another province so I wanted to do the ritual rather early in the evening so I would get to bed early. I woke up early that morning and finished packing for my trip, and then re-read my ritual notes for the night and packed up all my supplies in my Rubbermaid tote of magic (I used that thing for years, with a lid and a handle it was great, until I found a great leather bag to use).

I decided to do the ritual around 9 at night in my dad’s back yard, but ran into a small problem. You see it was a lovely warm evening with just a light breeze cooling everything off. Everybody and their dog was out and enjoying the evening. I can’t say that I blame them, here in Canada winter comes around mid October and will cling on until May. It is not unusual to have a snowstorm during the May Long Weekend! I stepped out onto the deck and had three different sets of friendly and curious neighbors proceeded to wave to me.

Well crap, this is not going to work. I really do not want a bunch of neighbors watching me as I clumsily cast my circle and perform my rituals… I am going to have to think of something else.

At that time my neighborhood was still rather new and just across the street from us was a big field with several built up dirt hills. They had not started the construction of the new subdivision yet so I had lots of room to find a spot for the ritual. So I grabbed my script, my tote and the brass cauldron I had got at a thrift store. I double checked my list and then told my parents I would be back in an hour.

I went across the street and ran into my brother on his bike and after he asked told him what I was up to. He wanted to ride his bike in the field and offered to keep an eye out for trouble with me. I went to the top of one of the mounds (having read about the fires being on a hill top) and proceeded with my ritual. I placed sticks and grass in the cauldron and then proceeded to light it. It worked out rather well, the fire was contained and I had recently given up on the dress for my rituals so in shorts and a tee-shirt I did not have any problems.

The fire was nice and chipper, and I could see the sun starting to dip to the west… and the police car driving down the road and the lights coming on.

Oh Hell! I am in for it!

Having nothing to douse the flames over, and being in a state of alarm, I kicked the cauldron over and began to kick dirt on the flaming sticks that had fallen over. I threw everything into my tote as my brother came speeding up the hill on his bike freaking out over the fact that the cop had his lights on and was driving towards the construction road. I shoved a few things at him and told him to peddle his assets home. I grabbed the cauldron, and then dropped it as I singed my hands. I grabbed the blanket I had been sitting on and wrapped it around the cauldron.

Picking up the last of my things I flew into the tall grass and into the wooded area at the bottom of the hill. I stayed low to the ground as I snaked my way home. Once I got home I went out onto the deck and could see the police officer walking across the top of the hill where I had been five minutes prior. I had escaped just in time! My dad walked onto the deck, looked at where I was looking, I think he suspected I might have had something to do with the police officer up on that hill because he said  “If you get arrested I don’t know you”.

3. Bell Sleeves: I hate to have to sound like a broken record, but this one also makes the list of Year and Day flubs. Again, I really think the Year and the Day is a chance for you to really make some bad choices, fall on your assets and do some really stupid things before you finally get some proper respect for the power of energies beyond you (or just learn to be less of a klutz and really thing your decisions through…) But I digress!

In Central Alberta Imbolc can often be one of the coldest times of year. It is not uncommon to see -40 degrees Celsius on a February night (to which I say kudos to all the ranchers around here. Calving season starts in February, lots of ranchers are out amongst their cows making sure that if they are ready to give birth that help is at hand, and keeping coyotes away from the herds.) Anyway I was really not feeling the Sabbat, I mean really not feeling it.

That particular year had been very cold indeed and it was hard for me to really think about Imbolc being the beginning of warmth again. The days were getting longer its true, but it wasn’t very noticeable and people up here tend to get grumpy in February (or really hung over from all the New Year’s parties and getting their Christmas credit card bills). I was not exempt from this, it was cold and dark and I was in the middle of a really hard class in college that was testing my brains, patience and ability not to have a screaming fit in a room full of people.

I spent several days at the end of January being a miserable pain in the assets to everyone around me, moping, grumbling and to quote a character from a television show “General carrying on cranky”. It was to the point where my brother asked me one day “Don’t you have some voodoo spell or something for this?” (My family, while very loving and accepting, runs on sarcasm). I finally decided to pull my head out of my derrière and get back into a good mood. And what better for that than learning to love and appreciate the wheel of the year and my place on it.

I pulled out my books, determined to write a beautiful Imbolc ritual to get me in tune and grateful for the gifts of the season. I also went on an internet search for some nice Altar set ups. I found a beautiful one with some taper candles on it and wrote my ritual around the set up. I bought special scented candles and treated myself to a nice bath bomb for my pre-ritual soak. Two days before the ritual I cleaned out my closet and had two full garbage bags of clothes to get rid of, I also made sure my ritual dress was clean and ready to go.

In my bedroom late Imbolc night I cast my circle, and prepared my ritual. I even blessed the clothing in the garbage bags so that the next person who got them would find warmth in them. I blessed my room and then prepared for the candle lighting. All four candles were lit (in addition to my illuminator, quarter and deity candles. I threw both arms up in the air over the altar preparing to launch into a devotional to Brighid (Irish Goddess of Fire, Smith craft, poetry and childbearing. Imbolc is Her sacred time). When I suddenly realized that it was really warm in the room. I put my arms down for a second, realizing my right one felt really hot. I looked down and yipped! My belled sleeve from my ritual dress was fully ablaze!

I immediately grabbed the water on the altar and threw it on the sleeve. I also dropped down and in the confined area rolled until things felt cool again. I ripped the crunchy sleeve up and was relieved to see that while I no longer had hair on my arm, I still had skin. Tucking the sleeves up I finished my ritual, thanked the Goddess of Fire for not burning my body and opened the circle.

The Halloween Costume Ritual Dress became a wonderful rag for polishing my boots and cleaning my tools and I have since practiced rituals in Yoga Pants and practical shirts. I currently have my eyes on a lovely dress that I might wish to use as a ritual dress, it fits tight to the body from the waist up and the sleeves fit tight to the arm.

2. Flowing Hair and High Heels: After I determined that I wanted to do the Year and a Day I read about the requirements, and all the books suggested a dedication ritual. So being eager to do things the right way I wrote one! I worked hard at it, reading several books to get the right ritual down, making sure all my colors were right (from candles right down to my undergarments… yes I am that nuts). I did not have any ritual clothing as of yet but I figured that I would get them when Halloween costumes went on sale in the next few weeks. (I did my dedication at Samhain, seemed deliciously perfect at the time).

Not having the ritual clothing I decided to wear my best clothes, including a pair of high heels. I even took the time to apply a “full face” of makeup (I only ever wear a full face of makeup for important events and decided that this counted as such). The night before I had braided my hair and before the ritual I brushed it out so it was full and flowing, just like the images of priestesses I had seen in movies and had visualized.

The time came, and with my family firmly tucked into bed I prepared my ritual space (my family knew what I was up to but the first time I went to do a ritual my younger brother popped himself a bag of popcorn and sat down to watch me, and provide a running commentary on what I was doing). At the time my bedroom was a small room in the basement and so my space was limited. I used my bedside table as my altar, placed a picture I had photocopied of the God and Goddess on the table, and placed the deity candles on top of it.

I cast my circle and lit the candles. I called the quarters and then the Gods. I prayed for a long time and then pulled out the Charge of the Goddess and read it aloud. I stated my intent, and then lit a candle I had set aside as my dedication candle. After thanking the Gods and the elements I closed the circle and began to clean up. As I walked around my altar I went to lean down to blow out the candles… and promptly wobbled on the high heels and heard a lovely fizz. I jumped back from the altar as the smell of singed hair filled the space around me and my face felt rather warm. Looking down I noticed on the left side of my body that my hair was almost three inches shorter than the other side!

I said nothing and cleaned everything up. The next morning I pulled my hair into a ponytail and announced to my mother that I wanted to borrow the car and go get a haircut. I said I wanted to get a few inches taken off to make it more manageable. She gave me her keys and I raced into town. I went to three hairdressers before I found one that had space for me.

The hairdresser looked perplexed at the chunk of charred hair before her, and I said “Halloween party, one too many” She cut the rest of my hair and on I went. I got home and showed my mom my hair as I handed back the keys. As she took them back she looked at me and said “Nope, can’t even see where you burnt it”, and left the room, leaving me standing there looking like a cod. (I also relearned the lesson to never try and pull one over on my mother).

1. Methyl Hydrate and my Cauldron: Picture this, a gentle Yule night, after learning in an earlier example that an outdoor ritual in -20 is a bad idea I checked the Weather Network and discovered that the time I had planned to do my ritual would be very cold. Feeling rather smug at how intelligent I was I determined that an indoor ritual would have to do. Now the ritual I had planned involved having a little fire in our fire pit and burning some papers that I had written down things I wanted to be reborn within me.

So I decided that a small fire in the cauldron would be a great idea. It would allow me to have the same effect as the fire in the fire pit and I would not have hypothermia. Now I did not want to have a lot of smoke (previous lesson on sage), but my really outdoorsy friend (my future husband) had been telling me all about this awesome stove he had bought, that it would burn Methyl Hydrate (a type of Alcohol based liquid fuel). That it was lightweight, the fuel was cheap, burned well, was odorless and no smoke. After trying his stove I had gone out and bought my own, along with the fuel. So I dug out the fuel and put the bottle next to my cauldron.

I made my ritual space (my bedroom in my dad’s basement was rather large so I had a very nice sized circle), placed candles at the four quarters and a few illuminators where I had set up a small table as my altar. I cast my circle, called the quarters, the Gods, recited some poetry then got ready for the working. I sat on the floor with my cauldron and carefully poured the liquid into the cauldron. I then lit the match and dropped it in…

WOOF went the fire ball! It almost touched the ceiling and it got very hot very fast!

My dogs, who had been sleeping in the corner, woke up and upon seeing the fire ball in the middle of the floor proceeded to lose their cheese! They ran in circles barking, trying to get close to me, knocking things off the altar (a very wobbly table) and almost singeing their tails on the quarter candles.

I panicked!!!, Actually I freaked right out of my skull!!! I jumped to my feet in full fledged freak out, and kicked the cauldron over… drops of the alcohol flew onto the carpet and the flames followed right behind it. I began to do the most amazing version of Pajamas clad River Dance as I stomped the flames out. I then had to right the cauldron, while it was still aflame to keep it from spilling. I retrieved the cauldron lid (lesson from the bonfire on the hill top) and dropped it on the top and proceeded to wait 20 minutes before I dared to open it. I quickly closed down the ritual and began to clean up the destruction.

In my hurry I didn’t notice the dogs sharing the upset plate of ritual cakes, which they stuffed themselves with so fast that the female dog ended up getting sick all over the carpet just ten minutes later... I ended up scrubbing some scorch marks and doggy upset out of the carpet. I even had to cut a few of the extra crispy strands (luckily my father was planning to replace that carpet within the New Year). To this day I have not told my dad what happened…

My husband happened to note that most of my mistakes have to do with fire… I wonder if perhaps there was an imbalance there… you know, fire being the element associated with passion, energy etc. Hmmm… must have been a bit of imbalance there! Or it could also be my arrogance in thinking that I was the one in control of the fire, when really fire is a tool to be respected and honored! Either way there is a lesson in this…

For the love of the Gods PLEASE learn from my mistakes!

Yours Humbly
The Redneck Pagan

Top Ten…. Stupid Things I did as a New Pagan Part 2

Let’s jump right into the stupidity… shall we?

7. Staying in my first group: This one I really cringe at because this happened less than a year ago. I include it as part of my new pagan list since it was the first group I had joined, so a new experience for me. A little over a year ago I decided that I wanted to get more involved in the Pagan community, to be part of it and help build it. So I and a friend of mine set up a Pagan Coffee meet-up. It went well and I met some people who were working at forming a coven as part of an offshoot to a group initially founded in British Columbia.

They seemed nice enough, a little young and green, but who was I to judge that? I had never been in a Pagan group before and did not know the first thing about forming one. The one who was trying to form the Coven had just finished her First Degree training in Wicca and was about to start her Second Degree with an online training program. It seemed a little odd to me that one could get their Degrees via an online training program, but being in Central Alberta established covens are rather rare, especially away from the larger urban centers of Calgary and Edmonton.

At first things seemed to be ok, the young lady running the coven was rather inexperienced with leadership, but leadership is not something they teach in school. (And before I say anything else I want to emphasize that leadership is a SKILL, it is something you must learn. I have been learning the art of leadership for the past 17 years and I still have a ton of work to do. It is something you have to work at, to continue to learn and adapt. I think another 20 years and I might consider myself proficient at it. But a rant for another day…) Anyway, the young lady in question was only 23 (younger than myself), had finished her high school degree, and was married with a child. We had similar ideas about community and practices so I figured it was a good fit for me. And at first it was, the group was off to a nice start and she and I started becoming good friends.

Unfortunately I did not bank on a few things for starters she had never been in a leadership role, had worked jobs that did not hold much responsibility and as a stay at home mom she did not have much outside of the home for her self identity. Being the high priestess became her entire identity. After three months I was no longer talking to my friend any of the time, I was talking to the high priestess non stop. Any time I tried to have a conversation with her it immediately became a conversation about the coven and the temple. When my work life, personal life and youth organization commitments became a bit heavy and I needed to back down from the coven a bit she tried to task me with more and more things to do. I was getting burned out and fast, and felt like I had lost a friend and was starting to feel hurt.

Her lack of leadership experience also meant that when the group started to expand she did not tolerate any form of competition, real or perceived. When a few people came to public rituals that were not Wiccan (as she was) she would tell them not to talk about their own beliefs (which were still Pagan). Anytime something different than her vision of the group came up she became very resistant and dismissive. Small incidents became blown well out of proportion and problems within the Coven were not handled in a timely matter.

By the time I left I was drained, emotionally and spiritually. I personally felt that the time and commitment I had put in had been swept aside. It felt as if none of my ideas or input mattered anymore, it felt that it was all about the High Priestess. I had tried to approach her on this topic a few times but she would rapidly change the topic. Now obviously this is only my side of the story, and I am sure I made mistakes in communication and in expressing myself. I am sure that there were other mistakes that I made, but am still a little too close to the situation to objectively see them at this time.

At the end of the day the group was no longer healthy for me and I should have left earlier. My own spiritual, mental and physical health had been compromised and at the end of the journey my resentfulness made me a difficult person to be around and did not help the group. I was also mourning the loss of a friendship and was very angry at the person that my former friend had become. Since then a mutual friend has told me that the group has grown and I wish them the very best in the future.

6. Not putting the Athame down: this one is one I am very embarrassed about. This one happened about two or three years into my practice. It was Beltaine and I had reached a point in my life where I was starting to really desire to share my life with a partner, somebody to spend the ups and downs with. I wanted to gaze into his eyes, to tell him how much he meant, and have him say the same to me. In short I wanted to find somebody to fall in love with (my husband just leaned over, read the last line and said “blah… mush”, Love You Honey!).

Having decided this about a month prior to Beltaine I felt that would be the perfect time for me to perform a spell, to petition the universe to help me find love. I made a list of the attributes I wanted in a mate (minds out of the gutter please. Things I was looking for was a similar sense of humor to me, who loved to camp, would accept my work with the Youth group, had a spirituality similar to mine etc.) I planned it out well, tracked the weather to make sure I would not get caught in a storm outside, make sure that it was on a good day, that I had all my herbs and candles at the ready. The night of the spell it started to rain a little, then it rained some more, then it poured! So I set up my altar and cast indoors.

The ritual and spell went well! No mishaps, no fires, no plumes of smoke wafting through the house. I had empowered a red and a pink candle as part of my spell and left them to burn down on my altar when I had wrapped the spell up. In the morning I cleaned up the altar and noticed that some red wax had gotten stuck to my Athame. I put all my other supplies away, placed the wax remnants in a bag to burry later, put the alter cloth in the washing machine, and finally tackled the waxy Athame.

The wax did not want to come off. I had to scrape like crazy at it. My one dog was at the groomers for the day and the other was snoozing on my bed when the doorbell went off. Scared the tar out of the dog, and out of me! He went crazy and began barking like a lunatic! In frustration I grabbed the dog to hush him and ran up the stairs. I threw the door open to greet a middle aged woman dressed very nicely (like suit jacket and skirt nice) and holding a Watchtower publication (for those unfamiliar with it that is the Jehovah’s Witness publication). I felt a little out of place at that moment since I was wearing a pair of old shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top.

“Hi, can I help you”

“Ummm…. I am sorry… I… think I have… the wrong house. Yes the wrong house. Pardon me” She stammered and then almost ran down the walkway.

“Crazy lady at my door, awesome” I said, and shut the door.

I turned around to go downstairs when it hit me… I opened the door in a rather revealing tank top, while I was still wearing my Pentacle necklace. I was holding a small animal in my one hand… and a knife with a red substance in my other hand... Shit. I had just scared the crap out of the Jehovah’s Witness lady. Actually scared is the wrong word. After that day we had lots of Jehovah’s Witnesses coming down the street, they would actually get off the sidewalk in front of our house to get to the next house. Some even crossed the street, walked past our house and then came back to the next door neighbor’s house. I had certainly made an impression.

On the surface it was very funny… and very wrong. This poor woman might have annoyed me, but she was out there, doing what she was doing because she truly believed she was helping. That what she was doing the right thing, while I may not agree with her, I respect that, and her right to believe in what she will. Had I not had the Athame and the dog in my hands I could have easily said “No thank you” and shut the door. She could have gone on her way, with no harm to her. My lack of thinking and planning in this case caused harm and unnecessary fear, and would not have helped the case that Pagans are normal people.

5. Arguing with Christians: I think this one we all do at some point or another, as I said in a prior post Christians seem to get a really bad rap in the pagan community , and I am guilty of this. Some of the earlier books I read, and some of the online forums I was  a part of was really bad for this. There were the stories of the burning times, that the Catholic Church stomped out the pagan religion, persecuted the midwives etc. Christians in a new pagan’s world are basically evil!

I think some of this is part of the process of separating oneself from your previous faith. Many Pagans I have talked to, and myself, tried really hard to believe in the faith of their childhood (and all I have talked to were Christians or raised in a Christian family). So when we first come to Paganism we feel this overwhelming need to totally separate ourselves from the former belief system.
We also seem to get this desire to show the world that our new found faith is just as valid and perhaps even better than the one we left behind. To that end some of us, and I cringe to admit that I am included in this, will engage in long conversations over which path is better. Now we don’t phrase it as such, of course not, that would be rude! But we do have that attitude.

I remember one person in particular, we had known each other when we were younger and part of the same youth group. He “aged out” of the program and moved on and I finished my time. Years later when I came to volunteer with the youth program again he was already working there. Being on somewhat friendly terms we talked and discovered that while I had embraced the Pagan path, he had devoted himself to a very Biblical Christian Path.

Our superior officers knew that we had worked together in the past and we were on  friendly terms. The level this person was working with had 50 kids in it, so he needed help and I needed hands on training. They placed us working together so we ended up spending lots of time outside of the youth group, working on planning and coordinating activities for the youth group. We were rather effective as a team, having worked together in the past, however after our work was done we would have long discussions.

Actually “discussions” is not quite the right word for the conversations we had. They were very civilized and polite arguments. We spent umpteen hours talking about how our chosen spiritual path had made us a better person, why the path was so great, what historical facts supported our faith, different sciences that proved our path was correct. While we were both talking, I don’t think either of us were listening to the other very well. He was rather determined to “save me”, and I was determined to prove to him that my path was a good and valid one. And in the end neither of us proved anything.

You see I knew I was not going to change his mind, so why was I bothering!?! What a waste of time. When arguing over who is superior nobody wins. And arguing over who is a more spiritual person with the better path… well think about how that last line made you feel. I know when I re-read it I got a sense of dread and revulsion, and was actually rather ashamed.

His path has brought him inner peace, happiness and has helped him create a better life for himself. That is awesome, and all that matters. My path has brought me the same thing, which is also awesome. And at the end of the day that is all that matters. That is what a spiritual path is supposed to do, and it is a very personal thing. My path is not identical to my husband’s path, and if we ever have children they will have their own path. No two people are the same, and their path will be their own. It took me a long time to learn and be at peace with that.
Stay tuned for Part 3!

Top Ten…. Stupid Things I did as a New Pagan Part 1

So I am embarking on a whole new challenge this time around… everyone seems to love a nice, easy list of things. So I am going to periodically create my own top ten lists. To get the ball rolling I began to think of some things that would make a good top ten list… and well my own misadventures in “Witchland” will fit the bill. Now I want to be very clear here: I still do stupid shit. In fact I usually stop and ask myself “what on earth are you doing” at least once a day. But these are the ones that really stick out in my mind from my pagan practices:

10. Wearing a dress for a Yule Ritual: I live in Central Alberta, which means by as early as October the snow is flying and the temperatures are well below freezing (I remember being  a little girl and we had a snowstorm in August!) By Yule you can usually expect several inches of snow on the ground and, unless a Chinook blows in, it will be cold. I was born and raised in Alberta, so I really do know this… I’m just not always wise with it. You see being born and raised in this environment convinced me that I am a hardy individual, and that I was used to it. The cold did not really bother me all that much and I figured I was tough.

Now when I first began to study Witchcraft I devoted myself to the idea of a Year and a Day. I had nobody to really guide me but I made up my own plan and was determined to stick to it. I did my own dedication ritual for the year and a day, and the ritual went reasonably well, other than a small hiccup (I’ll tell you about it later down the line). To celebrate I went to my local Value Village and found an old Halloween Costume to use as a ritual dress. It was an Actual Witch’s costume, so full skirt, belled sleeves, nice velvety material. It had some ugly cobweb stuff sewn onto it but I removed that with a stitch ripper in no time. And because it was a few days after Halloween I was able to get it at 75% off.

I had to do a little tailoring to get it to fit right (I’m 5’ 3”, I swear the dress was made for somebody 6’ tall) and it was all ready to go for Yule. I used it once for a little full moon ritual and found it was very warm. So I figured this dress with a winter coat over top of it would be warm enough for Yule. And as I typed that last line I had to stop myself from laughing manically.

On Yule I waited for it to be rather late at night (we lived in a rather new community, our backyard had no big trees yet, so it was like a lovely little fishbowl). I carried everything outside, got all of my ritual things ready. I was a good little Witch-to-be and had made a list of everything I would need. I even remembered matches and a lighter to be safe! So with everything set up and ready I went inside to change. I came outside and took a few minutes to see where the neighbors were, none in site, perfect! I did all of the opening of the ritual and it went well. Then I realized my toes felt a little cold. I kept going… hmmmm legs feeling chilled…. Ok having a hard time walking now… About halfway through the ritual I should have shut it down, but I was determined to finish the ritual.

When I finally went inside my legs where white! No I was not smart enough to put on a pair of pants under the dress. So I nearly froze. At 1230 at night I had to pour a hot bath and drink tea to try and get feeling back to my legs and toes. I’m lucky that particular moment of stupidity did not cost me a toe. I have since done an outdoor Yule ritual… with one huge bonfire and in a snowsuit!

9. Hand mixing herbs/oils: On the surface this does not seem like such a bad idea, I am sure many Witches do so. I just happened to have a momentary lapse of sanity at the time I did this. You see I was working on making an Altar statue for myself. I had studied lots of pictures of simple deity figures and decided to give my creativity a chance to play and try to make one. I made the first set out of some clay that I baked in the oven and painted when it was dry. They did not look too bad, other than the God’s antlers weren’t straight and the Goddess leaned to the side. After a while these little imperfections began to bother me (The lopsided antler was sending my OCD tendencies into overdrive).

I decided that I would be brave and make and all new set, and this time I would really do it right. I read through my Magical Almanac, checked moon phases and the correspondence charts I had on hand and picked the perfect time! I then selected the clay carefully from what the local drafting store had on hand, a beautiful Terracotta clay seemed to be perfect. I then decided to add some essential oils and herbs to help infuse the statues with good intentions. After some basic research I chose rosemary as one of the herbs for the statues. In it of itself not a bad idea, I decided to work it into the clay so placed several drops of the undiluted oil on my hands, along with the Yarrow I already was holding. And now I can hear you all smacking your palms to your foreheads.

Yep, you see essential oils are very concentrated… and can cause skin irritation… actually delete the “can cause”, replace it with will cause! Plus Yarrow in some people can cause an allergic reaction, and I was one of the lucky ones who reacted to it! My hands were on fire. I had started working the oil into the clay when I realized my hands were feeling warm. I initially thought it was from working the clay, for about 10 seconds. Then my hands got really warm, and tingly… then came the initial pain, then the burning sensation, as if I had scooped up some cooling magma from beneath the surface of the Earth. I dropped the clay and began to do a funky chicken style dance to the sink and turned the faucet on (no easy task when using one’s elbow). After ten minutes of washing my hands the burning subsided and my palms got to be a delightful shade of red for about a day or two. I did finish the project, with a pair of gloves from the first aid kit.

8. First Cleansing with Sage. About a year after discovering the world of Witchcraft my mother passed away. It was a very difficult time for me, my spirituality was in limbo, my ideas about the world were in flux and the most important person in a girl-almost-woman’s world was gone. I went through a long period of grief before I began to heal and move on from her death. Eager to work on beginning anew I began to read through my books to find some rituals and works I could do to help bring more positive energy into my life… I came up with cleansing. Interesting. I loved the idea, the concept of cleansing your space, your energy and your body with some simple techniques. I began taking frequent sea salt baths, keeping things like rose quartz and positive affirmations around me. I cruised along nicely until the first Mothers Day. I was a wreck all day!

I felt icky for several days, and after a sea salt bath and my crystals did not seem to be doing the trick I decided to sage my room. Now I had used some sage for the past year or so, but never indoors. On a road trip to the big city I stopped at a new age shop and purchased a nice large sage bundle (you know the ones that are like seven to ten inches long and at least two inches thick). I really wanted to make sure I fully cleansed everything and figured the larger bundle was needed. That night when I got home I warned my dad that I would be burning some sage and retreated to the bedroom. My bedroom was in the basement and my dad was in his office upstairs.

I lit a white candle and said a little prayer, then stuck the bundle in the flame, and let it get good and engulfed. I then blew out the flames and placed the sage in the shell I was holding. Instantly I was surrounded in a plume of smoke! The smoke was so thick that I could barely breathe! I had to fight the instinct to drop the shell on the floor as the smoldering fumes of the massive bundle sought to leak out every drop of water in my body out of my eyes. I managed to stumble over to the corner where I kept my cauldron (a little brass flower planter) and drop the shell in it.

I fell over twice as I staggered to the window. The mess of books, stones and clothes that were strewn upon the floor became a sadistic obstacle course intent on breaking every bone in my body as I tried to race around them with tears obstructing my vision. I finally fell against the wall where the window was and groped around until I could unlatch the blasted thing and open it. The life saving breath of fresh May air streamed into my room as I finally gulped a breath full. And then the smoke detector went off… the ear shattering scream that infernal machine emitted caused a stream of language to fall out of my mouth that would have embarrassed truckers and sailors alike. I had to once again swerve about the obstruction of junk on my floor to race to the door. I got into the hallway and realized that it was too tall for me to pull off the roof, so off to the laundry room I ran and proceeded to throw every switch in the house off to shut off power to the unit.

My dad, meanwhile had got a whiff of the cloud of smoke I had released and was standing at the top of the stairs where he got a delightful view of me flying about trying to make the smoke detector stop. When he finally was able to stand up again and breathe without laughing at me he suggested next time I try using less. As it was I had to place my cauldron on the front lawn and dump a water bottle over it to stop the smoke, which caused some perplexed looks from the neighbors, along with an offer to call the fire department over the massive cloud floating away from my bedroom window.

Nothing Special… Part Two

So let’s see… in my last post I basically told a handful of people that they are not special… and softened the blow by saying neither am I. So now that I have pissed people off let’s see if I can pull my foot out of my mouth long enough to explain.

Really and truly in many ways, none of us are special. Let’s look at me. I had an “average life”, I was born in the city, and my parents had my brother when I was five. We lived in a house; I went to school, played in some team sports here and there. Took some dance classes. In high school I did some choir and some drama, I even took art (my poor instructor must have cried every time I handed in a project, I cannot draw to save my life). I went to University, graduated, and worked a few jobs. I rented a small basement suit for a few years, got close to and fell in love with my husband, we bought a house, got married, and now pay taxes, have pets, run errands, everything one associates with being a functional member of society.

Just like millions of others around the world.

Even in my Witchcraft I am really nothing special. My story is a very common one. Raised with a smattering of Christianity here and there, but not really finding it fit. Eventually finding out about Witchcraft and Paganism, devouring everything I could get my hands on, feeling like I was coming home. Practicing on my own, amassing my tools, reading, trying out spells, reading, trying to learn to meditate, reading, making charms, reading. Even my Book of Shadows is rather boring. I have one that has all my spell work in it, and another one that I made for all my devotionals, Sabbat information, God and Goddess information etc. They are both two small black books, nothing on the cover, which I bought at Winner’s for ten bucks each. Recently my husband and I have started on a family Book of Shadows for our shared spiritual aspects. I paid a bit more for this one but it is still just a plain brown leather book.

Once again, the just like other Witches around the world.

You see I feel the problem lies in our definition of special. As Pagans/Witches etc we all know that words have power (I know this, I just have a heck of a time remembering that!). We have loaded the word special to have a variety of meanings, and have focused on the wrong ones. I debated giving you the Webster’s Dictionary definition, but to be honest I get bored reading those. Suffice to say when people think of the word special we think of a diamond ring, a brand name purse, a fancy car or a multi-million dollar home. When applying the term to special to people we think of a sports player, a great leader, or sadly a celebrity of some kind. Now obviously I am speaking in very generic terms here, some of us might think of our Grandparents, a sibling, a lover. Or for a large chunk of society, ourselves.

In order to be special we will do crazy things! We will buy the very best clothes, designer labels that cost way more than they are worth. We will max out as many credit cards as we can to get that Coach purse, the Guess Jeans (or whatever the hot brand is today). We buy cars that are more expensive than what we need, because they look good and show the world how special we are. Women spend thousands on cosmetics every year (ok, guilty of this one, I love eye shadow, I have far more than I need in all kinds of sparkly colours!) to be gorgeous, to be admired… to be special. We spend thousands to have the best house, one that makes us the envy of the neighbourhood, to show to the world how special we are.

Even worse that what we spend money on in our hunt to be special is the things we are willing to do to our bodies. Women will pluck and wax their eyebrows, shave their legs and use harsh hair removal techniques in order to get that perfect look. Men will even wax and shave parts of their bodies to get the slick skin of a body builder. We will spend hours in the gym to get that perfect six pack or tight butt (well above and beyond the exercise our bodies need to be healthy). Or sadly, we put ourselves on crazy diets, starving ourselves, some even as far as making themselves sick to stay beautiful (or there are some on the opposite end, who get addicted to foods, who eat for the pleasure it brings, or to mask pain, to make up for a perceived lack of specialness… but that is a topic for another blog). Or the people who use drugs such as steroids to build muscles to get that special look. Most frightening of all, cutting open our own flesh, cutting chunks of it out, or implanting foreign objects to get the perfect cup size, to fix the funny nose, to get the booty we have always wanted!!! For what?!?! To be beautiful, to be noticed and admired… to be special.

Now not all of us are appearance driven so there are many other crazy things we do. We try to read all the trendy books, the best sellers to show how well read we are. Academic elitists write long articles, blogs (might have poot my foot in my mouth here... again) or books filled with long winded examples to illustrate a simple point, or words that are typically only found in the extra large Webster dictionaries, to prove to us how smart they are. Gamers spend hours a day playing the latest greatest games, blowing thousands of dollars on an activity that gives no tangible results. Others will shop at the organic and free trade stores, walking around in the trendy free trade clothing, telling everyone they meet about how good they are, how low impact they are and having arguments with people around them over who is better at being low impact, who is the best at it. And then there are the hipsters, who did everything before it was cool.

And in our little corner of the social world (Pagans) we have our Salem witch descendants, our 5th generation witches, our Burning Times survivors, our Morgan Le Fays and Merlins. We also have the all high and mighty High Priestesses. You know the ones, got into the craft initially as a form of rebellion, read a couple of books, maybe took some online classes and now is amassing as many worshippers as possible. We have some of our really staunch traditionalists “Well I was trained as a British Traditionalist, you know the real witches”. There are even the 3rd Degree’s, those who have worked hard and amassed knowledge, and so cherry pick their sheep to follow and admire them, doling out cutting words mixed with praise, feeding their followers needs to be special while filling their own ego's with their awesomness (and sometimes pockets) .

Thousands of people, doing thousands of stupid things, all to be special. Now I know this is not everyone, some of us are like this occasionally, others used to be like this and then grew a brain, and some people are never like this. There are exceptions to every rule, every stereotype, ever mould and every example out there. But there are lots of people like this out there. And I don’t mind admitting, I have fallen into this trap myself, and sometimes when I do something silly like compare myself to others, I still fall into it.

But again, I say our definition is at fault here. We think of special as being something grand and spectacular, when really everything is special…. Don’t believe me, ok, look into reproduction. We start as a fusing of a sperm and an egg, a mish mash of incomplete chromosomes from our parents. Then the single chromosomes from your father’s sperm finds their match in your mother’s egg and somehow line up and create one complete cell. That cell then duplicates itself, then these two do it again to become four, then eight, then sixteen. As these cell multiple the slowly over 9 months do crazy things like create the heart, the lungs, and the most amazing piece of all, the entire nervous system including our brains!

There are so many things that can go wrong (and actually do, spontaneous abortions due to abnormalities are still being measured scientifically but could be as high as 50% of all pregnancies. Usually these occur so early that the woman did not even know she was pregnant). The fact that we have successfully populated the entire planet, to the point of risking overcrowding is a miracle. The fact that you today, are able to read this and go about your day to day living, is a miracle. And then add to that the idea of consciousness, and as pagans, think of alternate planes, think of the merging of a soul with the body and them interacting as one from birth until death! Whole new spin on life is a gift isn’t it?

We are all special, we are of the Gods. I believe that everything, the basic building blocks of life, were created by the Gods. Every part of our essence and being is infused with the Gods. Remember thou art Goddess, or thou art God. I also believe we are incarnated when and where we are for a reason, to further our personal growth and to help the growth of all around us. Every second of the day or night you have the chance to go out into the world and do something that makes a difference. Maybe it’s a kind word to a stressed cashier, holding the door for the person with their arms full, smiling at a stranger, visiting a shut in loved one, feeding the homeless, helping an animal in distress, ANYTHING!!!!

The Gods put us here, and now, for a reason. Your soul exists for a reason. You were born and grew up for a reason. You are who and what you are for a reason. Don’t waste that precious gift chasing after an ideal of what you think will make you special. Embrace that YOU ARE special, and go out there and make this world a better place in your own special way!

Humbly Yours
The Redneck Pagan

Nothing Special... Part One

I’m sure that I am writing on a topic covered by many Pagans, Witches, Heathens, Druids and others whose names I have not yet learned. We’ve all seen it, the pagan (or any other term under the pagan umbrella) who is special, and has no problem telling the world how special he/she is!

Maybe she was descended from a victim of the Salem Witch Trials, so being a witch is in their blood, which always cracks me up since if you read your history the “Salem Witches” were actually all Puritains. Some of them had quite the reputation as being great Christians, such as Rebecca Nurse. Now if you tell this wonderful descendant about this they claim that there really were Witches in Salem, that they had a full blown Coven working at the time. Well, that I cannot verify, I know far more about general history than I do specifics, and my knowledge of Salem is limited to internet searches and the odd book here and there. However I do have a good dose of curiosity, common sense and a hunger for knowledge. So I have to say my BS detector does tend to spark up at that one!

Then there is the “my mother and her mother and her mother were all Witches”, again I am hesitant to believe them. Granted we are now well past 50 years since Gardner, Alexander Saunders, Doreen Valiente and others whose names have escaped me first began publishing on the subject of Witchcraft, so there is a possibility this person is telling the truth. My personal experience has taught me those that are desperate to convince you they come from a long line of Witches tend to be trying to convince themselves. I’m not saying people in their families did not practice Witchcraft, I’m just not sure they would have called it that.

My own Grandmother does things that some might consider Witchcraft, for example she talks to her plants and prays when she knits. Well I talk to my plants and when creating gifts for others I pray over them to infuse them with positive energy… but I can promise you my Grandmother would not call herself a Witch! There are hundreds of things woven into our culture that have their roots in ancient Pagan practices, but doing some of them, such as throwing salt over your shoulder, do not automatically make you a Witch. I know many people with elders in their families who are very wise, have interesting practices, are great at whipping up an herbal tea that their Grandmother used when they were sick and are the perfect example of the old wise woman we all seem to dream of. But they do not consider themselves Witches.

Another popular answer is they descended from one of the nine million lost during the “burning times” when “all our ancient covens and knowledge was ruthlessly stamped out by the Catholic Church!”…. Ok, now my blood is boiling! The Nine Million count is a HUGE over estimation and I am still amazed at how many people quote it and use it as though it was fact! The highest estimate I have seen put forth by scholars who have examined the records is around 100 000. Now I am not saying this is an appalling figure and that it is a piece of history we should ignore. It is part of our history and it is something we must strive against happening again.

However, many of those accused and put to death were not witches, most (if not all) were Christians. There is a whole host of reasons why these people were accused but my research indicates to me there are three main reasons: Greed, Fear and torture. Either the person had land or valuable property, or the person was accused because people had bad things happening around them and needed to blame somebody/were afraid of the person they accused or they were denounced by another who under torture named them. Now this is obviously a very condensed explanation of a topic that entire books can be written upon, and I have neither the space here, nor the educational credentials to argue any further. I direct your attention to the end of this post for more information. I will simply sum up by saying that there are chances that many of us have blood ties of one form or another to those victims, that in it of itself does not mean you are a witch.

My own family has some entanglements with that time. Up until the early 1500’s our family was located in Germany, we had some land we farmed, and were actually very devout Catholics. Then this guy called Martin Luther came along 1517 and nailed some Theses on the door of a Catholic Church. These ideas caught on like wildfire and this “Reformation” came about, causing a split between Catholicism and Protestantism. By the 1550’s Germany was becoming a rather volatile place and my Family, who had remained Catholic, and they figured it was safer to find a more socially hospitable place. They packed their belongings up and over 25 years much of the family made their way to England. Some of them disappear from the records at this time, many of them women. I attribute this to the fact that all of them were younger women, who were in their childbearing years, at a time when maternal survival rates were not as high as we enjoy today.

The family began to settle in England when some dude called Henry decided he wanted to divorce this Lady called Katherine, and marry a girl named Anne! (Henry VIII would split from the Catholic Church in order to divorce his catholic wife Queen Katherine and marry Anne Bolyne). Over the next 30-40 years there was a huge upheaval around the rise of the Anglican Church, then the time of Bloody Queen Mary, followed by the reign of the Anglican Queen Elizabeth I. Having seen the trouble in Germany, a few of my ancestors felt it would be safer not to stick around, so they tiptoed over to Ireland, where they stayed until My Grandfather came to Canada. This history of my family is fascinating, and I love going through some of the genealogy records my Grandmother collected, but this history does not make me more entitled to be High Priestess than another. All it does is give me some ancestral insights into a time of social upheaval.

The other great reason I seem to get from these people desperate to prove how special they are is that they are the reincarnation of Cleopatra, Morgan Le Fay, Merlin etc. (An old web comic called Oh My Gods, created by Shivian Balaris touched on this once and the main character Stan commented that there was no use fighting over who was Cleopatra in a past life as she “Obviously Reincarnated as Cher”. The comic is not in webprint anymore but you can still get copies of the books). These people talk on and on about how  powerful they are in a past life, how people dare not mess with them, how they are seeking to teach others the wonders of their ancient lore. Those people I tend to give a wide berth to and check when they open their bags for their antipsychotic medication. Now don’t get me wrong, as a Pagan I believe in reincarnation. I am positive I have been incarnated more than once. I have a very strange aversion to chamber pots. I’m not kidding; the blasted things always send me into a rage and make me want to vomit. I think I probably spent a life time or ten cleaning them (and now thank the Goddess daily for the invention of indoor plumbing). I believe I have dealt with many things in past lives, but I don’t think I was anybody big or famous. Chances are I was another “everyday Jane”, just living my life, learning what I could along the way. These :Look at how famous I was” people tend to make me roll my eyes.

The problem is everyone wants to be “Special”, “Powerful”, “Mysterious” and admired. Well I hate to point this out… but suck it up Princesses, you’re not. But take heart, neither am I

… To be continued…


Burning Times websites

http://www.religioustolerance.org/wic_burn.htm

http://ebooks.library.cornell.edu/w/witch/browse_title.html

http://www.summerlands.com/crossroads/remembrance/answers.htm


Oh My Gods

http://ohmygods.co.uk/