Confessions of a Bad Pagan: Am I Even Pagan?

Over the past few months I have been thinking about my path and about my "Paganisyness" and I am really begin to wonder if I am even really a Pagan anymore! And if I am still a pagan, well I'm not a very good one!  I suppose some of this comes up because I have this terrible tendency to compare myself to everyone around me, which is really something I should stop doing. This goes to every aspect including my work, my social life, my writing and even my Paganism. I think it is part of human nature to look at others and see the flaws within ourselves (or in our arrogance to see how we are better than others).

In reading other people's blogs I began to see the flaw in the way I was blogging, and came to some pretty cool ideas about how and what I wanted to blog (which still remains remarkably random). In seeing the lady in line in front of me be friendly to the cranky cashier I am inspired to treat that cashier in a kind manner myself. Conversely when I read a bad blog I gloat at how much better my own blog is, and when I see somebody being a jerk to the cashier I have been known to step in and tell the jerk to be nicer (although probably not in a very kind manner) and then take pleasure in the fact that I am much more polite to the cashier.

With paganism it's a hell of a lot more complicated than my simple comparisons. First of all I read a lot of blogs by really good Pagans, the activists and teachers, the ones who have been cutting their teeth in the Pagan world for at least 15 to 20 years. These people have a set path and set deities that they work with. Whereas I seem to have no real set path and while I work with a select group of deities I sometimes have to wonder if they are even listening. In addition to all the wonderful blogs I read I have a nice sized library of books by multiple pagan writers, each offering their own advice and flavor of paganism.

Then of course there is the challenge of the diverse number of Pagan paths there are out there. You have Wicca, Druidism, Dianics, Shamanistic paths, Kitchen Witches, Hedgewitches, Astaru's, Helenistic Pagans, Egyptian Pagans. Not to mention the activist pagans, the political pagans, the eclectics, the Monotheists, the duotheists (is that a word?) the soft Polytheists, the hard Polytheists, those who work in circles, those who work in covens, or groves or any other group configuration. And just when you think you have found all the nooks and crannies there are a thousand more to fin, and a thousand more that I will probably never hear of even if I were to live to be three hundred!

With all of this it’s no wonder I sometimes want to throw up my hands and scream until I turn blue in the face. When I first came to Paganism I didn’t realize just how many trails this forest contained! What’s more I didn’t even realize that there would be so many different flavors and definitions of Paganism! I often wonder what it means to be Pagan, what it means to be a good Pagan or a bad Pagan. I mean we can’t always even agree on a definition! Add to that problem I’m not even sure I have a set path myself.

I have wandered in and out of a handful of Pagan trails, trying on different ways, reading and thinking on what they believe, what they follow and how they practice. Each of them have been beautiful and have taught me something. I however perhaps have too much of  a wanderlust spirit and never stay, eventually I either get restless and uninspired, or I find parts of their tradition do not jive in any way with my own thoughts and ideas. And so I wander to another trail. This worries me sometimes, I wonder if I lack in motivation and self discipline (probably, I still can’t say no to cheese cake). Once I even tried to force myself to stay on one path despite what my inner barometer was telling me, and that one blew up in my face so badly it took a year for my spirit to recover. So I wander still.

So here I am today, wandering around, making shit up as I go and trying to make sense of it all as I go. Which is a huge difference from what most of the people whose books and blogs I follow are doing. While they grow and learn new things they seem to at least be rooted somewhere, and after as many years as they have spent on their paths they have gained the wisdom to speak well about their paths.  I often wonder if there are others like me who are utterly lost (but are playing it cool trying not to look so fucking lost) but not really wanting to get a shit ton of advice because let’s face it, you already get advice from the world whether you want it or not. And to be honest, I’m kind of liking being lost!

I love that Paganism has the diversity it does, the multitude of paths and trails it has! The opportunity to grow and nourish my spirit from so many different points of view thrills me! I like that we can’t even come up with a common definition of Paganism. And I like that by many people’s definition I am a very bad Pagan, in fact I want to explore this more! And since this is my blog I will! So look for many more chapters of why I am a bad Pagan (and to quote Maxwell Smart… “And loving it!”).

Wandering Witch… How I started

I sometimes wish I had an awesome story for how I wandered into Witchcraft. I’ve heard stories of people who could always hear the voices of their Gods or Goddesses, of being directed by their Witch Great Grandmother into the path, of being chosen by somebody of great importance in the path. Unfortunately for all of us my story is rather well… ordinary. It was a bit of a slow progression. Growing up both my parents followed some Christian traditions, like having a manager up at Christmas (right next to the ceramic Santa), having a Bible in the house etc. However we never went to church or actually read said Bible (other than at Christmas). Easter was more about the Bunny than Christ and we didn’t do any kind of prayer.

 

My Grandparents on my father’s side are devoutly Catholic and taught me about their faith but only when I asked. My Grandmother took me to Mass when she went if I asked her if I could come too. When I asked her about her Rosary she taught me how to use one and gave me one of hers (I can still actually do the Rosary by memory and still have the one she gave me tucked away). I went to Catholic school for most of elementary and middle school because they had the best French Immersion program. I didn’t know anybody of any other faith groups and so I spent much of my youth thinking that Christianity was just the religion (although I was vaguely aware of Judaism). In high school I dated a conservative Christian for a while and tried to follow his faith. It wasn’t that it was bad, I still like a lot of things I learned as a Christian, it’s just that it didn’t fit.

After he and I broke up and I stopped going to Church I never actively looked for a new religion, I was more focused on figuring out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I researched colleges and programs, and immersed myself into reading. I remember the books I first read that opened my mind to the possibility of magic, the books I read that featured a Mother Goddess (wait… the divine can be female?!?). I had always been interested in mythology but for some reason it wasn’t until my last year of high school that it clicked with me that these myths were once part of a religious system (ok so I was a little thick).

While I worked to save money for college I began to meet people from different faiths. I asked some questions about their religions and read up what I could. I then became a leader in my youth group and realized how important it was that I learned everything I could about other faiths so that I could be a better leader. I however had not yet found a system that spoke to me. Then in college when I was introduced to Paganism and Witchcraft, thanks in part to a great set of boobs! No really, a great set of boobs got me into Witchcraft. How did that happen you ask? Want to know? Are you dripping with anticipation yet (probably not but I’m having fun). Ok, I’ll tell you!

When I started college I was a bit of a loaner. I had been badly hurt growing up and had a very small circle of friends, most of whom I had met through my youth group and a few at high school. I worked for a year after high school before going to college so I had drifted away from many of the friends I had and the ones I was still in touch with either went to a different college or were in totally different program from me. So for the first weeks I spent all my time sitting in a quiet corner of the college, trying to look all cool and grown up, and not looking as panicked as I felt. 

One day I was sitting in a little corner reading one of my textbooks when I heard a female voice using terminology I only had ever heard used in my youth group, and the organization it was modeled after. Surprised to hear the terms I look up to the speaker and see this fairy like creature, with the sharpest and edgiest spiked and multi colored pixie cut I have ever seen. She wore skin tight jeans and a black sheer shirt with a lacy black bra underneath. Boldly tattooed across her boobs was feathers, like a bird’s wings and just beneath the bra line I could see the tattoo of a Celtic knot. I couldn’t help it, I began to stare, mesmerized by the wings as she spoke. After a long time I realized that I was being rude, got up and walked over to her.

“Hi, I’m the creepy chick who has been staring at your boobs for the last.. I don't know how long, nice tattoo... and no I'm not hitting on you”

“Hi, nice to meet you creepy chick! Thanks, the tattoo is in devotion to my Goddess.”

“Cool… wait Goddess?”

“Yeah, I’m Pagan”

She waved me into the seat next to her and after exchanging names and introducing me to the friend who sat beside her we talked. And then we talked some more. The next day after class she and her friend were there again and we talked a whole hell of a lot more. Later that week we went out for coffee. Little by little they both introduced me to their respective paths and lent me books to read. Eventually I got bold and bought a few books for myself. While I had no idea where the hell I would end up I knew I had found the beginnings of the right spiritual path for myself.

Redneck Rants - YOLO

I fucking hate YOLO…. Really fucking hate YOLO. Now for those of you who may not know YOLO means “you only live once”. The idea behind that, so I am told, is to remind people that they only have one life to live so live it up. The sentiment itself I don’t really have an issue with, I hear the sentiment often and read many inspiring quotes about it: “Carpe Diem” (Latin for “Seize the Day”) is the first that springs to mind. “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” - Oscar Wilde. “You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” - Mae West. “The most important thing is to enjoy your life - to be happy - it’s all that matters.” - Audrey Hepburn. “In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.” - Abraham Lincoln.

Now I will grant you a few things… First of all “YOLO” is quick and easy to say and remember. And with the attention spans in our society at an all time low having something quick and easy to say and recognize saves time. Secondly “YOLO” is “hip and trendy”(something I am not) hip and trendy means it will be easily recognized and allow you an automatic in with a random group of strangers you need to impress. And finally I will grant you that “YOLO” is much shorter, and for people looking for a tattoo to remind them to live life to the fullest, while on a tight budget and a low tolerance for pain, it is a perfect fit.

Having said that, and sharing with you some quotes that express the sentiment that I actually enjoy and find inspirational, I still fucking hate “YOLO”. I hate “YOLO” because it is the embodiment of a self indulgent, narcissistic and callous culture that we seem to have been cultivating in some sections of our population. I have seen selfies of people in various exceptionally dangerous situations with the hashtag “YOLO” (for the record I hate selfies too but that is another rant). I have seen pictures taken by people doing exceptionally dangerous things and positing it to social media, again with the hashtag “YOLO”. And with some of these photographs we find out that a person was seriously injured or even killed shortly after posting that picture (usually from the exceptionally stupid thing they share, like drinking and driving!).

I have seen less drastic “YOLO” pictures, pictures where I know the person lived to see tomorrow… this time. I have seen pictures of binge drinking, pictures of playing stupid chicken games on highway’s and railroad tracks. I have seen picture of people smoking tobacco products and other products, I have seen lots of pictures of food and fashion, pictures of ladies with boobs hanging out, of men working out and showing off muscles, way too many duck faces and I have seen “Funeral Selfies” with the “YOLO” hashtage (and when the FUCK did that become a thing?!?!)

In my experience with the word “YOLO” embraces a very crass attitude of “screw the consequences, screw the people around me, I will do what I want”. This arrogance and narcissism pisses me off. There are people out there who love you, who want you to be safe, not binge drinking yourself into a coma because “YOLO”. In addition to that your actions will not only affect those whom love you most, but the first responders at the scene of your messy demise, who will have to carry the image of the results of your “YOLO” for the rest of their lives (PTSD rates amongst first responders vary but sit higher than the average population due to the nature of their jobs).

Like I said, the sentiment itself does not bother me. I encourage everyone to live full, happy and healthy lives. Save up and go on an awesome vacation, buy that special someone a gift just because, meet new and exciting people, try new things, take up hobbies, volunteer with a cause you find worthy, watch as many sunsets as you can and stargaze every time you step outside. The words of this are correct, you do only live once.

Even as a Pagan who believes that my soul will be born again on this world I know that right here, right now is amazing and precious. There will never be another person like me, with all my experiences, with all the people and animals I have filled my life with. Even if I have a billion lifetimes there will never be another like the one I have right here, right now. I know my life (and everyone else’s life) is a precious and rare thing in our universe, I am living a very full and very rich life. I am 31 years old and if I’m lucky I will live to be in my 80’s or 90’s. That means I have at most 50-60 years left, so precious little time to live a life that will never again happen. I am not throwing it away because of the “YOLO” attitude.

I will watch every sunrise and sunset I can, I will tell those around me I love them every chance I get, I will hold a friend’s hand when that person is hurt, and celebrate their successes as if they were the greatest thing ever accomplished. I will help people and animals, as many as I can. I will use the good towels (although maybe not the fine china since I tend to drop things when I trip over my own two feet). I will travel and see everything I can, I will learn new skills and new hobbies, I will do the things that scare me to better myself. I will remember the precious gift I have and will make sure that I do not squander it doing something immensely stupid. I will remember that every action I take has a consequence and will do my best to choose the actions that will bring the most joy and the least sorrow. I will live a great life for myself, and for those I love because they matter too.