Your Spiritual Practice is Still Practice!

“Be constant.”

This was part of the message I received yesterday while meditating with Amaterasu, Japanese Goddess of the Sun. That word, “constant,” is not one I use very often, if ever.  I had to mull on it.  I’m very constant when it comes to my work, my education, and my family, but constancy is not something I would ascribe to my spiritual life.  My practice has always been somewhat fickle.  I might go a month in a stagnant state before picking myself back up again.  Sometimes other things get in the way: work is too stressful, or my husband’s health took another turn, for instance.  I might get a bad turn in my tarot reading and stash away my deck for weeks at a time.

For those of us who are solitary practitioners, being constant with your religious practice can be tough, especially if you lack in self-discipline, like I do. There is no one to keep you moving on your path but you.  And if you’re like me, your own self is not always the strictest task master. 

I’m learning, though.  Taking time out of your day to journal is a great way to keep yourself attuned to the presence of deity in your life.  And although the weather is changing, it’s important to find time to commune with nature.  You could bring a blanket to the park, like I do.  Now is the best time of year to find peace and solitude outside if you live in an urban area. Children are in school and it’s too cold to play on the playgrounds anymore, but some of the birds have yet to cease their singing.  If nothing else, you can listen to the sound of falling leaves or rain.

Our Christian brothers and sisters, for the most part, take time every Sunday to commune with their God and community. Although we are not bound by rules about the Sabbath like they are, we could learn something from their weekly pilgrimage to their holy spaces.  There is some danger in routine when it comes to one’s spiritual practice.  Sometimes, when we fall into rhythms, we tend to compartmentalize our lives.  We say, “This is the time for me to be with the Goddess,” and we shut her out of the rest of our time so we can concentrate on getting dinner made or homework done.  This is part of the reason why Catholics wear sacramentals (such as a cross or crucifix)—it serves as a constant reminder that their God is always with them, regardless of whatever mundane activity they’re doing.  For pagans, a sacramental might be a favorite stone or a tattoo, but carrying a reminder of the divine with you always is not a bad idea.  For those of us still firmly entrenched in the Broom Closet, there are discrete ways of reminding yourself of the omnipresent deity in your life.  Where a pentacle necklace might bring questions, a star might be dismissed as merely trendy.  No one has to see what you carry close to your heart.

Maintaining a religious practice takes effort on your part.  Although there might be times when you feel the divine shouting at you, desperately trying to get your attention, there will also be times when She will want you to come to Her.  As in any relationship, it cannot survive if it is one-sided.  Sometimes we have to ask for what we need, rather than simply hope for it to arrive.  If you are seeking some kind of personal gnosis, you are going to have to nurture that relationship with the divine. How can you get the message if you don’t check your inbox?

Your Unique Path and Other People

I once asked my Twitter followers what one should do when one half of a married couple is pagan and the other is not.  I never received any answers (probably due to a limited audience, but still).  I’ve been ruminating on the question myself, and so far I haven’t come up with any answers.  My husband is an atheist and passionate about his non-belief—so much so that he’ll remind that waitress at the local diner when she inevitably asks about our Christmas plans.  I, on the other hand, belong to one of the most fanciful religious traditions around.  He doesn’t understand the concept of “sacred space,” only “this is Saya’s area.”  He doesn’t understand that my garden/altar is not only my space, but a space for deity as well.  I guess I’m lucky inasmuch as he respects my personal space.

Honestly, I am having less of a problem with my husband than with the rest of my family.  I have been a practicing pagan since I was seventeen years old.  My parents thought it was a phase I would grow out of; I don’t think either of them expected it to last into my adulthood, let alone with the same strength and fervor.  My dad thinks I’m silly, and I’m sure that his opinion of the theatrics and drama of paganism have colored my own feelings toward ritual.  I mentioned in an earlier post that I have trouble not feeling ridiculous when I’m spell-casting or casting a circle.  My mother expects that one day I will become a Catholic again, like she did, although I haven’t heard her opinion since the Church has demanded $275 to grant her annulment and allow her to take communion.  Lately, her tone has been a little bitter when she speaks about the Church.

But returning to the marital question: what is one to do when one feels a pull towards the Goddess (or deity) and one’s other half doesn’t?  I don’t suppose there’s a lot either one of you can do.  If your spouse cannot support your spiritual beliefs and you are unwilling to sacrifice them for the relationship to work, I don’t see as how either one of you are compatible.  If you feel like your spouse will mock you for being part of a religion that encourages imagination, play-acting, and creativity, perhaps you don’t really believe what you think you believe.  Perhaps you are only trying to believe it because it is appealing to you in some other way.  That is, maybe you like being part of a “strange” minority religion, or you’ve been put off of a patriarchal view of deity.  I understand!  You want to believe in something so badly!

If this sounds like you, here is the trick to making it work.  If something about Wicca puts you off or sounds too preposterous to put your faith in—change it!  Omit it altogether, if you want!  There is no such thing as the “wrong” path.  What may be wrong for you will work for someone else.  Ultimately, it is up to each of us to search ourselves for what we truly hold dear in the darkest, deepest parts of ourselves.  Forget labels and titles.  We are long past the stage where every Wiccan must be initiated according to Gerald Gardner’s rules.  Of course, there will always be purists who resent this contamination of the original vein of Wicca and paganism.  Go ahead and leave them to it—their hang-ups have nothing to do with you.

And if you are afraid that you will never find a group that will accept you, never fear.  Any group becomes unwieldy if it gets large enough.  There are plenty of pagan groups that are willing to accept you just the way you are.  In fact, they are looking for someone like you because you can bring something special and unique to their group dynamic.  You could be an atheist Wiccan and still find a spot somewhere.  Don’t give up looking just yet.

Wicca and Commercialism

So this has been kicking around in my head for a few days.  We’re all aware, especially with the Holiday season rapidly—and perhaps prematurely—approaching, that religion is highly commercialized.  I’m not even talking about the mad Black Friday shoppers, or the murderous crowds that just have to get their hands on a Tickle-Me-Elmo or Furby or what have you.  Every Christmas season it seems as though there’s more and more to buy just for the sake of celebration itself: Christmas Tree ornaments, Nativity sets, Santa hats, bows, ribbons, wrapping paper—It’s endless!  And let’s not forget Easter… Or Valentine’s Day… Or Halloween.

As a pagan and witch, for a long time I thought myself above the need for chintzy little decorations like “Jesus Playing Basketball in Ceramic,” but during coffee with a friend I found myself saying, “You know, I really hate how commercialized Wicca has become.”  I said it without even really thinking about it, but it’s true.  Every new Wiccan is immediately told by many, many sources (both online and in books) that they need an athame, a wand, a chalice, a bell, a pentacle, dried herbs, a tarot deck, and on and on—always with the addendum that it’s really better to make your own tools, but if that’s not possible, go to www.wiccawhatever.com…

It’s probably good business, to be honest.  I remember when I first started out—for real this time.  I was out of my parents’ house and in my own apartment.  I could do as I damn well pleased.  If I wanted to set up an altar in the middle of the living room, by the Goddess I was going to do so.  I tried to start simple.  To signify the Goddess I had a postcard from my mother picturing an Iris.  For the God, a pinecone I managed to find under the coniferous trees a few blocks from where I parked my car.  I cast my first circle… and it sucked.  It turns out that my little renovated studio wasn’t the best place to raise a cone of power.

I convinced myself (after conveniently finding a well-known metaphysical shop a few blocks away), that it was my tools.  The reason I couldn’t cultivate the atmosphere I wanted was because I was using cereal bowls to hold my salt and water!  Ridiculous, right?  The very first athame I bought featured a dragon’s head hilt with red crystal eyes, grasping a white crystal in its mouth.  “You’re a dragon girl, eh?” the shopkeeper had asked me and I replied, “Sure!” even though I bought it because it was the nicest looking one that I could afford at the time.  I don’t even like dragons.

This started a habit that lasted years.  I used to cruise antique malls looking for just the right item to sit on my altar at home.  Mostly anything that was actually nice was out of my price range—I had a perfume bottle shaped like Athena even though I didn’t even relate to the Goddess in her aspect.  A pewter sculpture of Bast (even though this is a face I do relate to), and who knows what else.  Still, though, my spellcasting was shit and my altar felt about as sacred as my bathroom vanity.

Over the years, I lost all that stuff, even the postcard from my mom, which I wish I could have kept a hold of.  It was only through losing everything that I realized that I never needed it in the first place.  I don’t like to cast spells.  I couldn’t Draw Down the Moon if you asked me to.  My altar is my garden.  Having living, growing lives that depend on me (somewhat—my venus fly trap seems pretty independent) puts me more in a sacred frame of mind than any of the knick knacks I so desired when I was seventeen ever could.  I love reading the Farrars’ elaborate rituals, but it’s more like reading a screenplay for me.  I still love going to etsy and browsing the Wiccan and pagan stuff, but so far the only thing I’ve bought is a moonstone bracelet.  Sorry, ladies, your jewelry is beautiful, but no.  Not today, anyway.

Panentheism versus Immanence/Transcendence

I wanted to write an article concerning panentheism.  Prior to reading Christine Hoff Kraemer’s book Seeking the Mystery: An Introduction to Pagan Theologies, I wasn’t familiar with the term.  She defines it thusly: “Panentheists believe that deity is present throughout the material world, but see deity as more than just the world itself (‘God/dess is in all things, and all things are in God/dess’).”  This definition—if it can be called that—of deity struck a chord in me.  In my prior entry, I mentioned the immanence and transcendence of the Christian God.  The difference between immanence/transcendence versus panentheism is what ultimately led me away from Christianity.  Let me explain.

For the pagan panentheist, deity is actually, wholly present in the material world.  The herbs in your garden are deity.  Your house cat is deity.  Even the brook running behind your house is deity.  However, deity also exists beyond the material world that humans can grasp.  In that way, deity is also transcendent.  Deity is everywhere around us, but also “above” us, so to speak.  For Christians, this is blasphemy—or at least, a great misunderstanding of God according to their theology.

Rather than identifying God/deity with their external surroundings, Christians label the material world around them as “Creation.”  God created the plants, animals, and landscape that humans interact with daily.  Even more, according to at least one of the Christian creation stories, humans—specifically Adam—are given dominion over the material world.  Already there is a hierarchy established: God is on the top, then humans (or angels, depending on how detailed one wishes to become), animals, plants, and non-living matter.  Humans are seen as stewards of the Earth.  God entrusted Adam and Eve with the Garden, and hence everything in it.

This has led to two distinct outcomes in the Christian world.  One is to acknowledge the great responsibility that the Christian God has placed on humanity.  Because their god trusted them with the world’s upkeep, it must therefore be important enough to care for.  These Christians usually describe themselves as good stewards, and there are many groups that campaign for green energy laws and take time out of their day to aid the environment.

Then there is the other branch: the Christians who have decided to ignore their god’s call to be good stewards and focus rather on getting as much as they can from the environment—literally exploiting the landscape—because they view the Second Coming as imminent and they don’t plan to be here that long.  If Christ is coming today, what need is there to care about tomorrow?  It is this attitude that has led to the environmental crises we see today.

I, personally, interact with nature in such a way that it is hard for me to believe that I ever thought it to be on a lower plane of existence than myself.  The feeling I get from standing underneath a large, shady tree is a feeling of smallness—of insignificance.  This is because I understand the tree to be one with the Goddess, but not entirely the same.  I suppose that makes me something of a monist, and I am not one to eschew that label.  In short, I wanted to explain what led to the break between me and the Church, and this is one of them.

Nice to Meet You

For my first entry, I thought I would look at the term "kitchen witch."  In the nine or so years I have been pagan, I have seen the title undergo a couple of changes in connotation.  It seems to have become synonymous (at least to a certain extent) with "hedgewitch," although, in my mind, "hedgewitch" denotes a level of shamanism that isn't as prevalent in the understanding of "kitchen witch."  It is possible for kitchen witches to be Wiccan, but not 100% necessary.  In my mind, kitchen witches use nature and every day tools for their altars and probably wouldn't be caught dead in a metaphysical shop.  There seems to be a trend in kitchen witchery to claim to be descendants of a long line of witches, as opposed to Wiccans, who, by definition, inherit their tradition from Gerald Gardener in the first half of the 20th century.

Although I am not descended from witches--in fact, the majority of my ancestors were Italian and Roman Catholic--I claim the title of kitchen witch.  While I can appreciate the pomp and circumstance of Wicca--the rituals, altar tools, and so on--it simply doesn't "jive" with my personality.  I lack the discipline that Wiccan rituals require.  I identify with the wild woman whose magical practice is part and parcel of her day to day life.  My spirit objects to the compartmentalization high ritual imposes on my lifestyle.  Perhaps it is my distaste for theatrics, but Wicca--although its theology speaks deeply to me--never made its way into my daily routine the way kitchen witchery did.  I tend my herb garden, I make poultices, I cook healthy (and not so healthy) natural meals, while thanking the Goddess for her blessing and bounty.  I celebrate the seasons not by casting circles, but by feasting with friends and family--even if they don't recognize the "reason for the season," as one might say.  I celebrate the Goddess by living, day to day.  That is what kitchen witchery means to me.

Of course, the premise of this blog and my related twitter account is my continuing interactions with the Catholic Church via my job at a Catholic organization and my education at a Catholic university.  How did a kitchen witch end up here?  Like anyone else, my current position in life is the result of a long series of both good and bad decisions, but I suppose I stick with it with the hope of serving as a liaison between two contentious groups.  Certainly, in the Catholic community, there are essential misunderstandings of the modern pagan movement.  Pagans, on the other hand, tend to have at least some understanding of Catholicism, gleaned from the culture at large or personal experience.  Certain specifics of Catholicism may escape them.  The funny thing is that these specifics escape most Catholics as well.  Even the nature of their god remains a mystery to them.

The Christian God is both immanent and transcendent, unchanging, existing outside of time (as humans experience it).  As Starhawk says, the Goddess IS immanence.  (See pg. 9 of Dreaming the Dark, 1982).  She not only exists in time, she is time.  The cycle of her life marks the turning points of our year--season by season, year after year.  The Christian storyline for our lives has a beginning, middle, and end.  For the witch, time is cyclical, and so are our lives.  I cannot understand the appeal of a god that is unknowable, as the Christian God is.  What does the human being gain by appealing to a being entirely outside their ken?  Catholics take comfort in the so-called "mysteries of the Church," such as transubstantiation (the Eucharist becoming the Body and Blood of Christ without changing the form/accidents of bread and wine) and the hypostatic union (Christ being both fully human and fully divine), but acknowledge that the human intellect cannot ever fully understand these truths.  There is nothing analogous in nature for these mysteries.  Perhaps that is why I take so much comfort in the phrase, "As above, so below."