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.