Initation, Status, and Eclecticism

This question was recently posted on my favorite elist:

I will also add that if you are an eclectic Wiccan than I truly don't understand why you care - if you don't believe you need an initiation to be Wiccan, than why worry about what other people say?

Hmmmm..... I consider myself to be eclectic because of having had each of my initiations with a different coven. In fact, my third degree, while conducted by a priestess who had been present at the previous two degrees, was more my elder than my "teacher". I was mentored my several priestess, actually, amidst several groups imploding/exploding. The little fledgling grove we are forming, which Cameron will initiate with, is the last remnant of any of these groups. We are not gardinarian, fairey, or any other "tradition" although we will borrow from whatever "works". If our group grows and survives, I hope it will become a tradition of its own in due time. Until we can be a tradition (meaning one of our members eventually carries our ways to another group of people), then we are a gathering of eclectic witches who have formed a grove.

Why is it important to be known as a grove, coven, etc and to have had the initiatory experience beyond the personal experience associated with initiation? I hate, hate, hate to say this, but initiation confers status. Of course you'll have to prove yourself with new people, but the simple statement "I initiated with" opens doors.

I'm not forgetting that you want to be part of the wiccan community at large, and be respected, then you better know your stuff, have some sort of credentials, be verifiable and have name recognition. I am suggesting that when we go to Goddess Fest, I want our group to be treated equal to any other group. I want our group to be a stable presence in a very unstable community. I want us to teach workshops, be present on Pagan Pride Day, help the homeless, and serve our community in whatever capacities the Goddess provides. I want the people we mentor to be able to say "oh, I got my degree/initiated with the Sacred Pathways Grove" and the folks at Goddess Fest, Autumn Fest, or any other gathering think "Oh, they know their stuff over there". I want us to be able to teach a workshop and participate in our community without a whole lot of "cat sniffing butt" behavior that usually occurs.

Right or wrong, there can be a lot of arrogance in the wiccan community. Since I want to be a part of that community, because change can't occur if I don't help work at it, then I've got to meet them on their terms. And honestly, we wiccans have to be suspicious. There are some crazy people out there that can cause a great deal of harm. And that's the end of my rant/thoughts/reflection.

Priestess, Crone, Community

Since entering grad school, my life seems to have moved into fast forward, and the transformation of self astonishes me daily. I was raised in a wounded and damaged home. My mother had undiagnosed schizophrenia, my father had the religion bug (moved us from Indiana to Arkansas so he could go to Harding College, now Harding University, and become a minister). Those were strange years, between when we moved at age ten until I got out of the house.

Like an alcoholic home, we never talked about what went on behind closed doors. The abuses schizophrenia unleashes can shatter a child's reality. (Very much like what happenes in an addictive household.) I lived in a world where the rules changed every week or two. I could litererly ask to spend the night at a friend's house on Monday, get permission, go on Friday and be punished when I got home for not asking.

My mother's abuses perpetuated on the children in her seventh grade classrooms were equally damaging to others. Like me, they never knew where they stood with her. As the illness took its toll, her erratic behavior brought my mother before the schoolboard to defend her job most every summer.

So my parents and I closed ranks, which smoothered my attempts to connect with community. I did not talk on the phone with friends and to to this day lack the comfort with phones that everyone else seems to have. For many years I lacked rudimentary social skills others take for granted, especially in the south where "bless her heart" means "fuck you." I was a nontraditional college student at 25 when those things finally started making sense. Nor surprisingly, I am now an introvert by nature.

Over the last few years, I went through menapause. At age 46, I seem to have occassional hotflashes, but otherwise few symptoms. The timing seems to coincide with having passed through the mothering part of my life. My therapist likes to argue that therapy is mothering, but for me, I dont quite agree. Indeed, one of my therapy supervisors suggested that when she saw some "mothering" in therapy that I needed move to a different approach -- which sounded more like where a crone would be. So even at school, the universe seems to be moving me beyond the mother and into the crone.

As I move in the phase of the crone, I find myself reaching out to my community. When we attended Goddess Fest I became acutely aware of the need to connect with the pagan community surrounding me, however out of sync I feel. I've begun blogging, and eagerly read everthing I follow. I grow frustrated with the need to read more of my online community than I have time for. I have joined elists, following a Christian GLBTQ group, a support group for the signifant other in a trans relationship, and an online Wiccan group. I treasure these groups and follow them avidly. With the Wiccan group, I am slowly becoming one of the elders of the group whose training and experience benefit the younger members. I am occassionally graced with the opportunity to "teach", which a role I highly value. More than that, I am filled with gratefulness to finally begin to connect with people and no longer be so isolated. For the first time in my life, I value community deeply and feel welcomed by it.

“A time out of time, and space out of space"

I have done a lot of ritual magic over the years. As part of a coven we often worked together to ask for such things as healing or bounty for all of the covenstead. Indeed, I was trained in a healing grove so a lot of our work was for that purpose. Lady Amber always began her classes with very specific instructions and tools. By the time students initiated, they could cast circle and a ritual with no tools at all. Skill in both methods has its own time and place. Indeed, I have gone from being trained very ritualistically to become a very eclectic witch. But I think beginning with such a ritualistic approached honed my abilities.

Now as a solitaire and part of our loose, unnamed, circle of women that shifts from celebration to celebration, my magick use also shifted considerably. Indeed, cones of power aren't a large part of my life these days. Usually we do one in our group, but it's pretty watered down at our women's group--not the kind of energy raising I did as a covener. I looked in my book of shadows the other day, and since taking my third degree two years ago I might have less than a half dozen new workings in it. I had thought maybe I had fallen behind on what I should do. I love this topic, because it has provided me opportunity to think it through... I think I have done exactly enough. And there are other things to do with ritual. Often we celebrate the sabat/esbat; maybe do a visualization to draw upon its meaning and invoke its power in our lives.

I've come to believe that asking (or doing magick) for what we want/need can be part of personal responsibility. The gods/esses give us voice and the ability to direct our will. When we need something, we have the ability to do both mundane/magick things to make it happen. I don't belive that we are limited by the god/esses within ethical boundaries. For me, it's more like I had grow enough to know to ask. I had a hard time, for many years, reaching beyond my own self-imposed limits caused by shame and wounds of the past.

Furhtermore, for me magick is prayer with props. And often I no longer need the props. Instead, I seem to keep a running conversation with my Lady, whispering words or demanding needs as appropriate. I find the Universe tends to listen if I am bodacious and clear. Tentativeness does not get anywhere. And perhaps that where props are most useful, because they can focus intent and sometimes even multiply it. But I can't always be home in front of my altar when needs arise.

Major workings, for me, require major planning. I have a friend who needs a healing ritual in the fall. I talked it over with the woman who will maiden last night. Cameron will priest (she channels male energy amazingly well). We'll spend a lot of time working out our thoughts; I'll revisit a chakra balancing visualization I worked up four years ago. We'll all spend a lot of time thinking it through and we probably won't do the work until after Samhain. It's that serious of a working.

Shifting my thoughts a little: Sacred space may contain a very formal altar setting with all the elements, gods, goddesses, etc represented. Or it may be devoted to a specific need. Currently I have only a central candle with a spiral path drawn in dirt to represent my friend Truth Teller's passage to summerlands. Last night our little group at the house added pink/green candles charge with balance and harmony to see the griever's through this time. Each person present charged the candles with our intent -- the room fairly hummed before we were done. The candles will burn anytime we're home to tend them --and we envision them burning steadily in our own astral spaces.

I think sacred space becomes very individualistic. I have come to think of spaces in which I do therapy with my clients as sacred space. A place to touch the numinious and to tap into the archetypes of the universe to find the warriors, heroes, seekers within us all.

I do much less magick than I used to. I also include what I want "or better" to leave room for the universe's creative energy to provide things I haven't even thought of. Often it's not specific outcomes which I target, anyway. Like for the mourners for Truth Teller. I asked for balance and haromny so that each person's higher self, especially Priestess, can move through the process of mourning in their own ways and at all their own pace (nope, I'm not a fluffy bunny, but all thoughs have their place!). Spells like this I actually think of as "prayers with props".
Usually, I believe, our high selves know what we need to. So sending energy to higher self is often quite enough. Your own good intent reached the universe, for example, without your ever having worked magick, still resulted in a positive outcome simply because you put positive energy out there without forcing your own intent. Or at least, that can be one interpretation : )

I believe magick is much like a very strong herb. A little bit can go a long way.

Funerals are for the Living: Bagpipes and Amazing Grace

We gathered at the mortuary yesterday for our “viewing” of Truth Teller. Priestess expressed satisfaction with his appearance, although others were less comfortable. Priestess carried herself with great dignity. Unfortunately, she did fall at one point. She said that lupus occasionally can make her fall seemingly for no reason.

We were made welcome at Truth Teller’s parents’ home immediately following the service. They are quite well-to-do, and took great pleasure in showing off their recently renovated home which includes four and a half bathrooms, five bedrooms, a pool, a master closet that someone requested to move into–it had everything including a washer and dryer so laundry could be done on the spot.

I was greatly saddened to learn that Truth Teller had been an only child. His father takes off to New Orleans today to fulfill work responsibilities. I keep imagining his mother rattling around in that beautiful, empty house and I wonder where she fill find comfort.

Cat, who is in her early twenties, expressed dissatisfaction with the service. It had been performed by a lovely Scotts heritage Episcopalian priest. He just took over service at a local church where he’s "the fourth banana.” The other three had immediately gone on vacation, throwing him to the pagans. He used the common ceremony in their Book of Prayers, and it was lovely. Nevertheless, I’m certain Cat was not the only pagan left squirming. The ceremony was what Truth Teller had generously requested for the sake of his family. I hope they found the comfort in the service they needed.

Priestess has agreed to allow Cameron and me to lead a much more pagan ritual near Samhain. Perhaps my Pagan friends will find more comfort then. Nevertheless, I have to admit the service held power. There’s nothing like the mournful sound of bagpipes playing Amazing Grace to touch that collectively unconscious repository for grief.

We lit huge green and pink pillar candles on the house altar last night. Cameron, Christian Mystic, Cat and The Fiber Geek and myself each poured into them energy for balance and peace. May each of the people who grieve Truth Teller find their way through their grief with grace.

Truth Teller Has Crossed into the Summerlands

Truth Teller has passed into the summerlands.

After the meeting with hospice/palliative care, Priestess made the decision to withdrawal all the tubes and ties to machines. Without such paraphernalia in the way, she was able to crawl into the bed and hold her husband until he breathed his last.

Friends are notified and coming. We shall step into that sacred space of death and honor the man we knew. Amazing grace will be played on bagpipes. Songs will be song. Stories will be told. The Christian funeral this Sunday will be followed by a pagan celebration of his life near Samhain.

The Last Spiral

The cycle of birth, death and rebirth is at the heart of paganism. Tonight Truth Teller stands on that spiral path that leads to the summerlands. Stories of Inanna, Persephone and Demeter, Lugh’s Crossing, Ishtar and Tammuz, Venus and Adonis, Isis and Osiris remind us of this eternal pattern. The wheel of the year, the Holly King and the Greenman all speak to that sacred space we call death. Like the labyrinth, the only way out is through the center.

Tonight Truth Teller walks the spiral ever inward. He leaves behind his body, destroyed by diabetes. He leaves behind this physical reality and the demands of the living. He takes with him the love of his wife, the love of his friends, and his higher self.

I carry away my memories of a man who could patiently wait for me to learn that not all men are scum. I will remember a man who was a safe friend. I carry the memory of man who had honor and love to offer his friends. A memory of man handfasting a woman he loved more than his own life. When I needed money to care for a puppy, he was there. When I needed to hear what I wanted to deny, he was there.

With this light, may Truth Teller find his way to the Summerlands. Tonight we cannot walk with him. It is a journey for Truth Teller alone and whatever concept of Deity he has come to know. May he know that he goes in perfect love and perfect trust. As all must go in our time, we release Truth Teller to go in your own time into the Summerlands.

So mote it be.

A Followup on the Dream

The dreaded call came this afternoon. Just before I was to have supervision at our clinic, Cameron called me to say she had talked to Priestess. As I stood in that lonely upstairs room, darkened by threatening storm clouds, Cameron said she had just gotten off the phone with Priestess. Determined to hold herself together, and to be strong for me, Cameron said that Priestess was about to meet with the palliative care/hospice team to determine best care for Truth Teller.

This once strong, beautiful man with graceful fingers and keen insight lies in a hospital bed, dependent on dialysis. He is missing seven fingers. Gangrene proceeds its way up his leg. Emaciated because his body cannot digest food, he is in agony and drugged to the point of having hallucinations. No wonder he could spirit walk.

Two years ago Cameron and I witnessed his second handfasting with Priestess. Knowing he would not live out a normal life expectancy, they promised to find each other again, vowing: "Around the wheel and down through the years." Tears came to my eyes.

Later, Cameron, Hermit and I witnessed Priestess' croning. Priestess asked to break with tradition and have her husband there. But he couldn't come because Truth Teller was ill that night. Other circles, other nights, other joys and other pains. Priestess and Truth Teller always had a place on the back porch for friends.

When I was so wounded that I decided all men were scum, Truth Teller's presence offered a safe friend. When I needed to learn to reconnect with men who had honor and love to offer their friends, he was there. When I needed a camera to take to my son's wedding, he had one. When I needed money to care for a puppy, he was there. When I needed to hear what I wanted to deny, he was there.

Tonight I will gather earth from garden. I'll draw a spiral in the earth and I place a lit candle in the center. May Truth Teller follow his path home to the summerlands. May he know we all honor him with perfect love and perfect trust.

So mote it be.

The Call

We got the call from Priestess last night. The doctors say that barring a miracle, Truth Teller is not expected to leave the hospital. I grieve a remarkable man who had so much wisdom and kindness.

Truth Teller preferred to worship the Holy Motherboard most of his life. I've heard that his faith system has shifted a bit over the last couple of years. Nevertheless, I do not want to superimpose my belief system onto him.

May Truth Teller be remembered for the wisdom he brought not just to my life, but also to the coven where he served as an Elder. May his path to the place where all souls return be blessed, and he blessed us.

Truth Teller, you have often spoken in my dreams. Feel free to visit me even as you leave the material behind.

Dream: The Truth Teller

Truth Teller is one of those difficult people you can’t do without. I have only eaten out with him a few times because he is so picky about what he will eat and where. None of his food can touch. His toys and money belong to him and are kept completely separate and apart from his wife’s toys and money. While he did not begin his pagan path believing in Deity, he does worship the Holy Motherboard. Moreover, any computer will sit, beg or roll over to please him.

When Cameron and I were coming back from my eldest son’s marriage a few years ago, we were victims of trauma. A mother dog and her pups had gotten on the interstate and stopped traffic. I did not know why we were stopped, and inching forward, I hit a pup. Her back paw was broken. Alarmed, we found an emergency vet. Calling Truth Teller for help, he offered to cover up to $400 in vet bills. We had Bronte examined, and made the heart breaking decision to have her put down rather risk thousands in vet bills and future arthritis – the damage was that bad. My heart has never recovered from the loss of my puppy of four hours. I tear just writing about her. Truth Teller knew full well it would be years before we could pay him back.

Cameron and I broke up for an extremely painful six months, during our courtship, while she made decisions regarding her former wife. During that time, chaos happened and I found myself unemployed. That same week, Cameron and I began talking again. We met at Priestess' and Truth Teller's home, talking out the past and possibilities for the future. When Cameron left to tell her wife it was over, because her wife had made some unconscionable decisions, Truth Teller warned me that she might not be back. Such cautions over the years had mostly proved right, especially when I didn’t want to hear him. Indeed, that was the only time he was wrong. Because Truth Teller always spoke what needed saying, rather than I want to hear, he has become an archetype of my dream language. That is why I call him Truth Teller.

I had a dream several years ago in which I was driving on winding roads when I got a flat tire. I dreamed that I called Truth Teller, who came to get me. My car had been overfilled with books, which he helped me to got back to retrieve. Truth Teller had helped me recapture my own inner wisdom.

Today Truth Teller lies in a hospital bed with diabetes taking his life one body part at a time. Most of his fingers are gone. Now they are decided if they are going to remove a gangrene foot.

Last night I dreamed of Truth Teller. Cameron and I could not close a lower dresser drawer. We had tried for weeks, and I was entirely frustrated. Cats were sleeping on my work clothes. At last she mentioned it to Truth Teller, who offered to take a look. I was trying to sleep, but Cameron had put a cat in the bedroom who was crying, so I woke. In the dream, I was dozing in the bed when he came into the room and removed all the clothing, refolded it, and put it back. The drawer worked perfectly. He started to leave when I realized he had been there. Afraid he would get away before I could say anything, I ran through the kitchen and outside. He was driving Priestess’ old car, Mobie. He had started to back out of the driveway, and the headlights of the car caught my figure as I came out the door. I made a hugging motion with my arms and blew him a kiss. Truth Teller pulled back into the driveway and I ran to the car. I could his voice as clear as a bell as I thanked him for fixing the dresser drawer. Truth Teller hugged me and said good bye.

I do not have the gift of prophesy, but this dream is alarming.