Nonduality, polytheism, pragmatism

It is a point often made by Pagans that what smart atheists, à la Daniel Dennett or Christopher Hitchens, reject is a version of religion and cosmology that many Pagans also reject. And not only Pagans are making the point.

The unreflective religiosity that still holds sway in much of the world today, which posits a father figure in the sky who listens and gets angry and forgives and judges just as we do -- not allegorically, but in some way literally -- is one which requires not merely a suspension of disbelief but a suspension of the act of reason itself. As many of today's "new atheists" have pointed out, this belief is intrinsically both unverifiable and irrefutable, and thus consonant only with faith in its most fideistic form.

Jason Pitzl-Waters links to this smart, provocative article by Jay Michaelson, on nondual Judaism, in which Michaelson explores the felicitous pairing of nonduality (the belief that the divine, the world, and humanity aren't separate) and polytheism (the belief that the gods are many). Why do spiritual traditions that embrace one often embrace the other, when the two appear contradictory?

We have at our disposal thousands of myths, symbols, and other linguistic technologies that enable us to speak obliquely of the unspeakable. And the more deeply we know ineffability, the more amenable we are to multiple forms of approximation. So nonduality and polytheism exist not in uneasy tension, but as complements of one another.

Micahelson also explains why, despite his own nondual and polytheistic leanings, it might still make sense for him to practice a form of Judaism. Here he takes a pragmatic and theologically humble approach to religious practice that greatly appeals to me.

As I return to my cherished symbols, to challah and wine, candles and songs, I do so with no pretension or desire that they are in any way superior to other symbols, or more accurate, or more holy. Yes, some symbols are better than others, relatively speaking; better candles than guns. But their worth is evaluated in a consequentialist way, in terms of the kinds of life on this world they engender. In terms of the absolute, they are all technologies, nothing more; they are fingers that gesture at the moon, and that also, if I may extend the metaphor, reflect the moonlight into hand and home. Could challah and kiddush be communion wafers and wine instead? Of course. Are they in fact descended from loaves baked for Astarte? Most likely. But it doesn't matter. This is an antifoundationalist religion, as Richard Rorty would describe it: one without claims of priority, but with an affirmation of utility. I take up these tools not because they are God-given or superior to others, but because these tools work, especially for someone who grew up with them. They work because they have been used for thousands of years, refined by tradition, and imbued with value and mystery I cannot understand. They also do not work, for many people, and though I might at times labor to justify and elaborate on them, ultimately that is deeply fine as well. I choose these tools because I love them, and nothing more. No theology, no history, and community only, for me, in a secondary role. I love them; that is enough.

(With thanks to Jason for his incomparable reporting on issues of interest to Pagans.)

Brigid in Cyberspace

Deborah Oak put out the call; Reya Mellicker started the trad: poetry 'round the Pagan 'net for Imbolc.

Two from Mawlana, Rumi:

I.

Come, come, whoever you are!
This caravan is not of despair.

Even though you have broken your vows
perhaps ten thousand times.

Come again, come!
This caravan has no despair.
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving,
Come.

II.

Keep walking, though there is no place to get to.
Don't try to see through
the distances.
That's not for
human beings.

Move within.
But don't move the way fear
makes you move.

Today, like every other day,
we wake up empty
and frightened.
Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading.
Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

Merry Imbolc

This is the invitation I sent out by email today:

Dear friends - You are warmly invited to join Adonis and me for our somewhat-annual Imbolc gathering, Saturday evening at 7:30 at our house. Imbolc (also called Brigid, St. Brigit's Day, or Candlemas) is the Pagan midwinter holiday celebrating fire, poetry, inspiration, creativity, smithcraft, lambing, the hearth, the sacred well, etc. We'll have food and drink and a fire in the fireplace. Please bring a poem to read aloud. (For those who haven't attended before, we won't force you to read aloud, but I promise that it's more fun than it may sound.)

Partners and children most welcome.

In the past we've had poems read by adults and children, by published poets and rank amateurs like me, in Yiddish, Russian, and Icelandic. The first year, I asked people also to come dressed as poets, however they might interpret that request. There were black turtlenecks and berets, flowing peasant shirts and beads, and I can't remember what else; one guest came dressed as Percy Shelley, complete with a copy of Godwin's Enquiry Concerning Human Justice tucked under her arm and seaweed wrapped around her torso (Shelly drowned before he could turn 30).

Since this is also a day for making pledges, I've been thinking and writing about intentions for the next year and a day. Events of the last week have shown me clearly how much I want a house of my own and to adopt more pit bulls. I've also been meditating on this passage from Barbara Brennan's Hands of Light.

What is your thirst? What is your longing? Whatever it is, it will carry you to what you need to do next to accomplish your work, even if you don't know what that work is yet. When a thing is easily presented to you, and it sounds wonderful to you and a great deal of fun, by all means do it. That is guidance. Let yourself flow free with the dance of your life.

Or, as a wise person once said, The things that make us happy make us wise.

Blessings of heat and inspiration on this sacred day.

Art projects of the zodiac

Lunaea has a fun post about what kinds of art projects might appeal to different astrological (sun) signs. This is what she has to say about my sign, Pisces:

Pisces is the dreamer of the zodiac, and all things mystical and visionary appeal to her: mermaids, faeries, fantastic underwater castles, secret gardens. Watercolor is a natural medium, with its fluidity and soft misty colors. Pisces dreams are rich with symbolism, so an obvious project for Pisces is to create a special dream journal. Start with a pre-made journal or create your own hand-bound book. Decorate the cover with dreamy imagery, and use watercolors to do a light wash of colors over the inside pages. When it’s time to record your dreams, use a combination of words and pictures (drawn or collage). This dream-filled journal will inspire you to further works of art as well. Other art themes to whet the Piscean appetite include religion, seashells, the Pre-Raphaelites, chalices, and poetry.

Well, who doesn't like mermaids?

Backward, forwards

("As Dreams Take Flight" by Beth Budesheim)

Last year was extraordinary. In my healing work, I had two important initiations, graduated from the mystery school, and spent three weeks in Turkey as part of an accelerated course. In the fall, I began working with two "healees" - that is, I began my work as an apprentice healer. In my own body, last January and February, I was pregnant and had an early miscarriage; in the initiations and in Turkey, my body began to change at a cellular level; after Lugh died, my menstrual cycles became irregular. Lugh, my sweet beloved dog, died unexpectedly in October, and thus began my journey of grief. In less than two years with me he brought me enormous gifts, and he continues to do so. In December, barely five years after her first diagnosis, my younger sister learned that breast cancer has returned to her body. She is following both conventional and complementary therapies, and I added a third "healee" to my healing work.

I'm a little tired.

But I've been dancing, and having lots of sex, doing some simple work with herbs, recommitting to my yoga practice, sitting in front of the fire, walking dogs at the shelter, spending more time with friends, cooking, reading, and keeping a healing journal. I'm still working full time in the book biz. Adonis and I are beginning to look at houses, hoping to buy one before the summer. I want a garden, and a proper compost pile, and a nice fenced-in yard for at least two dogs. In June, at the summer solstice, I receive my ordination, and I begin to look ahead to the next steps on my healing journey.

Blessings for this new year.

Paganism and color

(Painting by Kazuya Akimoto)


Yvonne Aburrow has a fine article about the uses of color in Paganism. It's a nice primer on Pagan religions: their variety, mythology, symbolism, and holy days. I contributed some ideas for the article, about the importance of the color black for Wiccans. My own ideas about this were shaped by the work of Audre Lorde. Thanks, Yvonne!

Turkey feather

I started volunteering at the SPCA two weeks ago. I do it to honor Lugh. I go there once or twice a week and spend a couple of hours walking dogs, loving them up, and doing some basic training with them.

This afternoon I was traipsing around in the fields behind the building, walking with an Alaskan Husky. She stopped to sniff, I looked down at my feet, and there was a wild turkey feather. I never noticed before how they're brindle-colored.

Lugh's still looking out for me.

In the presence of Santa Muerte

(The painting is "La Ofrenda" by Patrick Murillo, found at Adorn)













I remember that when all is said and done...there remains the moss-covered, secret shining truth...of Samhain in the core of my heart, and within that truth is the fact that this season has always held something precious, gorgeous and mysterious for me, since before I had a name for it. And I have always felt that the veneration of my ancestors is crucial to the practice of my spiritual being. And I am ever in awe of the power of Death. And I am ever grateful for the outstanding and overwhelming explosion of Life that comes through and between and in spite of and because of Death....

My people [have] a theology, books of rituals/practices/meditations, beautiful stories, a veneration and a deep abiding love, all centered around this gorgeous, delicious time of year.

~ Sara Sutterfield Winn

I've been feeling deep appreciation for my Wiccan faith in the weeks since Lugh died. It has provided me with sustenance and comfort. I know that death is but one phase in an ever-revolving cycle, that Lugh's soul is on a journey, that he chose to incarnate in that sweet body and to live as he did because he had his soul's work to do, and because incarnation provides its own teachings, as well as the delicious joys and pleasures of living in a body. When it was time for him to leave, he did. Adonis says that Lugh always knew exactly what he wanted and what he had to do. He lived wholeheartedly, always in the present, without fear or hesitation. He lived in joy.

My faith teaches that death is normal and not to be feared, though of course we grieve and mourn and remember our dead. These things, too, are part of the cycles. My faith teaches that every winter is followed by spring, every death by rebirth. I don't feign to understand that in any rational way, but I know it. My faith teaches that there is great beauty in death, that there are blessings and gifts, even here. The dark is a place of comfort, of gestation and regeneration. The earth and her creatures turn inward in this season, but we will emerge anew in the spring. We take heart in the turning of the wheel ever onward.

For Lugh

(Samhain altar, 2007)

Two years ago this weekend, we held a Samhain ritual at our home, and when we invoked our dead, nearly everyone called upon a beloved dog who had passed beyond the veil. The next day, on an impulse visit to the SPCA, we met our beloved Lugh, a brindle pitt-mix puppy who we knew, immediately, was ours. He joined our family that weekend, and we began to learn the very special love that is dog-love. We came to believe that Lugh was a guardian spirit who had manifested in our lives at that time, in that doggy body, to see us both through the challenging months ahead, to teach us and love us.

One month ago, to our great shock and sadness, Lugh decided it was time to move on from this earthly life. He was only two years old. It was such a clear and decisive move on his part. The signs snapped into focus the moment he was gone.

On his morning walk with David, on his last day, there was a great blue heron in the creek outside our house. We live downtown, and that's an unusual sight. She caught Lugh's attention; he turned his head to stare after her as she flew away. Heron is a spirit messenger, a guardian who stands at the gateway of life and death.

That afternoon, the three of us hiked with a friend and another dog. We were startled by a flush of wild turkeys taking off into the air, so taken with surprise that we didn't see Lugh cross the path and dart after them, down a steep, brush-filled incline, into rush hour traffic. The other dog ran back and forth at the path's edge, as if there were a barrier stopping him from following. Wild turkeys, according to Indian lore in the southwestern United States, guide spirits between this world and the next.

We didn't see Lugh run after the turkeys, but when we heard the sickening sound of a truck striking him, David tore down the hill. I sent our friend back for the car, and I stumbled down after David. By the time I reached the side of the road, David was holding him. There was hardly a mark on his body, but one look in his eyes, and I knew he'd followed those damn turkeys right up into the sky. His heart beat perhaps a minute more, and his breath was warm. Then they both stopped. We held him and petted him. I sang to him as I always did to comfort him. We told him that it was okay to leave, that we wished him safe passage, that we loved him very, very much.

These are the blessings in the moment of death, that we could both be with him, that he didn't suffer.

He was my spiritual teacher and dear friend. I believe that he is with me still, here right next to me on the couch as he used to be, in the world of spirit that is so close we can almost touch it, especially at this time of year. But I miss his earthly form so very, very much.

Sweet Lugh, your powerful spirit touched so many people and dogs during your short time with us. We love you. We miss you. We know you still, and always.

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

(Raymond Carver, "Last Fragment")

Happy Halloween!

Perhaps not every Witch was once a child who loved Halloween the best among all holidays, but I bet I'm not the only one.

ETA: Indeed, I'm not.