Quaker Pagan Reflections

Many years ago, a goddess at a spinning wheel sat me on her lap and nested my hands within her own. This did not happen during my waking life, but during a trance journey inspired by a a powerful dream; a goddess whose name I do not know placed the thread she had been spinning into my hand, and showed me how to spin. Now, when a spinning goddess places her thread into your hands, you don’t have to be a specialist in mythology to begin thinking of possible layers of meaning. This happened in the years that I was a coven leader and a teacher of Wicca, and it seems clear that part of what I was being guided to do was to learn to take the threads of others’ lives into my hands, and to work with them with skill. Twenty years later, I hope I lived up to the work that I was given. But it’s not the obvious, symbolic meaning of that vision I am thinking about today. In fact, as I look back, it’s the physical aspects of that journey that strike me most. It seems to me now...

I have a taste for gods and for cilantro. So I was struck by a conversation David Dashifen Kees started recently. “Some people are colorblind,” he wrote. “Can people be god blind? I.e. Unable to see some or all types of deity? Discuss.” I think Kees is onto something here. It seems to me that there are some real and profound differences hard-wired into us around how (and whether) we see Spirit in the world, and maybe whether we care to look into the subject at all. Setting aside thoughts on how lots of people seem to substitute a blind adherence to a creed, and wave allegiance to it like a flag of loyalty, I think there are real differences in how humans are drawn to religious experience or not–and, among those who are drawn to the spiritual encounter, how we perceive it. With the exception of those who would turn Mystery into an excuse for a tribal loyalty test, I don’t think these differences are moral in nature. It seems as though they simply are . I’m someon...

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a Christian. Like many Pagans–like many Quakers–I have an intense Bible allergy.  That book has been used as a blunt instrument to bludgeon human beings out of their own consciences for far too long, and no member of my society has escaped their share of blows, I think. However, unlike many Pagans, and unlike many Quakers, I have friends who have been able to share with me glimpses of another Bible, a different book, which actually has been a light for them as they’ve done some extraordinary and humane things.  Their Bible is not a blunt instrument, and is only ever understood in the “Spirit that sent it forth.”  I have learned that it can be worthwhile to challenge myself and my personal Bible allergy by listening to their Bible, when they speak from it, and even attempting to read in it myself, in that same Spirit. “I hate the Bible,” I have said. “Begin with the prophets,” one of my friends replied.  And sin...

I am running an experiment in perfection, and yesterday, I had a perfect day. I worked in the garden.  Cabbage moths have infested the pac choi. The tomato supports are failing, and their branches trail the ground. I drank coffee, read a book and tried to meditate in the sun. I was sleepy, and the coffee had gone cold. I stretched, and walked down to the end of the lawn to salute the gods at our outdoor altar.  I felt the life in my connection to my gods again. I bowed to them and said hello.  The icons on our altar are different heights, and do not look like gods. Anyone but me would probably think that they are absurd. I made lunch from vegetables I’d grown in our own garden. The mustard greens are getting old, and the salad was slightly bitter because of them. In the afternoon, I walked to the beach, a beach chair strapped to my back. It was good to feel my muscles working, and it was good to feel the water against my skin. Ugly pollen floated on the...

There’s an experience known to many meditators, sometimes known as the Here I Am Wasn’t I? experience.  The idea is this: you are sitting diligently, meditating away, and just for a moment, you experience a flash of that simple, actual conscious presence that is the goal of your meditation.  You notice that you are simply and fully aware of the present moment, and then BAM! almost immediately, your awareness shifts to noticing how present and aware you are and just like that, you’re no longer meditating, you’re meta-tating, and you’ve lost exactly that present awareness you are now celebrating.  “Here I Am Wasn’t I!” There is something very much akin to that in all spiritual work, and certainly in the kind of Quaker work called ministry.  The whole point of ministry–perhaps of Quaker life in general–is to learn to be aware of and faithful to the promptings of Spirit in our lives.  Meeting for worship is practice in listening for the small, sti...

This past week, I got to share my spiritual journey with my Quaker meeting. I’ve shared a written version of my journey before, here , at Quaker Pagan Reflections.  However, I’ve never attempted to describe my religious path in person before.  It took me a little while to figure out how I needed to approach it. My invitation was one in a series of talks at Mt. Toby Meeting, and on the one hand, there was nothing unusual about it.  On the other hand, it seemed to me that sharing the story of how I have experienced the movement of Spirit in my life is a form of ministry… and I’m committed to the Friends’ idea that even a prepared message needs to rise from a spiritual prompting. “Ministry” in a Quaker context is usually taken to mean vocal ministry: the messages given out of the silence of expectant waiting that forms the heart of a Quaker meeting.  The idea is not unlike the Wiccan practice of Drawing Down the Moon, though it differs dramatically tha...

Over at The Wild Hunt , Jason Pitzl-Waters has just posted his coverage of new revelations   regarding Marion Zimmer Bradley and child sexual abuse. When the story broke this spring of Kenny Klein’s arrest for child pornography, I felt a powerful need to speak to that story, and to share what I could of the professional expertise I’d gained as a therapist working with survivors of childhood sexual abuse.  I was grateful that Jason gave me a platform for sharing that work, and that so many people read it and understood it. I’m not writing from that perspective today.  Today, I’m granting myself the luxury of responding just as myself, for myself, as the human being who carries the memories of doing the work that I did ten years ago. What follows… is about me.  This is what I feel today. I feel sad.  Of course I do. I’m saddened, not so much because of the place Bradley has had in so many Pagan hearts as because it is simply one more story of ...