There are things I have wanted to say to you for a long time. I was waiting until I could approach you without anger, without accusation. But poetry is truth and the truth is: I’m angry. And how do I speak of what’s been done, wrongly, without accusation being the underpinning?
I tell of three times that I witnessed your communities claim to speak for the sacred.
Time 1: A cold night, a warm fire. We were told the sacred asked us to brave the cold go into the trees and listen for their voices. I did. After some time my legs felt needles and I struggled to hear the voice of the sacred beyond pain. When I heard the drumbeat that called me back, I saw the young ones, the dancing ones, had remained sitting by the warmth of the fire all along.
Time 2: A dark night in October: clouds, no moon, and the smell of coming rain. The ritual space is down a dark path, with piles of deadfall, and the ritual planners, noticing the needs of an aging community, switch the ritual space to be indoors and are met with fury from the organizers that the sacred is being so insulted. (from ten years ahead, I send this blessing: Thank you, ritual planners)
Time 3: I am being led down a path toward the drumming circle. I have just begun my relationship with the Fae. The kind person leading me is telling me to hurry and no, I can’t turn on my flashlight to see where I’m going because the Fae don’t like the light.
Years gone by now, I don’t come to your communities any more. You ask more of me than I’m able to give in so many ways. But more than that – I’m no longer willing to have you define the sacred in ways that mirror your ableist shit. I have pulled away from the human. In my work now the Fae tell me “We need you among the living for a while longer, sisal. Shine the light if you need to. And if you need to, rest. We will hold the portal. You are always with us in spirit.”
I believe my communities need me too but their actions, their choices tell me they believe otherwise. So for my own sustainability I’ve left you like so many of us have left you because your claims of “inclusivity” don’t include us. And because When you ritualize ableism, you are not my priestess. When you ritualize ableism, you are not my community. You do not speak for the ancestors. You do not speak for the Fae. When you ritualize ableism You mirror who you are. It is not who they are. It is not who they are. It is not who they are.
Ten years ago I made the choice to end a relationship, knowing if I did it would break my heart and if I didn’t I’d lose my sanity. I chose sanity. For years afterward, I dreamed about that relationship. In the first year after I ended it there were times I had to pull my car over to the side of the road because I was hurting too much to drive.
A few months after that ending I was invited to teach a weekend course at a metaphysical bookstore in Chicago. The work I was teaching was related to the work I’d done in the relationship, in partnership, and teaching it on my own for the first time was both painful and freeing. On breaks from the class a handmade rattle on a shelf kept calling to me. There was no reason for me to buy it. It was expensive, and it had nothing to do with my own spiritual path. But something about the rattle reaching out to me said “turn the corner now,” so I bought it, and, not knowing what to do with it, left it to linger on a shelf in my office.
fast forward nine years … to me moving into a house that had a front gate opening from the waking world and a back gate into the other world, and a cobbled path between the two gates that let the energies flow right through. I felt those energies when I first stepped up to the house, and it, too, called me right away as a place where I could easily pass between, daily.
Some months later in a trance in a Reclaiming ritual, it came to me that the energies moving through those gates weren’t just my energies; other energies seeking movement from one side to the other were moving out and through. I realized I felt called to priestex that movement, and help keep the portal open for whoever and whatever needed passage. A few days after that, I noticed the rattle on my shelf and realized my purchase in the metaphysical store ten years before had been about opening the way. It had been about this time, this portal, this work. It had been waiting, as I had.
It is one of the gifts of being a witch that all my peculiar passions do, in time, click into place with each other and I get it. I finally get what the spirits have been trying to show me.
So now, when I go to the gates and open them, sing to them and shake the bones – when I call to those who need portal and passage, and call on those who will help me hold the portal open – when I feel spirits stepping in to move things across the veil and back again, for reasons I don’t even know – I remember what led me here. That relationship, for example. Had I stayed in it, I’d never have gotten to this place, and I like this place very much. I remember buying that rattle in Chicago, and the feeling that something wished me well and wished me comfort, and would reveal its own plans in time, as it has. I remember walking into this house and thinking it was a passage for me from one side of the veil to the other. I remember realizing in that Reclaiming trance that this portal wasn’t just for me.
balance, trust, and love And I know, finally, that I was right in choosing sanity over love, and right to say: yes, I have expectations around my relationships. They have to be balanced, and grounded in trust and love. If, for you, those expectations are too high, that’s a reliable indication that this relationship won’t bring either of us happiness. Balance, trust, and love – those requirements are still true of the few close relationships I engage with on this side of the veil, and the many I engage with on the other.
Sometimes a wild god comes to the table …. And he brings a relationship I never knew I wanted or needed. A way to do my work in the world. An offer, late in my life, for a new mentor and guide. And a gentleness that I did not expect at all. Hail and welcome, wild god. The wildness in you calls to the wildness in me, and both are welcome.
Many thanks to Yarrow for the trance. Information about Reclaiming can be found at https://reclaimingcollective.wordpress.com/.
Acknowledgement to Tom Hirons, author of the poem “Sometimes a Wild God” Sometimes a wild god comes to the table. He is awkward and does not know the ways Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver. His voice makes vinegar from wine. When the wild god arrives at the door, You will probably fear him. He reminds you of something dark That you might have dreamt, Or the secret you do not wish to be shared. He will not ring the doorbell; Instead he scrapes with his fingers Leaving blood on the paintwork, Though primroses grow In circles round his feet. You do not want to let him in. You are very busy. It is late, or early, and besides… You cannot look at him straight Because he makes you want to cry. The dog barks. The wild god smiles, Holds out his hand. The dog licks his wounds And leads him inside. The wild god stands in your kitchen. Ivy is taking over your sideboard; Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades And wrens have begun to sing An old song in the mouth of your kettle. ‘I haven’t much,’ you say And give him the worst of your food. He sits at the table, bleeding. He coughs up foxes. There are otters in his eyes. When your wife calls down, You close the door and Tell her it’s fine. You will not let her see The strange guest at your table. The wild god asks for whiskey And you pour a glass for him, Then a glass for yourself. Three snakes are beginning to nest In your voicebox. You cough. Oh, limitless space. Oh, eternal mystery. Oh, endless cycles of death and birth. Oh, miracle of life. Oh, the wondrous dance of it all. You cough again, Expectorate the snakes and Water down the whiskey, Wondering how you got so old And where your passion went. The wild god reaches into a bag Made of moles and nightingale-skin. He pulls out a two-reeded pipe, Raises an eyebrow And all the birds begin to sing. The fox leaps into your eyes. Otters rush from the darkness. The snakes pour through your body. Your dog howls and upstairs Your wife both exults and weeps at once. The wild god dances with your dog. You dance with the sparrows. A white stag pulls up a stool And bellows hymns to enchantments. A pelican leaps from chair to chair. In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs. Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields. Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs. The hills echo and the grey stones ring With laughter and madness and pain. In the middle of the dance, The house takes off from the ground. Clouds climb through the windows; Lightning pounds its fists on the table. The moon leans in through the window. The wild god points to your side. You are bleeding heavily. You have been bleeding for a long time, Possibly since you were born. There is a bear in the wound. ‘Why did you leave me to die?’ Asks the wild god and you say: ‘I was busy surviving. The shops were all closed; I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’ Listen to them: The fox in your neck and The snakes in your arms and The wren and the sparrow and the deer… The great un-nameable beasts In your liver and your kidneys and your heart… There is a symphony of howling. A cacophony of dissent. The wild god nods his head and You wake on the floor holding a knife, A bottle and a handful of black fur. Your dog is asleep on the table. Your wife is stirring, far above. Your cheeks are wet with tears; Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting. A black bear is sitting by the fire. Sometimes a wild god comes to the table. He is awkward and does not know the ways Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver. His voice makes vinegar from wine And brings the dead to life.
Tom’s book, Sometimes a Wild God, which contains this and many other examples of his work, is available at http://shop.hedgespoken.org/products/sometimes-a-wild-god
For the past two years, I’ve offered a death ritual I created with Sayre, every Friday. Every Friday for two years, I’ve sent the virtual link to others who will come to do their own work with the dead in this ritual. I’ve gone out to my sacred area outside and invited the dead, the spirits, the fae, and told them they are welcome here on this night, and welcome to support this work. The intention is: We gather together, in the web of the living, to honor death in the world; and to facilitate a space where the unsettled dead can meet with ancestral guides, and move toward the next phase of their journey.
I think Sayre and I wrote this ritual by instinct, by putting ourselves in the place of those who have died and can’t find their way. The ritual was written by the living – what we the living are, what we’re working for in this ritual, with protections and affirmations in it that keep us anchored to the side of the living. It’s unfolded for two years, and here is what I know now that I didn’t know when we designed it.
I am alive, and my living presence is part of what helps the dead understand that they are dead. For myself, I wanted to do this ritual because I had a beloved who was intubated, some years ago. He said it was like a bad acid trip. He was partly conscious, partly not, he thought at times he must be losing his mind. I imagined what it must be like for those who died intubated to be so confused. I imagined they might not know where to go, how to transition.
I also imagined them dying alone – unhonored, unloved. The ritual offers them, and others of the unsettled dead, love and honor.
I am alive – I have realized that, for them, I am just a contrast. They come. They look at me and think – something’s wrong, something’s changed – I was that, and I’m not that any longer. What am I, then? In the ritual, we invite Earth to come and we ask Earth to take the bodies of the dead, to help them surrender their bodies to a loving presence. We invite the settled dead to come – whoever they might be – to offer to help the unsettled dead find their way. In my own experience of this work, the fae commune with some of the dead to connect with the human connection to the land. The fae tell me they need that – it was something I hadn’t anticipated when we first wrote this ritual, but one night, calling the dead, I looked up and the fae were just there, and they’ve come every Friday since.
Very little of this ritual has to do with those of us who are living. We just kind of call in the pieces. Once the settled dead arrive, they know what to do, and we, the living, step back so they can do it.
My ancestors come. My aunt Bonnie Bea, who died at nine years old, comes. She was unable to be my ally in life, but she is in death. My brother comes. He is still healing; seeing him there helps heal me. My grandparents, my father, my uncle whom I never knew – they come. Those I didn’t know, I can know now. Those I knew, I take such joy in seeing again.
And my ancestors from so far back. They come across the badlands, they gather at my back. Their support continues to unfold for me, in this ritual as elsewhere.
Many of the unsettled dead cross. They see someone they loved, a family member or a pet, and they have something to move toward, and they move toward it. Some choose not to cross, at least not on this night. They and their choices are honored as well.
We the living sing, we drum, someone plays a harp. In a silent, separate space, each of us does whatever we are called to do to support the dead crossing. Sometimes I drum. Sometimes I join the fae and take the memories of the land that the dead hold. Sometimes I sing to the dead. On nights when I need to honor that I’m 70 and may be empty of energy, I am just still.
And they cross, and I am aware – they are no longer alive. But I am. I will tell you, the hardest part of this ritual, for me, is returning when it is over. I remind myself: they need me to be alive, to be committed to the living world. So, sometimes reluctantly, at the end I ground back on to this side of the veil and remind myself and those who have come: We are alive, as the earth is alive. And life is precious. Life is ours. Breathe in the breath of life, a life-affirming breath –
It is Friday evening, now. In a bit, I’ll go into the wild outside and invite the dead to come, and also invite those who choose to come and support – the living, the fae, the earth spirits, the ancestors. My own living self. I’ll anoint with vetiver. I’ll ready a candle to light the way for the dead. I will honor them, and the living who join this ritual, and the ancestors. Thirty minutes – every Friday for two years. I am a witch, and for me, this is work I am honored to do.
My deep appreciation and love to those who have joined in this work, devotedly, for two years. I suspect what you find in it is and is not what I have found, and in that lies the magic.
If you are interested in attending this ritual you would be most welcome. It is come and go – attend once, or more often, whenever it is right for you, at 7:30 CT each Friday. Message me with your email and I’ll add you to the link distribution list.
Last night I held a baby in my arms for the first time in over a year. June is my great nephew, and is barely a year old. He had learned the gesture for “moon” in sign language and he was making a crescent moon with his thumb and index finger, and looking up at the sky for the Snow Moon.
His parents were getting ready to leave after a visit with us outdoors on a Sunday afternoon and evening. I had led June away so his parents could pack his things. He was moving across the driveway when he stumbled, and without thinking, I bent to catch him and picked him up.
It was a moment of unbelievable, unexpected sweetness. The spring-like evening, the moon, and him in my arms. In a rush, everything I’ve given up over the last year came over me. I know, from my childhood, how to push aside the sorrow of what I cannot change. In this past year of isolating from friends, seldom leaving the house, knowing hugs only from my partner (and knowing I was lucky to know hugs in any way at all) there was little I could do to change anything, so I just kept on keeping on.
In this year of isolation my garden has flourished – it’s never gotten this much attention. My spiritual life shifted, moving from community work to rich personal work. Relationships that were dragging me backwards blessedly faded without personal contact to sustain them. I have a much deeper appreciation for solitude, quiet and peace.
And holding him, it rushed over me that I’d have given up all those gains for just this – to hold a chubby toddler in my arms and watch him gaze up into the sky. I thought he’d be upset when his mother and father moved out of sight to load the car, but he just settled in, and the feeling of his body cuddled into mine stayed with me in my dreams and on my waking next morning.
Was it wise to pick him up and hold him? No. If I’d thought about it, I probably wouldn’t have let myself. I had my first vaccine just last week, and my date of “freedom” will be April 17th, still almost eight weeks away. But June stumbled and was about to face plant on the concrete, and without thinking, I scooped him up.
Because me catching him was about survival too – about protecting the young. And an affirmation of myself, a human being drawn to protect, and hold, and breathe in sweetness when I’m lucky enough to find it. This last year has held so little sweetness, and as I held him it almost overwhelmed me that I hadn’t let myself know how bereft I was, without that sweetness to inform my life.
I’ve given myself a stern talking to – no more risks like that until April 17th. And I plan to keep that resolution, at the same time I hold close to myself, again and again and again, how grateful I am to have held June in my arms.
Last year I stepped away from community and leadership. The reasons are many – some are of this world and some are of the other. I’ve done community work for so long that I really couldn’t envision who I would be without it. An assignment in a Rites of Passage class asked that I write my life story as a myth, and in doing that I found what sustains me in this new phase of my life and my work.
The Shapeshifter’s Daughter by sisal
Once upon a time, in the land of the living, there was a blacksmith and his wife who had three daughters and a son. The family’s oldest daughter was clever; she could see into people’s hearts and shift her shape to become what they most desired.
But she resented her brother and sisters terribly. Her jealousy took her to dark places, and she became a shaper of shadows. One night her resentment overcame her and she killed her sisters and her brother, and ate them to hide what she’d done. Afterward she threw their bones into the fire of her father’s forge to turn the bones into ash.
The couple mourned, and searched for their children in vain. And the grandmother came to the shapeshifting girl and said, “I know what you’ve done, and there’s no undoing it. But you have pulled the world out of balance with your shadows and your lies, and that balance must be restored. So you will give birth to a child of fire, with a tongue that cannot lie. And mind you – if she dies, your life will be forfeit.”
In time a daughter was born to the shapeshifter, and the grandmother came to tend her, and she named the child El.
Most believe what hides in the shadows is there for a reason, and best left unseen. But El was always shining light into the shadows in spite of her best intentions, and speaking truth to what she found there. “It makes my mother angry,” she told her grandmother, and the old woman nodded.
“It’s who you are,” the grandmother said, “and there’s no help for it. Asking you to hide what you are would be like asking the fire to wear a scarf.”
So El took to wandering to escape her mother’s wrath, for she knew well what her mother was capable of. But she was lonely, until one day as she walked through the woods she found herself joined by three companions – two girls, and a boy.
“Help us, El,” the oldest girl said, “for we cannot rest.”
El knew she should be afraid, but somehow she was not. And she was so lonely, and found herself glad of their company. The three gathered around her, and held out their hands to her as though to warm them. “What is it you need of me?” El asked.
“Remember me,” said the oldest girl.
“Forgive me,” said the boy.
“Love me,” said the youngest girl.
And so El did. After that, the children joined her often, and El did not feel so alone.
One day El angered her mother terribly, and her mother drew her hand back to strike El. But El had grown old enough to know anger herself, and before her mother could strike her, El’s anger flamed and lit up the room, corner to corner. There in one corner were the shadows of her mother’s brother and sisters, and El recognized them as the children in the woods.
Her mother shrieked in fury and El ran, ran into the woods, but she knew she wasn’t fast enough, and she felt her mother’s breath on her neck, cold and musty. Suddenly the ground opened at El’s feet, and without a thought she threw herself into the darkness. She tumbled, but then regained her feet and began running, down and down, until she could no longer feel her mother behind her. Down into the earth she walked for hours or days, until she came to the fields of the dead. Then the three children walked toward her, and as they did, a thousand spirits materialized around them.
“Warm us, El,” said her Aunt.
So El built a fire big enough to chase the shadows away and warm all who came. She set out tea, and cakes that were stamped with the rune of fire. And the dead came and found comfort, and they said: Remember us. Forgive us. Love us.
Please feel free to use this ritual outline and tweak if you like By Sayre and sisalfierce Note: if you have questions feel free to respond on the blog and Sayre will get back to you
Setup: send out link to the ritual. Ask people to arrive on time, and close the room 5 minutes after the ritual begins. Ask them to turn off phones, and to mute when they aren’t speaking. Have your image of a candle or the chant ready to drop in when you share screen. Set up others to take invocations, chant or whatever else you’d like others to do.
Facilitators say why they are offering this ritual
Intention: “We gather together in the web of the living to honor death in the world and to facilitate a space where recently dead can meet with ancestral guides and move toward the next phase of their journey. “
Grounding: On a breath, go within – and notice what is yours and what is not. If you are holding the fears of others now – if you are holding the fears of our ancestors who lived through famine and pestilence – let those feelings that are not yours leave you – on a long outbreath.
Weaving a Web of Connection (an online approach to casting a circle): Ask attendees to switch between looking at the camera, and looking into the eyes of those on the screen. As they are ready, each is invited to say: “I am (name here). I belong to this web of the living. I am choosing to witness and honor the dead.”Facilitator ends with: “And so the web is woven”
Elements: The web of the living that we are part of is supported by (element). (Element) is here – I feel it in (say how the element is present). (Element) is sacred.” For Air, Fire, Water, Earth
“For spirit, now we light our candles – knowing that any kind of flame shines across the veils, into the other realms and can be a beacon. And we say to the dead: Come to the light, come to the sound of the drum.” All light candles
Call Ancestors: “We invite the ancestors, the settled dead, those that have crossed over and now make their homes in the realms of the dead. Those who are willing to guide the recently dead to their new homes, across the veils. Ancestors, thank you for being present, for supporting us in our continued living, and for being willing and available to escort the recently dead. It is good to see you- hail and welcome.
Call Recently Deceased: “We call to those who have died recently and who may not have yet crossed over into the realms of the dead. We call to those who have died and may not know the next step in their journey away from life.”
Witness the Dead for the Week: Each in our own space (on mute) are asked to name any who have died this week that you wish to honor. (give it about a half minute) All are invited to repeat after the facilitator: “Their hearts were beating – now they have ceased .” “Their course has run, their rhythm is done.” “Death has claimed them.”
Give a long pause here, to let awareness of death and the spaces created by deaths sink in and be acknowledged. “Let us take a space of time to acknowledge the dead.”
“Bright spirits, known and unknown, whose time amongst the living has ended, we mark your passing. If you have arrived here, you have died. Your pain has ended. You are done with heartache and can let your burdens go. You ride on swift winds and embrace the stars. ….. Your time of crossing has come – when you are ready … when you are ready …. When you are ready …..
The Meetup: “When you are ready – Ancestors are here to guide you. Your lives mattered. Your life was sacred. Your death is sacred. When you are ready, take the hand that’s offered to you and move toward the light, and begin the next step of your journey. We wish you well.”
Now those attending do the work of holding space for the dead who are crossing. Attendees may echo the call and response chant, or drum, or move – they will do this work in their own way. We suggest you put an image of a candle or some other image up on the screen, and everyone turn off their video as attendees have said they feel freer to do this work without being on-screen; or you may wish to put up the words to the chant. Hold energy by drumming/singing or as you wish. Below is a chant written for this ritual; sing the chant as long as feels right, but at least 5 minutes.
The chant is a call and response chant in ¾ time. Here is a link to the chant, and the words follow: http://www.mediafire.com/file/ne2meh3gxw2gz0y/Chant_for_the_Dead_by_sisalfierce.mp3/file
Chant to Honor the Dead by sisalfierce Come, if you’re willing, oh mighty dead Take the hand of one who can’t find their way What is remembered lives In love may you return
Come, if you’re seeking, oh spirits lost Take the hand of one who will show the way What is remembered lives In love may you return
Come, come, into the light Come to the voices, the sound of the drum Bright beings, known and unknown We honor your death, and your crossing
Send the dead on their way and clear the space: “We the living celebrate your having lived. We the living honor your deaths, we the living mark your crossing. What is remembered lives, we the living can remember and honor you without holding you in our lives. Remembering is enough. Thank you for joining this gathering. Go in peace.
Thank the ancestral dead who came to guide: “Ancestral dead, there is joy in being with you again. Thank you for your presence here this night. Hail and farewell.”
Unlight Candles: “Now we extinguish our candles/flames/lights and we say goodnight to this spirit fire, these lights that have been willing to light the way for the dead on their journey and for the living to honor the dead as they cross. And those dead not ready to cross over – though the lights go out, whenever it is your time to cross the veils, know that the light always shines for you, and a guide is available if you ask. Spirit is sacred, thank you for joining this gathering, go in peace.”
Devoke: “Thank you (Earth, then Water, Fire, Air). (Earth, then Water, Fire Air) is sacred. Hail and Farewell.”
“To this shimmering web of the living that has connected us and held us in this working thank you. May this web of the living remain so that the living may thrive and honor the dead with their continued lives. Each saying when you are ready: “I am (name) and my place is with the living, I am choosing to live.’ “
“And while this web remains, let our focus widen out to include all of the living. May our awareness of and connection to this web nourish and inspire us as we take the next steps in our lives. So mote it be.”
“Now ground back onto this side of the veil, this life – dust yourself down, touching your shoulders, head, legs and arms. Pat your edges. Say your name three times. We are alive, as the earth is alive. Life – is precious. Life is ours. If you will, take a breath – a breath that connects you to life.”
“Thank you to you all, merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again!”
Many thanks to Suzanne for the messages from the dead telling us what they need to hear.
About two years ago I realized I was losing my enthusiasm for ritual. I’ve been a ritualist for 25 years – I told myself it was probably burnout, both with my work and with struggles within my communities. But what I began noticing was that the Reclaiming rituals I attended felt disconnected from the work the communities were doing, and from the reality of the world around me. In songs that celebrated us and empowered us, and in the energy raising, in particular, I began to feel the rituals were working against the community’s focus on offsetting oppressive structures.
A few weeks ago, I was working with Juniper Lauren and Sayre to brainstorm an offering on ritual arc, and I had a dream in which I kept hearing the words: “Joseph Campbell was wrong.” In the dream, I understood that statement was in reference to the Path of the Hero (POTH), and I was intrigued (very), but it was 1:00 in the morning. I went back to sleep, and the seeds of that statement kept unfolding as I slept, and I kept waking up with more and more of the meaning and the pattern until I finally just got up and started writing it down.
An Overview Let me say at this point – the Hero’s Journey can take many forms, and I don’t believe the traditional Path of the Hero is always necessarily the wrong pattern for ritual. But for rituals working with dismantling oppressive structures versus those rituals that focus on personal growth, I think the traditional Path of the Hero – which, in my experience, is generally the path Reclaiming rituals have followed – works against the intent to “heal the wounds of the earth and her peoples,” as the Reclaiming Principles of Unity (POU) puts it.
When, in ritual, we descend to meet the monster, the POTH challenge is to believe in our power, our strength; while with the work dismantling oppressive structures, our challenge is to be willing to face our own shortcomings and be accountable for them.
I think the dissonance I’ve been experiencing is because the POTH ritual pattern affirms the very structures we’re seeking to dismantle. What we’re putting at the center of the ritual – generally ourselves – doesn’t reflect our values.
If you’re still reading, here’s a breakdown.
The Path of the Hero The Path of the Hero, or Hero’s Journey, is one of departure, fulfillment and return, according to Campbell. Here’s how Campbell describes it, in his interviews with Bill Moyer:
“The first stage in the hero adventure, when he starts off on adventure, is leaving the realm of light, which he controls and knows about. and moving toward the threshold. And it’s at the threshold that the monster of the abyss comes to meet him. And then there are two or three results: one, the hero is cut to pieces and descends into the abyss in fragments, to be resurrected; or he may kill the dragon power, as Siegfried does when he kills the dragon. But then he tastes the dragon blood, that is to say, he has to assimilate that power. And when Siegfried has killed the dragon and tasted the blood, he hears the song of nature; he has transcended his humanity, you know, and reassociated himself with the powers of nature, which are the powers of our life, from which our mind removes us.”
In the pattern, the Hero usually has to overcome the fear that his best will not be enough – the challenge is self-doubt. Once he has faced his fears and defeated the monster, he has “transcended his humanity” and returns to the tribe with the gifts he’s earned. In many myths and stories, he’s celebrated, given the woman of his choice, and becomes King.
Ritual with the Intent to Heal the Wounds of the Earth and her Peoples
In work that, as the POU puts it, intends to work to “heal the wounds of the earth and her peoples” – and that acknowledges our own responsibility for those wounds – I’ve found this ritual pattern sets up a dissonance. For me, there are two places where the traditional Path of the Hero needs to be re-visioned to support work around dismantling patriarchy, white supremacy, harm done to the earth, and other structures of oppression, when there is acknowledgement that those attending the ritual bear some responsibility for that harm.
Once the Hero (and I’m deliberately choosing to use “Hero” rather than “Heroine” here) answers the call to adventure and leaves the known world, he reaches the edge of the abyss – the unknown – and is filled with fear of what lies beneath. In almost every story, if the hero faces the fear and descends, he will conquer the monster; the real fear is generally fear of failure, fear he won’t be enough and will fail; or fear of fear itself.
In the work the communities I’m in are doing to dismantle oppression, that fear is not something to be overcome; it’s useful. It’s often the whole fucking point. The common belief systems we’ve gotten from the overculture have led us to continue to wound the earth and her peoples. In rituals around dismantling oppression, we don’t need confidence in our ability to overcome; we need willingness to face where we have fallen and are falling short, both as individuals and as members of our families, our communities, and our countries.
The second major disconnect occurs for me when the hero returns to his community. In the POTH approach, the hero has now – as Campbell put it – “transcended his humanity”. He has risen above the common human and is now “more than” – a superior being, generally above criticism.
In the work I’m doing with Reclaiming and other communities, the work to dismantle oppression starts with me. It starts with an acknowledgement that I am human. And with that acknowledgement comes the willingness to say – I’ve made mistakes, I’m conditioned by structures of power that mean I continue and will continue to harm the earth and its peoples, and I can’t even see it. It is more appropriate, in this work, for me to return to community, not bringing the gifts of my journey and as one greater than those in the community – but because I need community to do my own work around dismantling oppressive structures of power. Community holds me accountable for my impact. And community lets me know that I’ve erred, I’ll continue to err, and yet I still belong.
In this approach, we become more human – not less. Instead of returning to become a King held above the commoners, I’ve returned less empowered than when I set out on this journey – because the whole purpose of the journey has been to show me that, consciously or unconsciously, I’ve misused power.
The Implications for Ritual How might our rituals change, with this approach? 1. There will be a greater emphasis on community, as a source of accountability, and to reflect back to us what we can’t see. The journey we each take is individual, yes; but it begins and ends in community. (In appreciation for conversations around this that I’ve had with Sayre, that community might be other humans, or might be the eco-system, nature, ancestors, non-human beings such as spirits, or other communities of choice.) 2. The descent does not end with empowerment and ecstatic energy raising. It ends with accountability. That’s a lot heavier, and it doesn’t seem to me an ecstatic energy raising fits the pattern. 3. This is value-centered ritual. This was an approach I first experienced as a member of the Tejas Hecate Camp teaching team in 2017. A question to keep asking is: what have we put at the center – of our lives, our communities, and our rituals? What SHOULD we be putting at the center? Most likely, what we have been putting at the center of our rituals is ourselves. What we should be putting at the center of our rituals should instead reflect – in every way – our values. For example: We might put the earth spirits at the center – while humans are less centered. We might put accountability for the choices of our ancestors and our own choices at the center – while the living humans in the ritual are less centered. 4. In Reclaiming, our rituals call the elements, the guides, the spirits. We welcome them. Then we generally go on about our ritual business – it feels to me like we invite them, often, to witness what we do. What would change if we invited them and, as part of that invitation, said: “We hold ourselves accountable to you, for what we have done and what we will do”? 5. The myths and stories we tell are usually reflective of oppressive structures as well, and they generally feature a hero. A better pattern might be: rather than tell stories of ourselves as superhuman, shut up. Listen. How did Demeter’s choices impact the earth spirits? What do our ancestors tell us about the choices they felt they had to make? What happens when we un-center ourselves as living humans and heroes from myths and stories – and look at the story from another point of view? 6. The final endpiece of the ritual will not be an energy raising to empower our magic. It will be stepping back out into the world to do our work. Reclaiming rituals I’ve attended or facilitated always said taking the work out into the world was important, but I felt, and often heard it said, that it was hard when our rituals felt so removed from the world. For myself – when the point of the ritual is my own values and my accountability, it’s a given that the final work is to step back out into the mundane world with that as my work. Work that begins, not with a magical spell, but with me.
My sense is that this approach – working with the ways the traditional path of the Hero supports what I don’t value, and shifting that pattern to reflect what I do value – is useful, but what it means, how it manifests, and how it should shift is still unfolding for me. I’d welcome the comments and observations of others.
I’d also acknowledge the passage in the quote from Campbell that notes the hero “hears the song of nature; he has transcended his humanity, you know, and reassociated himself with the powers of nature, which are the powers of our life, from which our mind removes us.” I think that observation and other nuances of the Path of the Hero – particularly sacrifice – deserve consideration in how they do, indeed, support rituals and story that are value-centered. My main intent, in writing this blog post, was to say: I can’t attend another camp in which Path works with social justice work and dismantling oppression, and the night’s ritual focuses on empowering the human, gathers us at the center and celebrates us. For that kind of work, another approach to ritual seems essential.
Many thanks to Suzanne McAnna and Irisanya Moon for sharing their time and their insight with me on earlier drafts of this blog post.
I didn’t work with allies, ancestors, spirits in my practice as a witch, until six years ago. They just never came up – when I called them, there was just a nothingness. I believed that was how it was meant to be, for me.
Then six years ago, at an Initiation path at California Witchcamp, they did come up. Four came to me – one I knew, three I’d never seen. And a lot about my practice changed.
I thought these four were bringing me magical practices, shamanic connection – I thought they were about deepening my spiritual practice, particularly my personal spiritual practice. And they were about that; but I realize, looking back, that they came into my life primarily for the purpose of sustainability.
It’s the Pierced One I work with most – a warrior, painted, pierced all over, and strong. The first time we met I think we both thought: what on earth – why would we be allies to each other? I saw why, in time. And I thought this fierce warrior would be all about me becoming more of a warrior, too.
Instead, I think we’ve shifted things for each other. He insists
I make time to listen to him. He insists on accompanying me when I go to
ritual, or to facilitate ritual. He tells me he is of Fire, and I am of Fire,
and he’s here to teach me how to be of Fire in a way that’s grounded. And of
late, he tells me: go rest, you’ve done too much. Ground. Breathe, and drink
water –
There have been other spirits coming in, most recently a green blood I was aspecting in this year’s Summer Solstice ritual who was coldly furious at me for asking it to come indoors, rather than meeting it in its own realm. “Why are you with all these people?” it asked. “We want you to ourselves, out in the wild.” And I don’t ask for the sacred to speak to me so I can ignore it – so I listened. I’m backing away from group commitments, and making space for a more personal commitment.
It doesn’t escape me that these allies are showing me a way
to transition – at 69 – from the demands of group leadership and facilitation,
into something quieter. Something in which my feet are on both sides of the
veil, and moving, more and more, toward that far side, in dream and practice.
They are caring, and comforting. I told the Pierced One once, after a bad
argument with someone I cared about, “I suck at being human! I have too much
fire, I always have.” He surprised me (he generally does surprise me) by
saying: “You don’t have too much fire for our side of the veil. Bring it over.
We welcome it, we welcome you and all you are.”
And that acceptance also feeds my sustainability. I’m grateful to these allies. I don’t think the message they’re bringing me is something I could necessarily hear from a friend or human teacher. I’m exploring, more and more, what they lead me to, what they offer, and seeing where that takes me.
Blessings to us, the witches who walk on both sides of the veil – and learn from both.
I’ve entered into that ongoing relationship some of us have with deity, when that deity will oversee a week of our lives at Witchcamp. In this case, three deities – the Wyrd sisters, the Norns, the Fates. My own experience, so far, is that they probably have so many names because they are so elusive. When I spend time with a deity, I connect. But not with the Wyrd. So far, when I reach down, they turn away and sink a little further, and they’re always ahead of me.
In a way, that dismissiveness is a response I recognize. Spirit guides, shining ones, deities – often when I connect with them they express, in some way, that they are astounded I’m so clueless. But those other deities have been willing to talk to me, challenge me – the Wyrd just slip away from me. Sometimes I find myself behind another root of the tree, far from where I was just a moment ago. Sometimes I can’t get through the curtains of woven thread to find them or their looms.
I aspected Skuld once – it was the strangest and least satisfying aspect I’ve ever done. The priestess anchoring the ritual told me Skuld wasn’t even aware of the people around her, and I was not to connect with or respond to them in any way. I think that priestess’s instinct was right, in some ways – those attending the ritual seemed to have a pretty powerful response to Skuld that night. But like others who aspect have said, the aspect brings out in me a fierce feeling of love – in my aspecting, that’s the connection between the deity and the group, that love. I don’t think the love is always clear to others, if it’s Hecate or Baba Yaga I’m aspecting. But as the one aspecting, I feel it. It needs connection – both with the deity, and the group. I didn’t feel either the love, or the connection, with Skuld that night.
I’ve read more about Her since then, and it’s odd – I’m finding my connection to her isn’t through love, or even a willingness on Her part to connect with me. Instead, I’m finding kinship with Her through my work in hospice. Skuld, it’s said, weaves our transitions – birth, maturity, parenthood, aging, death. As such, She is all about the transitions themselves and not so much about us.
I feel that dedication to the transition itself when I do hospice work. As with a lot of the priestessing I do, the people I’m with – the family, the one dying – think I’m there for them. I’m not – I’m there because I’m dedicated to death work. Through that dedication I do often become there for them, in a way that connects them to what’s happening. I think that there are times when my comfort with death and the sacred space that death invokes gives others permission to be more comfortable with it, too. It does serve them, I think – but serving them isn’t my primary goal.
So with Skuld. The Leo I am finds it hard when someone just isn’t interested in me, at all (yeah, that Leo ego at work). It feels like this work is pulling me into another level of relationship with deity – one less tied to time, one more karmic, a relationship more about the work than the love. For me, the Goddess was always a mother figure – my only chance at having a loving mother. It seems the Wyrd feel I am ready for the next phase of my work with the sacred, one that sets such personal need aside. Or rather – they don’t feel that, because I’m not their concern. It’s not me they’re interested in, but my fate.
It’s February. Camp is in October. I’m curious to see where this goes, as I try to find my way between the roots, deeper and deeper, between now and then. How do we work with mystery? I’m reminded of a favorite quote, from Rabbi Brad Hirschfield, speaking of 9/11. He said something like: Don’t ask me where God was on that day. If you step into the mystery, don’t expect it to become less mysterious. Expect it to become more.
Tejas Witchcamp this year will seek the mysteries of the Wyrd sisters. Camp is held at a location between Austin and San Antonio, in the Texas Hill Country, from October 17-24. See http://tejasweb.org/wp/2019-witchcamp/ in the months to come for more information.
I’m noticing, at this time of the first harvest, what I’m harvesting in my life. This will be a post in honor of teachers – on both sides of the veil.
I’ve been doing online work with three teachers – transformational work with Karissa Schwartz, who is an Inner Alignment Coach, and work with the Iron Pentacle, one of the core magical tools within the Reclaiming and Anderson Feri tradition, with Chelidon and Raven Edgewalker of the World Tree Lyceum.
I was doing work with Karissa when she mentioned that of course, those of us who came from difficult childhoods often assume we have to do everything ourselves. We couldn’t count on others – so we learned not to ask. As is often the way with insight, when she said that, part of me thought, “Yeah, I knew that,” at the same time that another part of me realized, for the first time, what it meant.
It meant that all my life, I’ve taken the long way around to get from one place to another, because I did it all myself. And I suddenly realized how unsustainable that approach was, and is.
On the heels of that realization it came to me how rich it is to learn from others. To have like minds on kindred paths sharing knowledge of that path and the tools that help sustain us. That’s been very rich in both the work with Karissa and in the Iron Pentacle course, which is about reclaiming the vibrant points of our souls that make us fully human (my take on it). It’s about reclaiming the richest parts of our humanity.
The online work in both these courses is shifting decades-old personal challenges in my life, and giving my magic much more breadth. It’s teaching me to sometimes look to others for what I need – like last full moon, when I was walking out in my back yard to honor spirits, guides and ancestors. I did the preliminary casting and chanting, and later, after the spirits had joined me, one of my primary guides said, “It is good to be with you. You should call on us more often, so we could come and be with you. You should ask us for our help.”
Of course I often ask for their help when I’m doing focused magical work. But I hadn’t thought that they could be support for me at other times, too – I hadn’t thought to ask. “We are here for you,” my guide said. “We’re ready to give you what you need, and we hope you’ll ask – but for us to help you, to advise you, you have to ask.”
I was struck by how powerful support like that could be in my life – that insight and ageless wisdom. So I’m going to be asking – my friends, my loved ones, my teachers, my guides. All that great support there for me, all that sustainability – if I can just let go of the past and remember that I don’t do this work alone.
Golden Lammas blessings to those who teach, those who learn, and those who ask and are answered.
