The Big Breakup: Addiction, Pain and Promise

It has been a long, long time since my last post but, in my defense, there has been a lot going on in my life lately that made it difficult to get my blogging mojo working. First and foremost, my fiance and I broke up after a little over two-and-a-half years together. After valiantly battling his addictions and being sober for nearly five years, in the last several months he began slowly replacing his old addiction with a new one to buying and reselling things on EBay in a way that I imagine is very much akin to how someone with a monstrous gambling addiction approaches the roulette tables. As innocuous as an EBay addiction may sound, the results of it were just the same as if he had been downing a bottle of vodka every night--he repeatedly spent all the household money that was earmarked and desperately needed for bills or groceries on EBay merchandise, especially silver, and isolated himself more and more in his room, slowly but surely alienating all of his friends and family, including me and his eighteen-year-old son that lived with us. While I had to sit in line at food banks to make sure the family didn’t go to bed hungry, he sat in his room and made purchase after purchase on the auctions hoping to resell for huge profits, which he never did. While I was hauling in bags of charitable people’s leftovers in hopes of stocking our pantry that became progressively more bare, he was hauling five to six packages out of the mailbox every day. As he proceeded down this path and the situation at home got more stressful, he became angry and irritable and only pursued his addiction and isolation more. 

In all honesty, I don’t think I can tell you the single thing that finally pushed me to end the relationship, but as, I suspect, it is in most cases of love gone sour, it was a mounting of a thousand little things that finally made the pain of ending it less than the pain of staying there with him, unloved, alone and carrying the entire burden of supporting the family on my shoulders while he blissfully clicked away in his room. Our boat was sinking and I felt that while I was frantically bailing water, he was drilling larger and larger holes in the hull. And because I always hate when someone tells their breakup tale as if it were entirely the other person’s fault, I will say that I was definitely culpable in not having spoken up about his behavior much sooner than I did. I hate conflict to an intense degree and so I tend to stuff things until I can’t stand the situation any more, then just move on. Perhaps if I had screamed and stomped my foot a few times, or thrown a few plates, it would have been a wakeup call for him, but I am not that woman. In my heart I know that for the future success of any relationship I may have, I MUST learn to stand up for myself more, but there is a balance to be achieved there as well--I must stand up for myself, yes, but I also must not let someone turn me into a screeching harpy simply to attempt to achieve in them a basic level of common decency.  

So I left him. I packed up my animals, (three dogs and two cats), and whatever belongings of mine could fit in my mom’s van and hightailed it back to California, to the city where I grew up. Because of my eyesight I cannot drive, but my dearest friend Angela and my mother drove for three straight days across the wastelands of west Texas and Oklahoma to come rescue me, then three straight days back with me and five animals in tow. I am much blessed and much beloved. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you want to look at it, both my friend and my mother have experienced similar breakups in their lives so we were able to commiserate the whole way home and I knew that for the first time in a long time, I was truly not alone. 

I am living at my mother’s house now until I get my feet firmly back under me again--I guess that makes me one of those “boomerang children” you hear about on the news--and between fighting feelings of loss and failure, more and more I allow myself to feel excited about the new life and possibilities I see stretched out before me. I can go back to school and, at long last finish my degree. I can go on to get my M.F.A. in creative writing--a deeply held dream of mine for many, many years. Because I am no longer supporting an addicted spendthrift, I can finally get my little epileptic dog the proper medical attention she needs. I don't have to go to bed hungry ever again or wear worn out clothes with holes in them. I have friends here and family so I need not be isolated anymore. There is a fantastically active CUUPs group in a neighboring city that promises much Pagan fun and new friends. There are writers’ groups ALL OVER THE PLACE that meet regularly, hold readings and contests, and even offer the occasional scholarship.

I took a long, circuitous path to get here, but for the first time, in a long time, I feel I have found my home. 

Blessed by the Mystery,

-M. Ashley

PS
The artwork for today's post is actually one of my own creations from about fourteen years ago. I am no Picasso by any stretch of the imagination, but I do love making art and perhaps now I will have the time and energy to pursue that once again as well. 

The Hero's Deepest Wound: A Veterans' Day Post for My Father

My father did not turn out to be a good man.

He was a brilliant child--he got fabulous grades, could play the guitar by ear, and, by the time he went to high school, he was a champion runner. But somewhere between his horrific childhood home life and his time serving as a naval corpsman during the Vietnam War, he did not, as I said, turn out to be a good man.

With a false glee, my dad used to tell the story of how, coming home one day after a high school track meet--which he won and which none of his family attended--he found that his family had moved without him. At sixteen, he wandered the desert streets of California’s “Inland Empire” for six days looking for them. When he finally found them--his raging alcoholic father, his promiscuous mother and all eight of his siblings squatting in some rathole by the tracks in Fontana, they laughed at him and told him he must have been very stupid to have taken so long.

My mother tells the story of my dad enlisting in the navy and, in the process of getting all his papers together, found the last name on his birth certificate did not match the last name of the abusive alcoholic he had grown up thinking was his dad. When he confronted his mother about this she acted nonchalant and said, “Oh yeah, your real father’s last name was Wyss--he worked at some tire plant...I think.”

Then, in the navy, my dad served as a corpsman--officially a medic with the navy but traveling on the ground with the marines seeing to the dead and dying. Once, when I was thirteen, he dug his duffel out of the garage and showed me his gas mask, his boots with a bayonet hole in the toe and, most proudly, his white medic’s tunic still stained with the blood of some marine or other whose name, face, and fatal injuries he had long since forgotten.

All of this is to say that my dad had every right in this and any other world to be completely and totally screwed up--and he was. His depression kept him from ever holding a steady job. His anxiety led him to a devastating Valium addiction. His outwardly acted, self-hating, power-needy PTSD led him to violence and the alienation of both his daughters. All of these things together led him to die absolutely alone on March 1, 2009.

My dad was a brilliant, strong, heroic young man who valiantly served his country and the many, many young soldiers who died in his arms. I tell this story not to detract from the honorable things he did--because they are many--but I tell it to make a plea to Ares, Apollon and any of you who may know and/or love a similarly brilliant but tormented young soldier--that you may help them to heal--that the brilliance and honor may not turn into madness and ignominy.

And for those, like my father, who have already passed, send your prayers with them that in the Kingdom of Hades--in the gray Fields of Asphodel--they will be welcomed as the heroes they are and be given the courage they need to fight one more battle in that place--the battle to reclaim themselves from the terror they knew and had become.

Esto.

Blessed by the Mystery,
-M. Ashley

Call of the Cailleach: Samhain Reflections

In preparation for Samhain this year, I have been reading a great deal of Scottish lore where I came across the Cailleach Beara--the Winter Crone--Grandmother of Gods and humans. Samhain is the end of the reign of Angus and Brigid and the beginning of Grandmother Cailleach’s reign. What struck me most about this myth is that, although the Cailleach is fearsome, she is also the epitome of wisdom and, I can’t explain this, but I feel from her a certain tenderness. Yes, we are tested in winter by her iciness and incessant howling--by, as the lore goes, the eight hags that serve her and deepen the winter chill--but we do survive and we continue to survive. We learn things in the depths of darkness, we come to appreciate more fully the light, and in those howlings from the dark woods, there is deep, deep magic.

Because my birthday is exactly two weeks before Halloween, this time of year has always been special to me. When I start to see the colorful gourds and jolly pumpkins in the grocery store, I get giddy. I ponder near months in advance what my costume will be. As I drive around town, I drive my family crazy pointing out all the most glorious turning trees. When the first chill of autumn wisps through the air, I feel an awakening--I feel my spirit enliven and my mystical yearnings begin to pulse. I’ve often tried to figure out why this season is so special to me, and the only thing I have come up with is that it strikes me as the last hurrah before the cold of winter--like nature going out in style. It is a time of pure, unfettered fun and every day filled with anticipation for the big sendoff of Halloween.

Every year, decorating the house for Halloween is a big, big deal and, for some reason, my family has always been able to do the decoration with absolutely no stress or squabbling like we inevitably have around the rest of the holidays. We also always cook up some ghoulish treats for the night--like Mummy Eyeballs which are really deviled eggs, or Spinal Cord Spirals, which are really tortilla wraps. Then there is handing out candy to the beggars, parties, and scary movies every night for at least the week before. Funny how, now that I am a Pagan, I enjoy all of these things even more because I know there is a real spiritual significance behind them--and always has been. Now, as a Pagan, I have been able to add to the festivities the decorating of the Samhain altar, writing letters to my departed loved ones, leaving a light in the window for them on Samhain night, and using my poetic gifts to write a ritual to do either on my own or in a group.

Perhaps the autumn magic I always felt in my bones even as a child was the soft yet persistent call of Grandmother Cailleach drawing me to my Pagan path. As the season progresses, the nights lengthen, and her call resounds ever more loudly in my soul, may I have the wisdom to heed her and to follow fearlessly wherever she may lead.

So be it.

Blessed by the Mystery
-M. Ashley

Fight the Fear: Domestic Violence and the Pagan Community

As many of you know, October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. While I was surfing around today, I found this graphic and I absolutely had to share it. It has always struck me how many people in the Pagan community. women and men both, have been victims of some form of domestic violence, and although I believe this graphic was intended more to mean "fight the fear" of Pagans, I think, more than that, it is a great symbol--a magnificent rallying cry for all of those in the Pagan Community who are suffering with and/or have survived domestic violence.

My sisters and brothers, fight the fear, both while you suffer and during the long healing that must come after. Know that you are strong. Know that you are worthy. Know that you are loved. Know that the Lady and Lord are with you and will provide for you not only an out from your situation, but the means to recover from it and not merely survive, but thrive.

The National Domestic Violence Hotline number is: 1−800−799−SAFE(7233). If you need it, please call.

With All My Heart,
-M. Ashley

Mormon Hellenic Pagan: Do Such Creatures Really Exist?

I'm feeling a little hangdog tonight. My partner and stepson are out "occupying" the University of Oklahoma and I'm here at home alone licking my wounds from what was a real crap-e diem. It was very tempting to skip tonight's post, but I did make a commitment for National Blog Writing Month to post every day in October, so I decided to show up despite not having a whole lot to say--well, despite having a lot to say and not a whole lot of energy to say it.

Here is what has been weighing most heavily on my mind lately:

As per several of my previous posts, I am still having a major internal struggle between feeling like a Hellenic Pagan and also like a Mormon--feeling drawn to both paths simultaneously and having no idea how to begin reconciling them or even sorting out all the emotions this struggle is bringing up. Suggestions on how to proceed with this would be much appreciated as, at the moment, I am feeling very lost.

I go to bed each night and wake up each day thinking about this, wondering what my next step should be. I don't want to be a Mormon and forgo all the things I love in Hellenism. For example, how could I give up devotion to Hestia after her presence has been so alive in my home and heart for the past two years? On the other hand, I don't want to be a Hellene and have to renounce the things I have testimony of in Mormonism like eternal progression, achievable godhood and the personal bond and sealing to the Spirit of Truth I received at baptism that has been a constant guide, comforter and companion.

How can I feel so deeply connected with two paths apparently so removed from one another? What is going on in my soul that it would call me to two places at once? I don't know. I feel torn and have no idea how to begin the mending process.

May the good Gods and good people in my life help guide me toward an answer.

Blessed by the Mystery
(even when it doesn't feel like a blessing),
-M. Ashley

PS
The picture for this post is an original watercolor by yours truly. I painted it in my dorm room at Vanderbilt University right after a tornado hit downtown Nashville in 1998. I know it isn't Picasso, but even after all these years, I'm still pretty fond of it and I think it expresses the emotions of the night rather well.

Hubris? Meet 2x4.

Let me get this out of the way right off the bat--I consider myself a Hellene but I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a hardcore reconstructionist. I am a revivalist.

In that vein:

Although I have a deep respect for reconstructionists of any stripe, there is a certain attitude among most Hellenic recons that does not sit well with me and is one of the primary reasons I do not count myself among their ranks. A good many recons I have come in contact with tend to ascribe to the notion that it is necessary to fear and appease the Gods in order to please them. I have no doubt this was a part of the ancient mindset. My partner and I were watching an episode of Carnivale last night that featured a horrendous dust-bowl storm. I thought, "If you didn't have the technology to know better, how could you not attribute something like that to angry Gods?" But, the thing is, we do have the technology to know better now--to know that natural disasters are either Gaia doin' her thing to sustain and renew herself or us screwing that process up. So why do some Hellenic recons still approach the Gods as if their worship will abate the storm? Why must we hold on to the ancient belief that we worship the way we worship mainly to keep the Gods from squashing us?

In the eyes of the Gods, I believe it is more offensive to hold onto this attitude when they have inspired us with the means to know better. Perhaps it was OK for the ancients to approach them that way because it gave them some comfort in a world to which they were extremely vulnerable--but what purpose does it serve now to attribute, say, devastating tornadoes to Zeus and allow the fear of same to distance our hearts from him?

But then, I am apparently very liberal about this sort of thing--believing that, in reality, it is almost impossible to offend the Gods unless you allow hubris (your perfectionism, your intellect, your fear), to keep you from a sincere and consistent practice, (a topic on which I wrote an entire post here).

Look, the Gods know you--every gritty little Earth-bound nook and cranny. Attempting to hide these from them is foolish on the face of it and will severely handicap your relationship with them. Yes, it is good and respectful to wash in the khernips before ritual or prayer, but you must come to that prayer with both of your washed hands open--holding nothing back--not even the unwashed parts, inside and out.

I speak these things passionately because I have been guilty of them and I know firsthand how a raging, arrogant perfectionism can strangle a meaningful relationship with the Gods.  Many are the times I have needed, and received, a solid whack upside the head with a spiritual 2x4 when I have allowed that hubris, or worries over “not getting it right”, to get between me and my Gods and stop us from talking.

I have discovered that If we humbly open ourselves up and keep calling upon the Gods, it will be given to us what it is they require of us, and usually it isn’t much except to stay in touch and honor the gifts they have bestowed.

Blessed by the Mystery,
(and the spiritual 2x4)
-M. Ashley

Goddess Hestia: Love in Our Lives, Light in Our Hearts

It's a lovely, rainy day outside today. My partner and stepson are lazing on the couch--one on the computer, the other blissfully watching an action movie and munching on purple grapes. Our fifteen-year-old Siamese is keeping vigilant watch nestled into the cushions behind them while our younger tuxedo cat stalks and slinks through the boxes in the storage space under the stairs. On the floor at my stepson's feet are two dogs: One, red and hairy, rescued from the pound seven years ago, sprawls on his back contemplating the ceiling, while the other, black and white beagle mix, sits upright, adoring, secretly praying he may reap the juicy windfall of an errant grape. I am sitting in my soft, oversized chair, writing, with a tiny gray dog asleep and snoring on my left knee. Soon it will be time to make an autumn Sunday peasant feast--roast with potatoes, green beans and apple bread for dessert. 

This is our perfectly imperfect happy home. This is the foundation we walk upon. This is the love in our lives and the light in our hearts. This is the warmth of our hearth that radiates within and without. This is the spirit of the Great Goddess Hestia--she who is first and last among all the Gods.  

Invocation to Hestia

Hail Hestia,

Ancient hearth Mother

Goddess of the Spiritual Flame,
You who are first and last,

We thank you for your constant love and care.

We ask that you come and dwell here.

Make of our home your home.

Make of our hearth your hearth.

Make of our temple your temple.

Make of our hearts one heart, your heat.

Hail Hestia!

Blessed by the Mystery,

-M. Ashley

Tolerance of the Intolerant: Practicing Pagan Preaching

I have just come from G+ where once again I have been defending LDS people's right to claim their own faith as valid. This is the second time I have had to do this in the past two weeks. The poster to whom I was responding wrote: 

...what the Mormons actually are in my opinion is the most offensively bad bunch of archaeologists on the planet. :) I hang out with a few people who believe they're elves and dragons, and their beliefs stillhave more support in reality than the Book of Mormon's history of pre-Columbian America. 
...
I figure most Mormons are decent people on a person-to-person level, but dammit, if you're gonna go messing around with the way that other people live, you had better have a MUCH sounder reason than "some 19th century con artist ASSURED us he found magic tablets in the desert, among a Native American civilization that we have plenty of good evidence was NOTHING like our holy book describes, so um, yeah, we can't let you visit your dying boyfriend in the hospital, sorry. Our magic seer stones told us you couldn't." It just... makes me want to say, "Oh, yeah? Well my MAGIC KANGAROO FRIEND said God wants me to take your wallet," because it feels just about as valid and fair. :)

In my response, I didn't address her factual errors, of which there are many, but I did talk about the issue of validity, one unprovable faith to another. I wrote:

Frankly, people from almost every religious tradition believe some odd, unprovable things and things that are flat out wrong--and are still very sure of themselves. Rick Perry, for example, believes the earth is only a few thousand years old, serpents and burning bushes can talk, humans have physically wrestled with angels (and won!), and that a virgin gave birth, among other things. And his ONLY proof? "My book says so." In my opinion, for someone to believe all that but say Mormons' beliefs are just too far out there is totally ridiculous. Either it's all ridiculous and invalid, or every faith is equally valid on its own terms. But no one, no matter how well founded their beliefs, should prescribe morality for anyone else, ever.  

Back in the founding days of the church, Mormons were very hardcore polytheists and vocal about this fact along with vehemently opposing any church's involvement in politics. In the past fifty years or so, however, there has been a decided shift toward stumping for "moral" causes, perhaps to curry favor with evangelicals or appear more right-wing mainstream. Personally, I prefer the out loud and proud polytheist pioneer, "leave us alone to pursue our weird beliefs and we'll leave you alone to pursue yours" types. But then, no one asked me in what direction the church should go, so there you have it. :)

The reason I bring this up is I am utterly galled by anyone, let alone one of my Pagan own, attacking someone else's right to believe whatever whacked out thing they want and, in the process, claiming that their odd beliefs are more valid. Don't get me wrong, LDSers are certainly guilty of this too--my mother, for example, assuming that as a Pagan I believe things like trees and rocks are God--but as a good deal of Pagans have supposedly liberated themselves from this sort of dogmatic thinking, I am nonplussed that such vitriol still exists. Isn't tolerance supposed to be one of the unifying principles within the Pagan community? 


Tolerance means tolerance and, if it hold any integrity at all, must be extended equitably, even to the intolerant. If we, as a community, only extend our tolerance to fellow Pagans and members of other minority religions, we are no better than the oppressors we claim to have spiritually and intellectually escaped. 


Blessed by the Mystery,
-M. Ashley


PS
Boy oh boy, it was down to the wire--I got distracted tonight making dinner for my stepson then watching Jackass 3D with him, 'cause that's just how spiritual I am ;)--but this makes day five of consecutive posting for National Blog Writing Month. Ahem--pardon me while I break my arm patting myself on the back. 

Spiritual Desires: What I Want, What I've Got, and What's Still Missing

Yesterday I wrote a post exploring some of my reservations about even lightly reconnecting with the LDS church--the church of my youth. Despite my reservations, however, I do feel strangely drawn to that reconnection, so today I decided to make a list--yes, another list, (it is the lazy bloggers go-to after all)--exploring some of the top things I want from a faith and how my current faith and the one of my childhood compare. In doing this I hope to uncover what I feel is missing from my current practice for which my spirit is searching elsewhere. Here is what I came up with:

1) I want a faith that honors both feminine and masculine divinity equally and offers equal amount of detail about both. 

I have not yet found a faith that meets this quality fully. Paganism tends to honor Goddess over God and offers far less information about the nature of the God in general than it does about the Goddess. Mormonism acknowledges a Heavenly Mother as equal to and in partnership with a Heavenly Father, but there is little information on her or actual working veneration of her. 

2) I want a faith that acknowledges a multitude of Gods.

Both Paganism and Mormonism fit this one, though lately, with their rigorous PR campaign, the LDS church has been much more reluctant to publicly acknowledge this belief. 

3) I want a faith that demands spiritual, ethical and intellectual rigor yet is free of shame.

Paganism is, frankly, not all that demanding of this kind of rigor whereas Mormonism demands it to a point of being shaming should you fall short. In my opinion, there really should be a balance. 

4) I want a faith that honors other faiths as equally valid in accessing the Divine. 

Paganism fits this to a tee as does Mormonism. Although Mormons do regard their church as the “truest” church, they believe all spiritual roads eventually lead to the same place. 

5) I want a faith that supports the idea of eternal progression--that we continue to evolve spiritually, physically, intellectually and emotionally beyond this life on Earth.

Again, I think both faiths fit here, though I’ll admit I take my belief in eternal progression entirely from my LDS upbringing. 

6) I want a faith that sees the Gods as a higher evolution of our species, not a species unto themselves--a faith that sees Godhood as achievable by humankind.  

From the Pagan side, whether or not this one fits depends entirely on what brand of Paganism you adhere to. I favor Hellenism, which definitely embraces this idea. Once again though, I have taken the entire concept of achievable Godhood from my LDS training. 

7) I want a faith with a rich cultural heritage, compelling rituals and complex history.

My Hellenic leanings favor this one as does Mormonism. Wicca would have this too if more in the community would give up their dubious claims of unbroken lineages and embrace their own unique and compelling history beginning in the 20th century--but that’s an entirely different soap box. 

8) I want a faith that uses its tenets to actively achieve positive change in the community.

I have to avoid my soap box on this one too, but suffice it to say that Mormons have it all over Pagans on this front. It isn’t that most Pagans don’t have it in their hearts to make service to their communities a priority, they just aren’t out there in a large scale actually doing it. Pagan Pride Day is a good example. Instead of organizing a whole day around patting yourselves on the back, selling occult-y things and ranting about how you are not properly accepted in society, why not spend the day getting all the Pagans in the community to express their faith and pride by cleaning up a park, painting over graffiti, planting trees, etc. Put your values where your hands are and do something with them. Did I say I was going to stay off my soap box?

9) I want a faith that acknowledges Earth as a living organism and her cycles, along with the cycles of the heavens, as representative of the cycles of body and soul.

Now here’s one where Paganism has it all over Mormonism. Though LDS doctrine does acknowledge Earth as a living organism, it doesn’t take that to the next logical step of proper veneration or acknowledging the spiritual lessons apparent within her cycles.

10) I want a faith that demands of itself the same intelligent evolution to a higher spiritual state as it demands of its adherents. 

I think both faiths give a good amount of lip service to this without actually achieving it. 

To sum up, apparently the things I am missing in Paganism are truly equal veneration of Goddess and God; spiritual, ethical and intellectual rigor; a doctrine of eternal progression and attainable Godhood; putting beliefs into action; a true and accessible cultural heritage; and honest evolution toward better, more fluent expression of that faith. I cannot in good conscience say I could find all these missing pieces in Mormonism, nor am I willing to exchange the Pagan pieces for the LDS ones. 

So I am left with even more questions: 

What is the balance here? Am I stuck inventing my own faith or have I simply not found the right fit yet? Should I strive for a combination of my old faith with the new and my own ideals? What would the practice and doctrine of such a combination look like? If I cannot create a tenable combination, will I eventually have to compromise on my heartfelt spiritual desires in order to feel accepted within any one group? Is acceptance more important than finding a point for point fit?

As is usually the case in affairs of the spirit, questioning inevitably leads to more questions--and more blog posts. Stay tuned.

Blessed by the Mystery,

-M. Ashley

Second Harvest Rite to Demeter and Dionysos

The following is a ritual I developed to celebrate the Autumn Equinox by honoring Demeter and Dionysos as the Great Mother and Father of our physical and spiritual sustenance.  Enjoy!

Second Harvest Rite to Demeter and Dionysos
Originally Written for Autumn Equinox 2010

You Will Need:
Hestia candle
Icons of Demeter and Dionysos
A candle for each Demeter and Dionysos
Large bowl
Grapes
Athame
Bell
Feast dishes (provided by participants)

Officiants:
Priestess of Demeter (lady of the house)
Priest of Dionysos (man of the house)
Priest/ess of Hestia
Priest/ess Panagia
Heirophantid of Demeter (youngest girl)
Heirophant of Dionysos (youngest boy)


-all gather in a semi-circle before the altar holding their dish for the feast, except for Priestess Panagia who holds the bowl of grapes for ritual-

-Priest/ess of Hestia approaches altar-

We begin this rite by calling Hestia who is first and last among all the Gods, who is Goddess of hearth and temple fire, of the spiritual center of our world and of all sacred places.

-lights central flame-

Hestia, beloved goddess of the spiritual flame, come and make all that is here holy and sacred in your name. Bring to us the peace and sureness of home and hearth. Bring your purity and beauty to us as we honor you who are the center of the spiritual flame. So mote it be.

-Priestess Panagia approaches the altar and faces the group-

At this time we will make our offerings to the Lord and Lady. Each in your family group place your dish for the feast on the altar with these words: “For Demeter and Dionysos this sacred offering to honor the Mother and Father of all.”

-Priestess Panagia places the bowl of grapes in the center of the altar in front of the Hestia flame. Each group places their feast dish around the table and recites the offertory words-

-Heirophantid of Demeter approaches altar, rings bell and says-

Now we will call the Mother Goddess who is Queen of the golden harvest. She is known as Demeter and by many other names as well.

-Priestess of Demeter approaches the altar-

Lady of all good harvests, our stores are filled again with your generous bounty. O you who are the blessings of earth, who sustains both body and spirit, hail!

-lights the Goddess candle from Hestia’s flame-

Beloved Demeter, you spin out your magic from the mysteries of the seed, bringing us the miracle of life and growth. The riches of the orchard and cultivated field are all born of your power and so we honor the Great Mother of the land. O mother of life, we were born from the infinite seeds of creation and live through the powers of earth. Our spirits rise with your beauty for you are everywhere, in every broad meadow and mountainside, in every lovely field and flower, and in every living and growing thing Today at the blessed Autumnal Equinox, the ending of the second harvest, we honor you, bringing you offerings and praising your name. We thank you for all that you give
and ask that you come and bless this rite with ease and joy. So mote it be!

-Priestess of Hecate approaches the altar, retrieves the athame from the bowl of grapes and turns to face participants-

By Hecate’s blade, the grain was separated from the earth so that the threshing could begin. It is fitting then that at the ending of the second harvest, when seed shall be separated from chaff, for us to note anything we no longer want in our lives and from which we wish to be separated. We approach the altar and raise the blade, praying aloud or silently for whatever it is that might be beneficial for you to be separated from, that it be done so now.

Begin with the words, “By her blade...” When you are done, breathe upon the blade. End with the words “Hail Hecate!” then place the blade back on the altar and return to the circle.

-Priestess of Hecate begins the ritual of the blade which proceeds until all are done-

-Priest of Dionysos approaches the altar-

Now we shall honor the Father God known as Dionysos and by countless other names who, at the Spring Equinox, the time of sacred planting, loved the Mother Goddess in the thrice-plowed field to ensure the bounty of the land.

-lights God candle-

Sacred one of both forest and field, from your own untamed spirit did you receive and then impart the liberation of the wild that lay the foundation for our deepest joy and pleasures, and, as emissary of the Great Mother, from August Demeter did you receive and then impart the arts of agriculture that lay the foundation for civilization. And so we honor you. So mote it be!
-Heirophant of Dionysos approaches altar-

Wise and Wild One, it is with food stores set aside that we may enjoy the luxury of time
in which to pursue our loves with your ecstatic abandon, in which to glorify the museswith your gifts of music, dance, drama, poetry and art, and in which we may honor the Gods with joyous festivals and celebrations. These are the blessings that you, Dionysos, in concord with Her, have given to all of humanity.

Priest of Dionysos:

Treasured God Dionysos, we thank and honor you as we bless this sacred place in your name. So mote it be.

-Priest of Dionysos uncovers the grapes, faces the group and gestures to them-

Grapes, warmed by solar light and nourished by the bosom of the Earth, have long been a symbol of wisdom and passion combined. It is fitting then that at the time of the second harvest, when we enjoy this sacred fruit in its abundance, that we note the abundance in our own lives and pray for abundance in harvests yet to come.

Now we will each approach the altar praying aloud or silently in thanks for what we have and supplication for what we desire, that it be done so now. Begin with the words “By his vigor...” When you are done, choose a single grape. End with the words, “Hail Dionysos...” then pass the grape over His flame before partaking of it.

-Priest of Dionysos begins the rite and each participant follows until all are finished-

-Heirophant of Dionysos fills a cup for each person and offers a toast-

Raise your glasses! Filled with gifts, the chalice of plenty overflows with good fortune. How blessed are we who love and honor the Goddess and God. May we drink from the royal cup! So mote it be.

-Priestess of Demeter and Priest of Dionysos approach altar and face the group-

Priestess of Demeter:

These are the rites of the second harvest and they are now complete in grace and joy.

Priest of Dionysos:

May her blessings proceed unto all. Now, on to the feast!

-Heirophantid of Demeter rings bell joyfully-

Ready, Set, Retrograde!

With the Mercury retrograde beginning today, my original idea for this post was to explore whether or not we should give a great deal of credence to planetary correspondences and behaviors when working magic, After all, shouldn’t we check with our own souls first and add planetary affinity later, if it happens to match up? But then, I as sat down to write, I remembered my first pointed experience with the Mercury retrograde and spell working. I took the hint and, realizing it is probably not such a good idea to tempt the planetary deities by talking about how their correspondences aren’t that important, I decided instead to honor them by sharing that first retrograde experience of which I was reminded.

One of the first spell I ever cast was that I earn an extra $250 to help with expenses. No, let me correct that: Although it was on the tip of my tongue to specify that I wanted to earn the extra money from my writing, I did not say that. Instead, I left it open ended, stipulating only that I receive the money in a way that was not harmful to anyone. 

One week later, on the first full day of a Mercury retrograde, I flipped open my beloved little mac, (her name is Zsa Zsa, but that’s a whole other story), and found that no matter what I did, she would not boot up. The sleek little silhouetted apple that normally comes up when I turn her on was replaced by a blinking question mark and an ominous clicking. There was nothing I could do, so advised the sage techie on the other end of my desperate phone call, but take her in and have her barely two-month-old hard drive completely replaced. And to his question of whether or not I had my information backed up I replied, “Of course not. These things don’t ever happen to people who are prepared for them!” 

So I dragged my ailing Zsa Zsa to the local Mac geek store and stood thunder struck by the quoted costs of scrubbing my necessary data from a defunct hard drive. All the way home my head was reeling with numbers--how could I possibly fit something like that into my budget? And still mentally raiding my bank accounts I walked into my house to find that my off-her-rocker house-mate had moved out--which was expected--but that she had taken the bed I was sleeping on with her--which was definitely not expected.

That night, alone in the house and curled up in a ball on the floor where my bed used to be, I called back home for some ready sympathy and lamented my no good rotten day, how it was all the stupid retrograde’s fault, how I was going to have to pay for a hard drive scrub and a new bed when I barely had enough to meet the bills as it was. and how I should probably just go eat worms. Then my mother, who I had never asked for nor had she ever offered financial assistance before, said, “Well, how about I send you a little help. I don’t know, say $250?”

I just about fell out of my tree--fortunately I didn’t have far to fall, seeing as how I was on the floor. It was one of the most vivid, humorous, and pointed lessons about spell-casting and the effects of retrogrades I have ever learned. The retrograde hadn’t worked against me, really. I got exactly what I asked for plus a winking little lesson about leaving spells too open-ended. I wasn’t angry. In fact, I felt quite loved because frankly, as open-ended as I had left the spell, it could have been much worse. But instead of my world crashing down around me, I was blessed, albeit in a comedy of errors sort of way, with the opportunity to get a new, much more comfortable bed, the new habit of consistently backing up my work, learning my mom is eager and ready to help me when I need it, and, most importantly, strengthening my skill and focus as a witch.

In everything I have read about Mercury retrogrades, it is almost implied that it is a scary, evil time, instead of a time of simple fun and backward blessing. Rather than steering clear of casting at all during this time, perhaps we should take the opportunity to get to know our Mercurial deities better and to ask them to assist us in understanding how the back-wheeling, gently chaotic nature of this time may best be used in our work. 

Blessed by the Mystery,

-M. Ashley

Not Only Our Works, But Also Our Words: The Spiritual Shift to Original Prayer

Among the many spiritual shifts I have been experiencing lately has been a reignited longing to create and collect an original, family set of prayers, devotions and hymns. I have a massive collection of other people's devotional work and, although I still respect and enjoy it deeply, these days when I read the work of others while spending devotional time at my altar, I feel somehow uncomfortable. This, I feel, is Spirit giving me a little push--telling me it is time to start forging my own craft--telling me that using my own words to connect with divinity is a natural and healthy outgrowth of the reconnection I have been feeling lately with my true, creative self.

So, for the first time, I am making a resolution to enhance my magical practice and deepen my family tradition by relying solely on my own devotional work and that of my family members, (my fiancee having crafted some truly excellent Sabbat poetry). In this way, our tradition will consist not only of our ways, but also our words. 

In that spirit, I composed this little mealtime prayer today. My aesthetic for everyday devotional work is that it should be meaningful but light, musical, joyous and easy to memorize thus making it a pleasurable and natural addition to the family routine.

Mealtime Prayer

Lords and Ladies of harvest and beast

we thank you for this bounteous feast

and for our dear ones gathered around

with sweet joyful souls and love profound.

We pray you linger near our welcoming hearth

that your presence be with us deep in our hearts.

Blessed be.

-M. Ashley

The Childhood Makeup of a Mercurial Life

I've been thinking a lot about my Great Aunt Kay lately. She passed away nearly twelve years ago. I miss her and I feel her influence in my life all the time. She and my Great Uncle Chuck provided the safest place I knew as a child. When it would thunder I would crawl into bed with them. Even when it didn’t thunder I would crawl into be with them, scooch in between them and sleep happily. I got to doing it so much they called me “the blond bomber”.

I remember once my friend and I saw a show on TV where they promised people free makeovers and, refusing to let the person look at themselves while they put the makeup on, they made them look like clowns or crazy streetwalkers. We decided it would be a good idea to do the same to Aunt Kay. She had an old makeup box full of groovy sixties makeup--greens, yellows and oranges. She ended up with yellow eyeshadow that extended above her eyebrows and coral shaded cheekbones that went pointedly back to her ears making her look a bit like an elf. When we first gave her the mirror to look at herself, she said, “Oh my!” and you could tell for a moment she wasn’t sure how to react--her first concern not not being her clown face but whether or not reacting to it as a clown face would hurt our feelings.

Had we intended to use lip gloss to highlight her hairline?

My friend and I burst out laughing and she did too--a breathy laughter mixed with relief that no, these children knew better.

What we didn’t know however was how hard it was to get makeup that old off of someone with such fragile skin as hers. Now that I think about it, it was a fitting revenge in a way--after we had all laughed about it, my friend and I went to wipe it off and couldn’t get one bit of it to budge. She let us prod and pull and near panic before she told us that she had some cold cream that would take care of it with no problem.

Now, right at this moment, twenty years later I am realizing that this might have been intentional--a little practical joke gotcha back--letting us develop heart palpitations--letting us suffer just a bit before telling us she could fix it. My Aunt Kay was like that--a slightly shady, impish, extremely intelligent and sharply humored lady--a lovingly Mercurial lady who impressed that presence onto my life from my earliest years. No wonder I delight to hear the laughing leaves dancing in the wind and feel my heart lift to bask in the endless prairie sky. I'm a Hermes girl and have been, apparently, for a very, very long time.

Blessed by the Mystery,
-M. Ashley

Hades: Good Guy, Bad Press

Inspired by a Twitter friend posting thanks to Hades for having found a lovely home, I thought I would repost this from the Soul Bites Blog archives. Enjoy!

After watching the wonderful Percy Jackson and the Olympians, I went online and poked around the IMDB message boards a bit, (yes, I'm that big of a film nerd). I found this post quite provocative:

Disney's Hercules, Clash of the Titans, and this...

In the original Greek myths, Hades was a fairly stand up guy. Yes, he ruled over the Greek equivalent of Hell, but he also handled the Greek equivalents of Heaven, Purgatory, the Pearly Gates, etc. Persephone's main complaint about being his wife was not that he was cruel- he lavished her with all the luxury he could afford, and he was the richest of the gods-  but because he was her father's older brother, and thus considerably older than her.

Greek myth is full of awesomely evil monstrous beings, from Titans to the offspring of Typhon and Echidna, to those cursed by gods (of which, Hades was responsible for far less than many of his brethren... Athena, who's almost always portrayed as kind and generous, turned a woman into a spider for BEING A BETTER WEAVER for crying out loud). Why  do modern storytellers think Hades makes such a great villain?

Mostly the responses to this post focused on what Persephone's real grievances were with Hades, which for me is far less interesting than the actual question posed, (especially because I don't believe Persephone actually had grievances with Hades. Standard Homer aside, I think she was not quite "all unwilling".)

In my opinion, the reason we see mainstream media vilifying Hades is that it is difficult for a mind steeped in Christian mythos to accept the ruler of "Hell" as anyone other than Satan himself. In this system of thinking, Hades being portrayed as he actually is would probably cause an outrage. Hades is the judge of souls for both good and ill and Persephone is the intermediary--the two together representing justice tempered with mercy--the exact dynamic between Christ and "God the Father".

And how dare we, even in the interest of accuracy, compare these Pagan deities so directly to the Christian ones? How dare we imply that the Christian mythos is not entirely original?

When a story dares to honor the Gods by educating a new generation about them, I think it is acceptable to make a few concessions like this to avoid the project being quashed before it ever sees the light of day. The real trick is making it provocatively accurate enough to inspire people to investigate the myth behind the myth and, hopefully, the deeply moving spirituality behind it all.

Blessed by the Mystery,

-M. Ashley

In the Nobly Halting Footsteps of Hephaistos

Let’s talk a little bit about Hephaistos. I’m not sure why he’s so much on my mind today--maybe because it’s as hot outside as it must be in his forge--but there he is, urging me forward to give a small accounting of how he came into my life, so here we go:

It started with a terrible dream. I had only been living with my fiance for a month or so when I awoke with a start after dreaming, in the consciousness of Hephaistos, that I had been horribly disregarded and cheated on. I don’t remember the details of the dream, but the feeling was ALIVE--the crushing weight of a breaking heart, the fire of loneliness, anger and confusion. I had seen Aphrodite, goddess of love, goddess of my heart, turn her back on me and all the tender gifts of my talent I had offered her, while she chose instead to embrace brutish war. Then, when I went to rise from my dream, I could barely walk--my feet and legs being so battered by the stand-in-one-spot-for-eight-hours job I had been doing at Wal-Mart for nearly a year. In other words, I woke up feeling in mind and body how the myths tell us Hephaistos must have felt through his various mythical trials--born club-footed and rejected outright by the Goddess he loved.

But why, I wondered, would he come to me at that moment? I wasn’t having troubles in love. In fact, I was happier with my fiance than I had ever been in my life. It didn’t dawn on me what he was getting at until later that day when I found myself crying my way to work--dreading it in body and soul. You see, I moved to Oklahoma from Nashville where I had worked for Wal-Mart for about eight months. At my Nashville store I had what I have come to learn was a very atypical experience. Even though I am visually disabled, I was never made to feel lesser than other employees, I was valued for my work, my co-workers loved me and I adored them right back, and just about every day was a pleasure. When I transferred to a store here in Oklahoma however--a change necessary for my fiance and I to be together--things were very different, (and this, I fear, is more typical of Wal-Mart). The minute they found out I had a visual limitation I was treated like absolute trash. My manager constantly gave me jobs I could not possibly do in the time frame allotted me because of my eyesight--like cataloging a thousand belts by bar code number--then she would berate me in front of other employees for not completing them. I was a pariah. No one wanted to befriend me because they saw I was the manager’s whipping girl and, as the immortal saying goes, shit rolls down hill.

So I was miserable--absolutely miserable. The gifts I had to offer were not being honored, in fact, I was never even allowed to present them in the first place because of hasty judgments made of me based on my disability, much like Hephaistos who is probably the most talented of the Gods and, at the same time, the most underestimated and rejected.

So that day at work and for many days following I offered up prayers to him asking what I should do. How should I handle my situation in a manner befitting his morally upright and hard working influence?

The answer came: I should quit. It is not noble, he taught me, to abase yourself for pennies and to continually allow yourself to be mistreated. It is noble however to take the frightening leap away from abuse and honor your real talents by pursuing them with dogged determination.

And that is what I did. I quit my Wal-Mart job to pursue my writing and homemaking full time and I pray every day I am given the energy, strength and inspiration to honor his influence with my efforts.

I offer Lord Hephaistos this hymn:

Father Hephaistos,
be here among us.
Mighty and gentle and lord
I lay my hands in yours.
Teach me your art.
Enflame my heart.
Father, I am yours to mold.

Blessed by the Mystery,
-M. Ashley

Cry of the Un-Crafty Witch

I grew up Mormon and although I still hold great respect for that faith, one of the issues I started having with the church around the time I hit puberty was this weird social pressure that somehow in order to be a real Mormon woman you must be into crafting, a whiz in the kitchen and want nothing more in life than to serve your family. The reason I’ve been thinking about this lately is that contemporary witchcraft is similar. There is a huge emphasis on real witches being crafty and herb-growing and cake-baking and barefoot-in-the-grass-loving. But what about those of us who couldn’t handcraft a decent wand if our magical abilities depended on it--whose cakes always fall--whose homes are rarely tidy--who connect being barefoot in the grass with a good way to get hookworm and not much else? How odd I should fall from one faith tradition demanding this kind of domesticity in order to be holy, to another that almost seems to demand this kind of domesticity in order to be spiritually potent. 

Where is the Book of Shadows for the un-crafty witch? 

Perhaps I should start one where I could say things like, “Drawing prosperity is just as easily achieved through writing your desire in green ink, inwardly spiraling, as it is through masticating homegrown patchouli with a mortar and pestle you sculpted and fired in your own kiln.”

Or, “Communion with nature can just as easily be achieved by sitting outside at night in a comfy chair on your patio, looking up, studying the constellations and talking to the Gods as it can by running naked through a meadow on Midsummer’s Day.”

Or, “Supporting your local growers by frequenting a farmer’s market honors the land just as growing your own produce would.”

Let me add here how deep my admiration is for those witches who are naturally crafty and connected with the outdoors. I can’t even begin to tell you how awed I am by their gifts. I just wish there were more celebration of and resources for those of us who possess altogether different gifts, yet are no less magical for it.

Blessed by the Mystery,

-M. Ashley