Changes, Love, and Beginnings

I haven't blogged about the Days Upon the Year, or Wep Ronpet this year, though this will be my second as a shemset with the House of Netjer. I even missed the anniversary of my naming. I've been wrapped up in packing, packing, packing, and mentally/emotionally preparing for a cross-country bus journey to what I hope is the rest of my life.

Talk about a First Time. A real personal Zep Tepi, in all huge and dramatic ways.

I packed away my akhu and senut shrines, but the akhu and Names are never far from my mind. Today is Heru-Wer's day, though Set has been impatiently rumbling around the sky all day today with storms.

I remember vividly, last year, on Set's birthday, He told me in shrine that my whole life would have to be blasted away - that the coming year of Ptah would be about foundations. Razing everything present to the earth, laying blocks of things to come. He was not wrong. I was uprooted from my life in New Orleans, ended a dangerous co-dependent relationship with a man who was manipulating my emotions, accepted that covering my hair was something I need spiritually, no matter what others may think or feel about it, and now, to end this year, I'm going to move to a place I've never been, to live with a man I love with all of my heart and soul, someone who shares my dreams and my gods, someone I feel I've known in past lives. I've never felt more in awe, more frightened, more elated, more hopeful.

And as I'm moving, I will be without internet/computer for a while. I know I'm not very consistent with updating the blog in any case, but there will be a slight interruption. I hope to write in a brand new journal I bought just for starting my new life, and maybe I can pull inspiration for future blog posts from there.

I'll be boarding the bus on the 1st of August. Aset's birthday, as well as Lammas, the first harvest in Wiccan/Euro pagan traditions and it's a full moon! May the Mistress of Magic look over my journey and endeavors, and I hope this journey is the harvest of the sweetest kind, a realization of great love.

How's that for auspicious? 

Hard to Believe

Seems as soon as it started, it's over and gone. Covered in Light is no more. The controversy became too much for the sisters involved.

It's understandable. When women who claim to be feminists sit there and tell other women they can't wear a piece of cloth on their heads, it must be stressful. When one is accused of supporting forced veiling, betraying women, betraying their gods, I suppose one can take only so much idiocy. And it seems that Pagan women were the loudest and nastiest about it.

How can you say you support women when you want to tell them what they can't wear? What kind of sense is that? And how can you support other women in their struggle against misogynistic theocracy when you assume that they would reject their headcoverings? Some might, but would you really end your support if she wants to keep her veil?

No one has a right to tell a woman what to wear, or not wear. Period.

I want to wear my veil. I would never tell another person that they should. We are all free, under the Divine, to choose how we honor Them. I would never ever presume to tell another how they should go about it, and neither should anyone else.

What I want to end this post with, is simply this. Sisters, whatever you plan next, if anything, count me in. I want to help. I have fight in me, and if I can ease any burdens, I will. Friend me on Facebook, and I'm @QefatHethert on twitter.

I'm a veiled Kemetic pagan and Vodouisant, and I am not afraid.

Covered in Light - Internet Wimmins up to STUFF!

This is a thing now. An impulse I felt steadily grow over a couple of years, that I can tell, is apparently something enough Polytheist women do it independent of my consciousness to warrant something to organize.  The internet is magic.

To be honest, I'm excited. A little worried that I'll be seen as a pagan hipster. But fuck it, really. In less than a week, the Facebook event logged over 500 attending. Since it's my preferred wardrobe these days anyway, of course one of them is me. Also, my recent post on veiling has the most hits on it already of anything else I've written. (no superstar with the blog, but I notice what gets read) But these conversations bring up all kinds of messy stereotypes and issues about feminism, politics, religion, etc. It's already drawn fire from the Pagan community, as well as already warned against "whitewashing." And that excites me.

If done with an open heart, this can all work towards every person being conscientious of the other. That what a person looks like isn't the story.

I see controversy ahead. This is when it gets interesting.

Update on Veiling

So it's been a few months since I started my experiment with covering my head. I also took a couple of weeks off from it, to see the difference. Also, it was too hot down here in Florida for a while. I've learned a good bit since I started.

• I like how I look. I love experimenting with scarves and ways of tying them, and I find it actually more versatile than what I can do with my hair. My hair can't hold a curl, it slips out of clips and ties, it generally drives me batty. With a scarf, I can forget about it, and still feel pretty and feminine. 
• It's not about modesty. Not that I dress in a terribly revealing fashion anyway - I never have, I tend towards long skirts and loose, flowing clothing because I like it. But I find nothing contradictory about wearing a tank top with my head scarf. And I got my nose pierced recently. All of this fits with me. 
• I don't cover for senut. Hethert told me absolutely NOT. I went to shrine with a bandana on once, and She did not want. I cover in public, and shrine time is not public. She made that clear - but also acknowledged that covering in public was an extremely good idea for me. Good to hear that Mom approves of this, and great that She outlined when it is appropriate for me to cover. It was an enlightening senut, for sure.
• Along with the public idea, it does seem to help me "filter out" the outside world, keep disruptive energy to a minimum, and keep my own energy contained. This helps immensely with my anxiety, and I noticed a huge difference in the time I didn't cover in public. I wasn't as comfortable, I felt almost naked. 
• However, I did notice that some people treated me suspiciously when I was veiled. I never wore anything as extensive as hijab-style in public, but being the Florida panhandle, I was stared at, and some people kept their distance. Also why I stopped covering in public for a spell, I was looking for a job. This was horribly stressful, since I had no "shield", and looking for work. But the "shield" made employers suspicious. Conundrum. I was also asked to take my scarf off when I had to renew my driver's license, and the woman in the probate office was nervous of me. I was not comfortable at all with it off, but removed it anyway. I'm not up for that fight, or explaining. Or claiming an Abrahamic faith as an easy justification. That would be more uncomfortable for me.

• My friends and current lover all are incredibly supportive and kind. And complementary! Apparently, I'm someone who looks good in a headscarf (I got the "gypsy" comparison, which made me very very happy), and it's not just me that thinks so. I was even complemented on my scarf by a lady who works in a clothing store, while I was shopping. She helped me pick out new scarves on sale, and said she wished she could "pull it off." I hope to find more accepting people after I move. 

 So, I've decided to continue covering in public. It helps me in many ways, and I do feel set apart from the rest of the world with it on. Not that I'm better than them, or less, just different. I would still be different without it, but I like the outward display of it. There was a time when I thought I'd never do something this "conservative" spiritually, but this feels like a part of growing up. I'm happy with it.  

Here's front and back images of me, with my favorite scarf (at the moment, anyway - it's cotton, and I love the colors) in my favorite style. The back is fuzzy, I know, but you try taking a picture of the back of your head.

Wandering and Wondering

I am moving again. Taking a huge risk for love and my happiness. I'm terrified. I'm elated. My lover has given me a ticket out of here. I absolutely can't wait to use it. It feels like a pilgrimage.

 I recently felt a pull back to my roots in pagan faiths - a return to the beginning. This means Stregheria. I still have the books and love the stories. The Moon eternally holds magic for me. I was also drawn back to my Romani tarot deck (for obvious reasons, of course) and the music of Gogol Bordello. Time to ramble on! See my own continent, which I feel I have neglected to explore.

Yet, returning to La Vecchia Religione felt wrong, somehow. Like it no longer fit me and my life. Back in boarding school, both the Romani and Streghe fascinated me, and I felt very whole with these two spiritual views. The Romani feels right again, but Stregheria just doesn't seem to fit in my life anymore. It's a little sad, but kind of a relief.

I don't believe I can fully go back to being Strega, though no vow is preventing me. I simply must see that looking back is not a return. I still draw wisdom from the Gospel of Aradia, but I belong to Hethert now. I can't make the mistake I was about to and try to go backwards. I can only go forward. I was Luna Gypsy, and while this journey is realizing all that means to me, I am now, and will always be, at least in part, Qefathethert.

I am the sum of my life.
They were my landscape.

I leave this post with the part of the Gospel of Aradia I still carry with me, and will forever.

Be true to your own beliefs. Keep to your ways beyond all obstacles.

To veil or not to veil?

So. Covering the head. What does that make you think? Of burkhas? Nuns? Fair enough.

But what if I told you that pagan women are starting to cover their heads? Tying scarves around their heads and keeping their hair out of sight, at certain times (usually outside of the home)?

Does it sound a little too Abrahamic? A little too much like strict Judaism/fundy Christianity/Islam? Yeah, I thought so too, and that the urge to cover my hair was some misplaced feeling of "christian modesty" hanging on - though I was never part of a church that actually had women cover their hair.

What to make of the sudden urge, about a year ago, to cover my head?

I didn't do it. My then-boyfriend thought it looked silly, and I stopped. Though the covering made me feel centered, even grown-up.

Now I learn that other women are doing this, even Zat is, and writing about it. It's made it to the Pantheon blog. Still a minority, but one that is seemingly strong, and includes a spiritual sister. I like the idea in the blog on Pantheos, that hair is power, and it doesn't get to be shared with everyone. I'm complimented on my hair at times, and while I like that, it makes me fiddle with my hair. Makes me very self-conscious. Also, there are just some gorgeous scarves out there that I would love to wear like a tichel. I had a little experience with covering in a religious service though, as that is done by both men and women in Vodou. I always thought veiled and scarved women were beautiful, in a way - not the potato-sack burkha deal, that's too much.

Anyway, I tried an experiment while I was out today. I bought two lovely scarves on sale, because I was on this train of thought, then decided I'd get some cute bandanas for work - nothing too obvious, I'm still in Floribama. But that meant going to the dreaded WalHell. I remembered how centered I felt with my head covered, which is something Zat touched on...and I wanted to gauge the reaction of people. So in the car, I tied my hair up in a lovely gray scarf I bought.

I was so excited, I locked my stupid keys in the car, along with my phone! I felt like a doofus, and figure, well, now is the time to see how interactions with people go!

I lucked out, and found a pop-a-lock van right in the parking lot! I run up, ask him to help me, and gives me a discount - though I didn't have enough cash...AGH! He says "well, you seem like such a nice lady" and fills out a form, saying it was an emergency. Didn't ask for a cent.

So, it works? I guess? He was so kind, but that could have just been who he is. In any case, my scarf didn't seem to get in the way of doing business, talking to people - in fact, I was rather chatty with the cashier inside the store. I felt that feeling of safety and calm, and was able to extend myself socially, as a result. Seems contradictory, that wearing something most women wear for modesty makes me more outgoing.

I don't know how much I will cover my head yet, honestly. I only know that I like it, and I think more will happen in the future. Certainly more when I move from here. (I still worry about Islamophobia in this area) In any case, this is something I'm excited to learn from.

The cards say...

Divination is a lovely and tricky thing. Don't get me wrong, I love doing it, even when it turns frustrating and strange.

But there is such a thing as too much.

I collect tarot decks. I use pretty much all of them, and try to stick with one deck per reading, and that deck is whichever one calls to me.

But sometimes, I get the urge to reach for another, and ask the same questions. Bad idea.

Conflicting results, confusing answers, or just what I call "deck exasperation" sets in - where is seems like the cards themselves are saying "you asked that already, pipe down and think over the first reading!" Yes, my decks have personalities.

I have to admit, I've found myself doing this, out of self-doubt and anxiety. It never turns out well, and I leave my divination space more confused than I went in. I'm working on sticking to one deck per reading, making it a rule. Even the last reading I did for myself spoke of keeping things simple, not over-thinking situations. Apparently, it's not just a divination problem!

It's like over-editing a poem, or over-thinking a riddle, you can look past the obvious and get mired down in trivialities. All because of the urge to know.

Even with divination, you can never really know, there is no certainty. You are only shown the path, you still have to walk it, and your future is always in your hands. No amount of card readings, rune castings, pendulum work, or any other form of divination, will make that any less true, or the future any less risky. Not by itself anyway. You have to heed the message, first.

All the work is on you.

Mon coeur, heart, ib, corazon....

I try to close myself off after heartbreaks. Or at least install security defenses with passwords to get through. I feel smaller, but safer. But that's no way to live. Not really. And not for me.

I burn with passion sometimes. I cry when simply overwhelmed, whether by fear, pain, or joy. I wear my heart on my sleeve. And then I try not to.

The gods laugh, and throw people in my way to tear me wide open again. I don't think this is a bad thing.

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
~Kahlil Gibran

It's all very scary, and healing is hard, but maybe fire can cleanse me.



Senebty, Qefat

Who I Was, Who I Am.

I hope this post makes sense. And I won't ask anyone to believe it, because I know how that goes.

I remember past lives.

I don't just trust or believe in reincarnation - it's beyond academic for me, and into the very real, very spiritual, personal, and often visceral realm of reality for me. I have remembered lives that span thousands of years. I remember people I know now in some of the past lives, though they hardly ever remember me (I think this has happened twice, ever). I have never undergone hypnosis, this is not borne of suggestion. I don't know how to explain how I remember, or even where to begin how to tell others how they could. I just do. I trust that I remember the lives and the times within them for a reason. To learn something.

This admission on my part is usually met with some level of disbelief, either outright accusations of lying, or some reason how I'm misunderstanding what I remember and feel. Everything from "you're just trying to make your own life more interesting", to "we don't have individual reincarnated souls, it's 'genetic memory'." Any combination, mutation, personal take on these ideas, I've likely heard. I'm not here to defend my own understanding of my experience to anyone. I accept that I could be wrong. I am still learning, after all.

I just know that since the first memory came to me, I knew that I was myself and not myself at the same time. Of course I wasn't the same person I am now, but some part of me, something deep and inner, was within that woman who had a husband and lived in Spain in the 1940's. Same for the prostitute in early Renaissance Venice, the farm girl in Bronze Age China, etc, so forth.

Whenever I do remember, depending on the strength of the memory, my mind can be split for days. And a memory recently did surface this week - and I believe it was particularly strong, because I remembered with someone who was there. We only met briefly in that life, but it was strong enough to throw me into a state of mental limbo for days. I forgot how to start my car, I slipped in and out of English on the phone, I basically felt like my mind/spirit has been stirred, like a jar of sake, and all the sediment that had brewed to produce who I am now, was floating to the surface, clouding the present.

And this brew is strong, and bittersweet.

Any idea that I dream up past lives because they would be better than the present, I can say, right now, that is false in my case. These were painful memories, and not just for me. I wasn't anyone famous (no Cleopatra or Napoleons here). I wasn't a rich woman, a princess, I didn't have a torrid love affair. If anything, I lived in shame, in pain, and died with little note.

I am still working out why it is useful for me to remember - if it was just to remember with my friend, that would be good enough for me. We now share a very strong bond, and I treasure that.

I also know that it is of little use to dwell on these memories, so I am doing my best to let them settle. To remember, and to not re-live it. I think I had to for a little while, but that is only to integrate part of myself into my present consciousness. And to remember the good things, the kindnesses, and take lessons from the rest.

While I fully believe in these memories, I remind myself, and also believe, that this life is the most important. Anything in the past is just that, in the past - while it has helped form the present, and I can learn from that, the only thing I can affect is now.

So I will remember who I was, learn who I am, and make who I will be a full person.

Inner Resistance - Daring to Love Myself

The Occupy Love movie project has me thinking on many things in my own heart. As it should, I suppose. Yet, another comment made to me last night also has me searching my heart deeply, and not just about the subject being discussed. The main thrust of it was anger.

Anger at Christianity was mentioned, specifically. I really had thought myself cleared of most of my anger towards Christianity years ago, and while that may be true, but there is still enough present to be noticed by a friend. This made me sad – I don't want to be angry at a whole religion. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that I study and enjoy Gnosticism, am a fan of Kahlil Gibran, and remain peaceful with any Christian I meet, if that person doesn't attempt to convert me. I've since had Christian friends since leaving their faith. But none of this means that I am free from anger, or don't harbor grudges in my heart. This is eating my heart, even if it's slowly. It does not serve me, or anyone else.

How do you let go of anger? How do you purge all the hurt that has been done to you?

I was hurt, and hurt deeply, by the Christian private school I attended in my teen years, by the Baptist theology that was popular there, and by the regular teenaged cruelty cast upon me. Somehow, it was worse when coupled with Southern Baptist worm theology. Not only was I an uncool, unattractive geek, I was also an undeserving sinner and a filthy beggar for God's love, and I was damn lucky to get it, after grovelling and hating myself to my peers' approval.

Is it any surprise to anyone that this left emotional scars and self-destructive habits?

I also get angry at injustice, at the hatred and ignorance of others, at the government, at so many things - and while this is reasonable, even justified, it's not very helpful. Anger is a kind of violence, and I do believe violence begets violence. I want to change my world around me, but I must learn to respond, not react. Reacting only causes others to want to react. There is no understanding there, and Love is pushed out. I want to fight, to make a better world, but I want it to be in Love. Jesus was right, the real revolutionary act is to love your enemies - though I do not believe it to be in the passive, door-mat way I was taught. That was just a way to create a slave. It must be an active love, a love that says "you are just like me, let us both treat each other as humans, this is what we both need and want."

I can't hang on to the anger. It only hurts me, no matter if it is justified. I am eating my own heart, and Bast is never pleased with that. If I want to do senut every day physical purity allows, I must also purify my mind and heart. Anger gets in the way of that. It begets depression in me, and a host of other mental problems.

I must start an internal revolution. That must come first, before I can even attempt to be a part of the outward revolution. I feel the revolution towards Love out there, and I desperately want to be a part of it, to run laughing through all that energy like a kid through sprinklers. But that's only half of how it works. I have to grow Love in my own heart. Anger and Fear are blocking that.

I see a lot of weeping in my future. I will embrace it, with the laughter and the light and the dark. I will love the dark until it glows. Netjer give me courage to do so.

With Love and Hope,
QefatHethert

Woulda been, coulda been

This keeps popping up on Pandora. I think it's half message, half plain old amusement.

Changes, Wonderful, Hopeful, Terrifying.

I didn't want to move here to Florida. I avoided this possibility until nearly the last moment. I was in a toxic, codependent situation that was killing me. I was too close to it, and I didn't see it.

I'm seeing so much more now, and it really is like the elephant in the room. I wonder how the fuck I missed it.

I've been doing much better at getting shrine time in, since I now have a clean and quiet space to do so. And if nothing else is perfectly clear now, it's that my spiritual Mother and beloveds do care, love me, and that all of this, even the mess and the pain and the horror of looking back at what I was doing to myself, is on purpose. I'm meant to be here. It's not my favorite place, but it has the Gulf to wash me, it has sunshine, I have a clean bed, space to breathe, and a much clearer head and open ears and heart, so I may hear and feel my Gods.

Hethert tells me to love myself, and no longer seek to destroy myself. Bast-Mut orders me to stop eating my heart. Set tells me I will survive all of this, and be more brilliant and strong for it. All want me more pure. Want me happier and stronger.

Hethert also won't let love die within my heart. Every day I can be in shrine, I can't express my thanks enough for what She has done for me - and who She has placed in my path.

It's also the year of Ptah, the builder. But nothing can be built if there is rubble in the way. This is all clearing away of that rubble, what no longer serves me. Maybe it never did, but it's on the way out now. It will still take work. I won't always feel great or victorious about it, I'll have days where I'm dusty and sweaty and want to give up. But I won't. I have powerful Gods on my side, a wonderful faith community in the House of Netjer, and good friends. I'll make this happen.

Netjer amazes me.

Fear and Love

I haven't been writing. I've been down - very down. So I have a hard time finding much to say. Just try to find inspiration anywhere I can to keep stumbling along.
And here's a little bit of wisdom that is helping. If I just remember - it's ok, it's just a ride.

Moving.

Everything in my life is moving.

My place of residence. My perceptions. My feelings.

Maybe I can do real spiritual work here. I do love Yemaya. She can knock down a huge emotional wall. I need to be more in touch with my center. Wherever the hell it is. I find myself crying and praying to this Orisha. I suppose She is very close.

Stir the pot. I heard thunder today. Saw a few storms out in the distance. Prayed to Set that I can handle chaos and weird stuff until I come out of all this. Handle being tossed about on the ocean.

I do want to see what's next.

Oh, you crazy Christian kids.

So, I saw a disturbing article on my sister Sobeq's twitter today, about some new vast prayer project aimed at "taking the country back" for christians, sponsored by our favorite Jesus freaks, the New Apostolic Reformation, and while they are against, well, everyone but themselves (because Mormons and Catholics aren't christian either), they are having pagans sit up and take notice. And responding back to pagans - with "blood-covered love." (I wish I was kidding about that quote)

Some of you might remember some rumblings over the NAR during our last American presidential election, mostly around Sarah Palin, our favorite witch hunter. It's a part of an over-arching ideal in some factions of American christian fundamentalism termed "dominionism," basically, "all your soulz are belong to us." It's a relatively new term, describing the political aspirations of far-right christians, but has been on the rise here in the US, as far as I can tell, since Ronald Reagan. The evangelical right is a minority, but a very noisy one, and very faithful to the polls - and they are masters of organization.

What made me want to write about this episode, particularly the "Forty Days of Light over D.C.", is partly the comment section of the first link to the Wild Hunt blog about it, and my own mixed-up feelings. I'm no stranger to the feelings of these kinds of people, who feel it is their duty to force their god's "love" on us, as well as their god's laws and spiritual dominion, to make sure we're "free" and "saved." I have always chaffed at this kind of "love", and know it does not really come from compassion, but from deep insecurities covered by a kind of haughty surety of their own "righteousness." I try to have my own compassion for them, but at the same time, know that there is really no talking to them. They are convinced I'm an emissary of the devil. Nothing I say would be considered for a moment.

I do worry that these nutters will gain political ground - for that, I vote. However, the mention of their prayers against their enemies and "pagan idols" such as Columbia (notice that D.C., to them, is the "District of Christ"), and ongoing commentary on the power of intent (even admitted to be a force by the NAR themselves - the irony is delicious), do make me pause and think. I fully believe in magic/heka. I employ it, I live it (as best I can), and I don't think it is limited to a few specialized hands. I believe it is a natural force - one that can be honed, specialized, and used more specifically and effectively by practiced people who have put the time and effort into it, yes; but a stick can be used to kill a person, not just a balanced sword. What can an organized group of wall-eyed praying foot-soldiers do, with enough directed intent/malice/misunderstanding, to disrupt a government that ensures my freedom? What would it take to counteract it?

I'm not sure.

Please understand, I dislike the whole notion of "spiritual warfare" as put forth by these neo-pentecostal types like the NAR. I don't think it's helpful to announce "we are against you, and our god(s) is(are) too!" I don't want to drag anyone, least of all myself, down to their level of "my god can beat up your god." (Though I do think I just heard Set snicker somewhere...)

However, in the interest of balance, ma'at, and well, concern for our country not getting any crazier, I do think I will try to save the date (11-11-11, oh, but magic is evil :P) and say a few prayers to Ma'at and perhaps the genius loci Columbia. It couldn't hurt, and it might help add a few feathers on the scale on the side of keeping my country free. Maybe my fellow American pagans/Kemetics/Vodouns can jump in as well - there are days for every state, and the one for the District of Columbia.

How you respond, and the level of it, is entirely up to you, but I think perhaps quietly, privately, and lovingly might be best. Maybe do what Jesus said, and go into your closet - because these guys are certainly ignoring that part of their book.

Souls have Skin?

I was pondering my life in the bath, as I am wont to do, and I recalled some weird episodes in my life, where my spirituality was questioned not because it wasn't christian, but because of the color of my skin. As bizarre as this sounds, it does happen, and I got this from mostly pagan people.

I will admit, there was a time in my life, as a fairly new practicing pagan, that I thought I should follow the ancient ways that my "blood kin" followed. This meant Welsh and Irish pagan beliefs. I did try. The art is gorgeous, yes - the stories interesting, the history just spotty enough to let a curious researcher really dig in and stay interested. But, for whatever reason, it didn't spark my soul. I just wasn't moved.

So I moved on. I wandered around many pagan paths, even kept a little bit of the Celtic stuff around for the sake of my ancestors. What ended up moving me and really reaching my core was radically different, and turned out to be taboo.

I even remember the moment. I was in a religious studies class on sacrifice at college, and we were watching Maya Deren's film, The Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti. It's a black and white film, it's a documentary, so no putting on the soft lights to attract people - but all the same, I knew that was what I was looking for. Vodou, of all things! I found Deren's book by the same title, and any other book I could find on Vodou or any other Afro-Diasporic religion. I had found my home. At the same time, I was also interested in Kemetic Orthodoxy, another African religion, but that took a while longer.

But, as it turned out, not everyone thought what I had found was the best thing for me. Oh, I expected evangelical christians to hate my religion, I had been used to that for a while, starting with Stregheria. I didn't expect other pagans to object. It was by no means a consensus, but there were a few pagans who thought it was wrong of me to practice a "black religion" as a "white person." The strongest response along these lines did come from a christian, who said something to the effect of "why are you practicing that n***** religion? It's not enough that you're not christian, you have to go do THAT??" Very sad, indeed.

I don't buy this idea in some recon pagan circles that one is obligated to follow the gods of "their blood." If a pagan is happy honoring the gods of their ancient ancestors, and feels best identifying with their own ethnic spirituality, that's great. I don't object to anyone doing what their spirit honestly calls them to do. I just don't accept or like the idea that this is the way it must be. I even heard a person visiting New Orleans say they wouldn't go see Mambo Sallie Glassman, because she couldn't be a "real" priestess, she was white. Never you mind that she has been to Haiti and was initiated there by a Haitian houngan, and has every right in the world to call herself Mambo Sallie. To this person, the color of her skin determined her spiritual pedigree. That is all kinds of wrong.

Spirit has no skin color. Race doesn't even really exist, even by scientific and anthropological standards. And if you go back in your genetic ancestry far enough, you'll end up in Africa anyway (not to say everyone should worship African deities, my faith isn't for everyone either). Christianity is semetic, when you get down to it, but people of all backgrounds are christian - same goes for Islam, and to a lesser extent, Judaism. And I've seen plenty of white Hare Krishnas. When I'm in a ceremony, or at my shrine, I don't think of my skin color - I am my soul, and my soul happens to love Africa.

Of course, practicing African religions, ancestor veneration is part of what I do - I don't eschew my heritage because I feel called to honor the loa and netjeru. I am here and who I am today because of my ancestors, and my heritage does get recognition. I just don't worship Lugh and Rhiannon because my last name is Welsh. Of course, for my immediate ancestors, being southern and poor, soul food is an offering I make, which happens to be influenced by African people.

I love that I, and my culture, is a huge mix. Makes things interesting. And if more people looked past skin color, and saw the rainbows of true culture and background, maybe these racist ideas of "proper religion" would vanish.

I know, I'm a dreamer.

Spirit Overrides Mind

I went down to St Claude to look for a job. My first stop was the New Orleans Healing Center. It's in the process of opening up, and it has my favorite spiritual person running a shop there, Mambo Sallie Ann Glassman and her Island of Salvation Botanica. I figured I could see her new digs, ask what's happening in the neighborhood, all that.

I get in there, and start crying. I just break down, and tell Sallie I desperately need a job, I'm depressed, all that. She gently offers me the appropriate candle, and money drawing oil. I sniffle and thank her, and on top of this, she calls her shop girl to do some free (yes, FREE!) acupuncture for my depression.

Casey takes me into the private reading room, feeds me Emergen-C (I hadn't eaten yet), some Bach's Rescue Remedy, and gets to work. She sits with me twice the required time for it to all work. She listens to me cry, talk, admit all kinds of things I was even barely thinking. Through it all, she was calm, the very soul of gentleness, and better than any therapist I've ever met.

She takes the needles out, puts some sticky magnets on the backs of my ears, and admonishes me to go eat something. Then (oh, Netjer, can it get better??) she tells me of a free acupuncture workshop this very night in the same neighborhood.

If I ever needed a sign, that was it. I have an all-day pass on public transport. I have no excuses.

If you're ever in NOLA, take the adventure, go down to St Claude and St Roch, the giant orange and turquoise building, and visit Mambo Sallie and Casey for some mojo and some healing. They're wonderful people.

Ok, one more...

I've said before that Florence Welch puts me in the mind of worshiping Hethert.

This song would fit in with any ecstatic worship. Rock concerts can do that, but this, I feel is special. I adore this video.

Random Act of Kindness

I, for some reason, chose to go make groceries in the middle of the day. In this heat. In New Orleans. I r smaert!

There is a point, however. Earlier, I was watching a documentary on the life of the Buddha. I thought it was quite well done, if not a little romanticized, but still touched on all the important points and facets of Buddhist thought.

So, when it ended, it was noon, and I realized I hadn't gone to the store yet. I gathered my bags and money, and set out. Boy, it's hot out there. Sun was at its peak. I started dripping sweat in no time, and grumbling to myself about being so silly, trekking out in this blasted soup of a day.

A truck pulls up next to me as I walk. I'm hailed by the driver. He asks "want a cold water or something?" I am a little stunned at first. He repeats this. I say a huge YES, and am handed what they have left - a red Powerade. I graciously thank the guys in the truck, and renew my walk.

It's not until I get to the store, make my groceries, and leave, that I put the pieces of this encounter together. I pull out the bottle of my red life elixir, and laugh as it all dawns on me. The story.

The story basically goes that the Buddha, not yet the Buddha, just a disillusioned young prince Siddartha, goes to teachers, and endures extreme asceticism, to the point of near starvation, until he just gives up. He isn't receiving any truths, any wisdom, he's just cold, hungry, and in pain. At this point of saying "oh fuck it!", a little girl brings him a bowl of rice porridge. It wasn't until then, when he was fed (by both the food and the girl's kindness, I think), that he found the strength to meditate under the bodhi tree, and discover the Middle Way.

I'm no Buddha (yet ;}), but I found the inspiration to write this blog in a random stranger who saw a hot, thirsty woman trudging along. Kindness. Compassion. That's really it. The little girl didn't see a future sage and founder of a major religion, she saw a hungry man.

I have no idea what I may become, but I want to honor that kindness. Just as I will do my best to offer random kindness to the next person in need I see - that person could be a buddha too! Or just a fellow sibling in the human family, which is honestly quite enough.

Music! Always Music! Raise it up!

Ok, so I love discovering new music. Good music, anyway. And thanks to Stephen Colbert, I found out about Florence & the Machine. Wow. Bombastic, pure emotion pouring out of Ms. Florence Welch in her voice, her movements onstage - makes me really think of Hethert. Yes, I'm sure She loves all music, but just look at that picture (stick of bells, not "authentic" but makes me think of a sistrum), then find some of the music to listen to.

Also, I'll admit, I'm thinking of my impending RPD. I try to be a "clean slate" mentally, but then I'm just watching my nightly comedy/news, and I'm hit with this amazing woman. And the urge to dance, and I feel a mental "giggle" in the back of my head. Kind of like "yeah, you know, silly."

Ok, and here's a video for ease of checking out this amazing woman + group. Also, I love geeking over this stuff.