Sanctimonious Litter

As I sat down in the car, and shifted into drive, it hit me. “I forgot the bag?!” I could not believe it. After a rockslide paced morning and early afternoon of “meaningful” tasks, I had ruined it all by carelessly littering where my ritual had taken place. “No way! I can’t…really?! Damnit!” I was incensed. Everything I had done was to feel connected, show my gratitude, and focus on what mattered most. What I had achieved was frustration, resentment and rage. This catapulted me back to that hillside, tempted to smash my face off the steering wheel each minute of the way.

It was June 24th, and if you are reading this, you probably know what that means. It was time to “pay the rent,” to Manannán Mac Lir. I adore this holiday. The message has always resonated with me as an incredible story of unconditional love. For all that Manannán has done for his people, all he asks in return is an offering of rushes on a high hill, with a “thank you.” Where I live, a luxury resort community, this time of year could not seem farther afield from that sentiment. A mad rush to relax is the drive. Vacation and excess have never been so exhausting. 80-hour work weeks for members of the service industry, long lines at every establishment, and snarled roads keep the island practically trembling under the cacophony of “island life.” Most tragically however, is just how that energy infects those exposed to it, who are not wary. On June 24th, I was one of them.

I woke up with the to do list rolling behind my eye lids before they even opened. I had to pick up rushes from the nursery, pick up my own flowerpots from the family greenhouse, get to the grocery store, and write out my prayer. All of this seemed easy, and so off I went expecting a hedonistic day of gratitude and spiritual oneness. Within 10 minutes however, I was cut off at an intersection, where I clenched my steering wheel, and cursed the insolent biped who had wronged me. From there it was a parade of the normal, but incising, annoyances that many of the most fortunate deal with. I picked up the rushes and brought them home. I had them cut and wrapped in red thread in no time. I quickly ran back down to the car to pick up the flowerpots, which were now baking in the sun. More traffic, and a strenuous heaving into the trunk of the car. Now back to the house, but first more traffic. Back up two flights of stairs, profuse sweating, and locking myself outside on the balcony. “I’m trying to do a nice thing here for….* Bang bang….*Bang bang…Honey!”

Once back inside, I rinsed off in a cold shower. I still had to write down my prayer, in Manx of course, and get out to the hillside I had chosen for the offering. As I was writing though, I realized that I had left the rushes baking in the car with the windows up. “Oh, come on!” I screamed internally as I ran down the stairs, pen and paper still in hand, with wet hair as well. “I’ll write it when I get there,” I told myself after cranking the A/C and throwing the shifter into drive. Back to the familiar traffic, the gate keeping function to any sacred experience.

The car rolled through a few miles of sand roads, crisscrossing heath and moors. It was early afternoon at this point. The humidity had subsided only slightly with the heat of the day. I had originally wanted to make this a hike, but my schedule in the previous days had pushed every step necessary for this offering until this morning. “It’ll be fine,” I told myself. I pulled up to the foot of the hill and placed the rushes in a paper bag. If anyone saw me up until the offering itself, I would hopefully be mistaken for a lost tourist hoping to have a picnic. Normal protocol for Pagans I would like to think.

The scene was safe, and out came the rushes. Sweating under the early summer sun, I fumbled with the paper. My tempo was off, and I had to start over at one point. “Gabh mo Leisgeuil,” I muttered in a dull sense of shame. After the rushes were offered and words failed me, I anxiously waited for that familiar feeling of gratitude. Like how you might feel after the last note in a symphony, a ritual can leave you breathless and awed by the experience. The feeling did not arrive, or at least, I did not give it the chance. I loped back to the car and drove off. I still had another potted plant to pick up and wanted to plant the rushes for a recuperative season after their gracious gift. Later, after I had packed the last pots and plants in the trunk, I realized my mistake. I had left that paper bag on the hillside. More than a misspoken word, littering the site itself seemed grotesque to me. I was furious with myself. I had to bring back the plants I had, run up and down the stairs, try not to lock myself out again, and then get back in traffic for a repeat drive out to the heath. A profanity laced bemoaning ensued.

After all the trivial sacrifices of time and tranquility had been made, I was back on the hillside. Thankfully, the bag was tucked in between the same branches where I had placed it before. I picked it up and looked around. The sun had lowered, and the wind had settled into a lull. There was not a language that I knew, or an art form that I had mastered that could express what I wanted to say. To Manannán, to Dé ocus Andé, to the heath and hill itself. “I’m so sorry,” I said in English.

I had missed the entire meaning of the day, and in my mind, had brought nothing but resentment and absent mindedness with a bundle of grass. As I turned to head back to the car, I had a strange thought, however. What did I want in that moment? Simply, I wanted to be ok, and for the Gods to know I loved them, I thought. I stopped mid stride and turned around. Finding a flat stone under a scrub oak, I sat down in the shade. For what seemed like a momentary eternity, I sat there and laughed about the day. There was no great disaster, and the only thing missing from my day was not focus, but compassion. I hadn’t been compassionate towards myself, and had missed what this holiday meant. The love of the Gods was everywhere, in each leaf, breeze, and breath, and I was pathologically ignoring that in pursuit of “perfection.” Perfection in ritual, language, offering, timing, place, etc. It can be easy to be wrapped up in sanctimony and research as a reconstructionist. Even more broadly, it can feel alienating to be a solitary Pagan. The world you are trying to be closer to, is not necessarily seen the same way by those around you, and life is not often organized to make that journey any easier. What I had forgotten was that because of that, I had to be kind to myself. I was asking myself to do it all and do it perfectly. Manannán only wanted rushes though, and an honest, “Thank you.”

I was elated to have forgotten that bag. I had another moment on the hillside, laughing with the Gods, and watching the clouds pass over the sandplain. “Thank you so much,” I said as I left. I drove home, noticing the late afternoon sun through the trees along the road. Traffic gave me a chance to listen to the radio and think about dinner with my partner. When I came home and made my way upstairs and through the door, I had a bashful smile. “How did it go?” She asked embracing me. I kissed her and said how, “it was perfect.”

Growing in place

I spend a good deal of time thinking on how I want these articles to go. I take notes, argue with myself back and forth, etc. No matter what I decide on though, I never want these to sound sterile. They need to be accessible, for myself and anyone reading them. No one needs another tome, self-aggrandizing diatribe or witty quip. We need to have something to reach out, hold, and feel steadied. Something to connect with. Pagan or not, disconnection is our greatest fear. Torn from a place, time or person leaves most of us with inconsolable grief. Death is terrifying for that reason.

To me, writing about the sacred and our connection to it needs to be accessible. It’s easy to list off historical details, precedents and traditions in an almost sterile way. Almost like Neo-Antiquarianism, that puts the subject matter in danger of being placed in a spiritual mausoleum. I don’t want to sound like a polished tombstone. I would rather be the lichen speckled one, off in the corner by the rotting split rail fence. It doesn’t matter if you can’t read the name anymore, because that’s not relatable. It’s decay and apparent ‘life’ cycle reminds us of our own, and that we can sit with for hours. Silent marble doesn’t do that. We relate to experience, vulnerability and uncertainty.

Monoliths withstand time because they are beyond life. The inverse is a better example. Why are there almost no more great wines from La Belle Epoque? Because there have been too many great afternoons in the sunshine since then. Too many reunions, too many births, and too many poignant hours. I don’t want anything that I write to sound like monoliths. I want them to read like a hammock by a well loved but neglected lawn. That’s what I feel lacking.

It’s so easy to remain separated from moments. We drink too much, spend too much time on our devices, go from car to building to car, etc. When we do find ourselves unplugged, often the haze clings to our minds eye. While that is toxic to anyone, to Pagans it is literally like having the doors and windows to every church barred shut. The easiest part of our faith is that it can be reinforced anywhere, if we are there. The most difficult, is having to connect to that space yourself. There aren’t any signs saying, “Sacred wisdom behind that rock.”  

I feel poignantly alone without a good deal of effort. It is a testament to the routine of modern life how easy, and even normal, it is to remain in an unhealthy cycle. It’s sorely lacking though. Making connections to space and others does take work, and it can feel pointless until the moment when it comes together, but until we do, we are only part human. We aren’t monoliths and living like them makes us ill. For me, writing like one is even worse. Besides, my thoughts are better left unpolished.

Back to the Summer Fields

Its been awhile. It feels longer than it sounds though. In the 2 ½ years since my last post, time has passed like the view from inside a washing machine. It’s hard to tell how things are going, and its all too overwhelming to remember how I got here.

Three months ago, my Partner left me. Looking back, it’s no surprise, but that can’t seem to minimize its weight. For the past few years I had let more and more slip through my hands until finally she did as well. Things fell away not because my tenacity to hold on became overzealous, but rather that I lost grip on the wheel as I nodded off in the driver’s seat. There was no rumble strip. I had to turn in the key to my home and take what I had left laboriously to my parents. It felt like I had fallen so fast to rock bottom that I discovered its crawlspace. I cannot let this sentence even pass however without acknowledging how blessed I am for my family and their generosity. They’ve been there for me, and now its my turn to do the same.

I started drinking in college, like most people fortunate enough to go. However, after college, I didn’t slow down. I took my drinking from a house party to my living room, and although the amount I drank didn’t change, I did. The short read is that I’ve found myself on emotional and spiritual life support. When you spend any and all your time bludgeoning your own senses, eventually you start to succeed to that end. Luckily, I’ve started to come around.

As of this writing, I am 10 weeks sober. It does in fact feel like waking up on one of those mornings where you’re too ashamed to ask what happened or make eye contact with your Love. I cannot stress enough though how grateful I am to be awake at all. Many are never again so lucky. Now the next step is to find the things I have neglected or lost. The most cherished of all being my connections to space and time. To the Gods and un-Gods. To everything outside of a bottle, to be blunt.

This Bealltainn, I’m gathering what matters, and heading back to the Summer Fields.

I have no morals, or so I'm told

"It must be easy, not having any rules." I think I've heard this phrase in the past, but recently it stung more. Where do I begin? No really, I just don't know. I've thought it over, but this cognac isn't helping. Maybe I'll listen to Rage Against the Machine and pick up something really heavy. Nope. Nothing. Clueless. Let's just move on then.

Have thick skin, that's all I can say. Insults will come, and even threats, but it's the ignorance that hurts. Not a stinging pain, but soreness. It's like you just dragged a Cadillac up a sand dune for the fifth time today, and someone asks if it's heavy, and then they pull the parking brake. The advice I take here, be like Marvelous Marvin Hagler. Marvelous Marvin, for those of you not infatuated with the sweet science, was/is a Boxer. He was famous for training harder than anyone else. For hours every winter morning, he would run long stretches on the beach in combat boots. Then, he would run all the way back, backwards. Practice that. We don't just make progress moving forwards. We have to take a few steps back now and then. We do however, need to be prepared, but not aggressive.

The Us vs Them mentality is the most destructive thought pattern in human history. Avoid it. You may find that you're put in it regularly, but you just bob and weave.  The struggle isn't to show our differences, it's opening peoples eyes to how close we are. In the meantime, deep breaths, and keep your jets cool.

Tapadh leibh

Owen

Don't let your path limit you

My partner and I were discussing old family names, and what we would name a child, if we were to have one. It's a fun activity for young couples, and yes, stressful too. What kept coming up however was how to respect each-others backgrounds most equitably. Her heritage is Danish and Irish, while mine is Irish and Scottish. I've always enjoyed thinking of a son named Henrik, or maybe a daughter named Freyja. What surprises me is how shocked some people are to hear that. "But, you're not Scandinavian." My response is usually a blank stare. 

As a Man, my say is not law. I am not "in-charge." Their mother's heritage is just as important as mine. For the purpose of this post however, let's surmise that our child's name reflected neither of our backgrounds. My opinion is, so what? As Pagans, I implore you, don't be race motivated. Be history motivated, be family motivated, and yes, be culturally motivated. Culture is a living, changing entity that we all add to and grow with. It can be as inclusive as you are willing to be. Race however is a relatively recent construct for the sole purpose of suppressing others. 

I could write about this for hours, but I think I'll just go to bed. Love yourselves for who you are, and what you are part of folks, not the color of your skin or how easily pronounceable your name may be.  

Tapadh leibh

Owen

Taking a moment

Ironically I've lost track of time, and as such this post will be short. Today was my day off this week. I woke up late, drank too much coffee, drove around in circles and ended up just sitting on the patio reading a book. All of which was done only to realize I hadn't bought groceries, and I was now out of time. I was impressed that I could do this. 

My partner, as always, brought me back to center. Instead of rushing to the car, cursing in line at the store, and running home to get dinner on the table, we decided to walk. We changed the menu, and walked to the farm down the road. We were in time to walk at sunset, and visit just as they were happily closing for the day. We walked back in twilight, and felt like we couldn't have planned it better. 

Earlier in the afternoon I had been reading "The Gaelic Otherworld," a tome of 19th century Highland spirituality and folklore. What always impresses me is the number of holidays they celebrated, and just how many prayers and rituals could take place throughout the day because they didn't have Youtube. It only takes a sunset walk to understand in part why they lived this way. Every moment can be, and is, sacred. We are part of an incredible time and place, and being thankful doesn't just serve a guilt complex, but allows us to examine what we have. Filling your day with the sacred doesn't have to mean reciting obtuse rhymes, at least in my practice. If you're thankful, and express that appreciation in feeling and action, then that is un-distilled worship. Ritual is important as it connects us through time and distant places, but the core of it all is being in a state of awe at our own existence and the connection we feel with others. There's nothing wrong with finding that feeling as you walk to the store because you forgot the damn arugula.

Tapadh leibh

Owen 

Creating challenges in order to avoid moral repugnance

Living on an island has more challenges than running out of ice cream when the wind kicks up. We depend on our marine habitats for their aesthetic value, i.e. tourism, and their viability as fisheries. Our island has the unique gift, and challenge, of being one of the most desirable summer colonies on the planet. We have a huge influx of summer guests and, well, their money. No complaints there. The standard set for aesthetics is however a sacrifice. Disney Land needs to look the way it does, otherwise no one would visit. It's the same here. Grey shingled homes, a harbor only populated by moorings and cormorants, and a quaint town equipped with five star dining. We aim to please, even at our own expense.

Our fisheries have been here longer than any other industry, or people for that matter. Shellfishing is inseparable from our identity. As the last few decades passed, all of our mainland neighbors have lost their fisheries to pollution and overdevelopment as we anxiously pray for a good year. We however have a contradiction, that has come to surface only a few years ago.

Landscape development and construction is a massive industry here. Large seaside estates ring the island, and islanders and migrants alike flock to tend to them. Like Disney Land, everything has to look perfect. This means dense plantings, constant maintenance, and over fertilization. The latter is where we find the problem. Those same fertilizers which keep the islands properties verdant, are also the future demise of our fisheries. Algal blooms and excessive bacterium levels threaten to destroy our estuaries and harbors, all thanks to some very green lawns. As a Pagan, an Islander, and a Landscaper, this poses a problem.

The thesis here is that as Pagans, we have a burden placed on us to live the values that we not only preach, but that are inherent to our spirituality. Environmental viability is a base need for mankind, and Pagans take that a step further to include our Gods and Spirits( Dé ocus Ande.) This means making sacrifices that seem otherwise altruistic for our future, and the future of our sacred places. Unfortunately, this contradicts our more immediate needs at times. 

Many of us feel isolated from those around us, because of our differences in belief. We do however share our environment, and that includes its use and threats. We are forced by our beliefs to make the right choice, and that is to put our shared land first. What reassures me when confronting the higher costs of sustainable goods, or passing on opportunities that negatively effect our ecosystem, is that we're all going to have to face this together. That really does include everybody. As a Pagan, it feels pretty good to have a bigger tribe at times like this. Take the vanguard folks.

Tapadh Leibh

Owen

Feasgar Samhainn

I drove to the forest today, and right after I stepped in, I felt like I did something wrong. 

My Brother and I weren't close enough as we grew up. We're five years apart, so that may have had something to do with it, but I've always regretted our distance. Recently, it's been improving. We're in our 20's now, and he's a spectacular photographer. I take advantage of this. Today was no different.

I drove up to get him as usual, with coffee in hand. We made our way across the island, and to one of our favorite forests. "The Sun is bright and angled." he said. Winter Sun is dramatic Sun. 

I pulled the car over and got out. He's a nerd, so he takes too long with his equipment. I, am a bully, so I hit the horn a few times to jostle him out of his seat. As I did so, I saw a man stand up on the hill and turn towards me. He walked towards us, got in his car, and drove away. 

I really hope Na Aos Sí don't have cars...

I've skipped Samhainn Eve, and trust me, it's been intentional. The above mentioned story was the height of excitement. Last night, thankfully was fairly tame. 

I give offerings a Oidche Samhainn as I always do. I'm fortunate to live next to a farm that sells some fantastic produce, and this year my offering included local Cranberries, Apples, Milk and Cheddar cheese. I was fairly proud of our offering. All of which was presented on a clam shell, atop a slab of White Oak. Candles were kept all night, and most importantly, silver bells and red thread hung by each door.  I kept the curtains drawn as the candles burned, hoping to impress the fact that all good spirits are welcome. Hopefully, they took advantage of that. 

Samhainn is by far my favorite time of year. Everyone around me gets closer, the seasons fall in line with how I feel, and I'm able to spend time with the land and those around. I hope you all feel the same. If not, you clearly haven't worried about being cursed by a disturbed visitor. 

Let's hope the clam shell was enough. 

Oidche Samhainn

The lanterns are lit, the offerings are out, and the red thread protects the door. I hope everyone is having a great evening. Say goodbye to your year, and relax. Tonight's the night we share with our loved ones come and gone, and any spirits who accept our gifts. Be safe and respectful, as we come and go from the world we're used to, and slip into this night. 

I'm keeping this post short tonight, because I want to enjoy tonight. Hopefully, you understand. Tomorrow I'll be sure to share some specifics about my holiday, and traditions I keep.

Toilichte Oidche Samhainn

Owen

Paganism doesn't have to be the answer

When I was a Freshman in college, one of my professors also happened to be a Rabbi. She rarely preached, but she did however try and instill some of her opinions. The most frequently exclaimed of hers was to find a faith that, "makes you work." Having a strict code of conduct, and a template for spiritual growth was essential for a good life in her opinion. I struggled with this concept from the beginning. As a Gaelic Polytheist, I never thought of my practice as difficult. I made offerings, daily prayers and celebrated the holidays. As long as I respected the world and spirits around me, and those who came before me, I felt that I was living my life as a "good" Pagan. So, I was conflicted.

Two years later, during my Junior year, I went through my first real break up. We had been together for years, and I was left in a bad financial and emotional state. I had always found comfort in my spirituality, but it didn't seem proactive enough. I started a Pagan group off campus, I amped up my research, and I tried to fill my life with my path. I do feel that these were good distractions, but I realized that's how I was using them, as distractions. I began to look beyond my path when a good friend turned me on to Stoicism. With its techniques of negative visualization, mindfulness and tranquility, I was enthralled. I felt like I was finally evaluating my thoughts, not just pouring them into a personal world view. This however left me more conflicted. What did it say about my spirituality that I needed to look elsewhere? Was I not finding enough depth in my practice? Was this appropriation? 

It took me sometime to realize a fact of my life. My path is not all encompassing, its my center. As my personal outlook, that I do share with thousands, it is one among many more millions. Appropriation is a constant concern as we hope to respect others traditions and practices, but I disagree that the way we do that is to quarantine our ways of doing things. As long as I don't conflate different ideals and practices, or let myself create a false narrative about how they fit together, I feel comfortable understanding and using many different ways of connection. In my opinion, going beyond your path to learn a new outlook doesn't reflect badly on your path, but reflects well on yourself as a traveler and student. Today I feel that making yourself work hard is in fact important. Your justification for why you work hard though is irrelevant, as long as you have your center.

Tapadh Leibh

Owen

P.S. This post is VERY late because the first draft was lost when my browser crashed. I'm still writing everyday, don't worry.

Late night crawling

Nothing beats late night nosh. You know what makes it better? Eating it next to a couple dressed as the Riddler, and Harley Quinn. Yes folks, it's Halloween for the Muggles, and I love every minute of it.

We've all grown up with costumes, candy, and later on, too much booze and bad decisions. It may seem insensitive now, but the idea of being out of time, is timeless. Traditionally a time out of the year, these few days have been the Mardi Gras before the French Quarter was more than a sand bar. 

For many Pagans, there are mixed feelings about the commercial holiday. It's cultural appropriation,  it's insensitive, or it's just flat out tacky. I will never claim to be overly sensitive. I am however concerned with people staying in the spirit of fun. For my own sanity, I separate Samhainn and Halloween. Often we're alone in our spirit, but rarely in practice. It may be wishful thinking, but I take this time of year to share exuberance with those around me, despite differences in values. I bridge the two however by having a great night.  

Pagans love a good time. There is no second half to that sentence. We're already weird. For this holiday season, I want to impress that on others. Go out, have fun, and share your weird. Most of the year we seem far afield from those around us in spiritual practice. Ironically, during the season when we believe the veils are raised between the worlds, we get closer to the person sitting next to us as well. Worlds overshadow, and we all reap the benefits. 

Tapadh Leibh 

Owen

Until the coals are all that's left

"The first story from the host, and stories till morning from the guest." Irish Proverb

Today I pitched this blog for the first time. I linked it on social media, and shared it with friends. I'm apprehensive, but excited. I've never done anything like this before. What I say has no more meaning than what anyone else says, so why am I saying anything? For what reason am I saying something everyday? The answer to both is the same. Pagans/Polytheists need to project our voices. We live in the din of the modern world, where we are diffused among a million screaming voices. All have merit, but it's easy to feel alone when your voice is the only one that sounds familiar around you. My goal is to add one more steady voice to the stream of our community. 

A co-worker from Eastern Europe asked about the origins of Halloween today. I explained to him as best I could the Gaelic origins of the time, and it's significance. Surprisingly, his culture has a similar holiday, with a similar meaning. The rest of the afternoon proceeded to be a litany of stories from his home, interspersed with comparisons to my childhood. While I consistently make a case for Pagan voices, I always want to press the reality of broader dialogue. Our stories, are human stories. His time spent leaving a place at dinner for the honored dead is only different from our practices in name. We do see things differently however. While he and others might find those experiences to be nostalgic anecdotes, to many of us they are intrinsic elements to our future. My job, and that of many other Pagans, is to continue our traditions because they are in danger of dying out. Like any flame under stress, ours needs breath, fuel, and constant care. My approach isn't to force the issue however. I want to cultivate that fire by bringing as many participants as possible. We won't continue as a few staunch hermits, but as a collection of gatherings. So I'll keep sharing each day, and I hope that a few of you out there find it reassuring to know that you have a tribe.

I am excited for what the future holds for myself, and all of us. Thank you so much for reading, and sharing.

Tapadh Leibh

Owen

Teach your children how to bake, and jumpstart a car

Both of the above mentioned activities happened today.

I'm fortunate enough to share an island with my family, and as such I take full advantage of their superior kitchen and photography gear. (The above photo did NOT come from my 3 year old iPhone.) 

When I arrived, my parents and brother were surrounding their car. Apparently some rats made a love shack under the hood, and the car wouldn't start. Once that was cleaned out, and the damaged wires taped, we found the battery to be dead. The rat's nest was just a pleasant distraction apparently. As all good life moments, this one was a great teaching opportunity. My Father seized on the chance to explain to my brother how to jump start a car. They had the car running in time for me to steal my brother and his superior photography skills. 

We tromped across the moors, using what little sun there was to take a few shots. Foliage out here isn't spectacular, but that makes what we can find that much more interesting. The landscape itself is what's really inspiring. The heart of the island is made of low rolling hills, long heathlands, scrub oak moors, and a few tucked away woods. It's an otherworldly environment that most people describe as a cross between Middle Earth and how they imagine the landscape of "Return of the Native." We're blessed to call it home. Afternoons such as this I take full advantage of, as I glean as much as possible from my brother. Afterwards I repay his efforts with potato leek stew and soda bread. Both of which he attends to, and learns as well.

Where I'm going with all of this is the simple act of teaching. Many of my peers struggle through their 20's and early 30's as they grow into "functioning" adults. I have been fortunate however to have had close family that enjoy teaching, and show great patience, which I believe is the only reason I've survived thus far. As the Pagan community ages, many of us are starting our own households. That is an exciting prospect. Not only is our community growing, but the transmission of folklore and spirituality is taking on a more organic nature. I may be speaking with a broad brush, or stereotyping, but the nature of our community as a strongly academic one does extol some common virtues. Pagan parents may be well positioned as great teachers because of our own experiences. We've all had to study, practice and work tirelessly to build the lives we want, and we decided to try our hands at reviving a near dead spirituality for good measure. Whether we express it or not, Pagans value hard work, and education. Our community wouldn't exist otherwise. 

I hope everyones day may wind down with a wood stove and stew, as mine has. 

Tapadh Leibh

Owen

Changing The Year

The wood-stove hasn't been cool in days. The inevitable is apparent. Summer is over. The foliage can put on its show, but it's cold nights that really bring home the message. For most of us, its a great time of year though. Before most people enter the "Holiday Season," many Pagans celebrate the death of the old year, and its triumphs and lessons. We plan for feasts, friends and giving the last year a great send off. Hopefully you're planning some of the above, and at least can get the night off from work. It can be a struggle. I've had some "interesting" experiences with employers during this time of year. Tell them it's your New Year and they look at you like either a loon, or a hardcore "Hocus Pocus" fan. 

Beyond the logistics of the season, the world just feels different. Whether you believe the veil between worlds is lifted or not, there is something different about this time of year. For that, anyone can appreciate its energy. While Samhainn is a deeply spiritual time, I try and share it with anyone and everyone. The acts of celebration, respecting the dead, and sharing stories are universal. I doubt that I'm alone in having two distinct Samhainn's. One is inclusive, and frankly a Bacchanal. The other is a quiet one spent between times, and worlds, with old friends. I love them both, but I just realized I have more to do than I thought. Only 4 days to go.

Tapadh Leibh

Owen

Late nights on the path

Like it is a college paper, I'm up writing this between bout's of mindless web surfing, frantic note taking and actual productivity. The most accurate cliché I have ever heard is, "you get out what you put into something." For myself, and many others, spirituality couldn't be described more concisely. Pagan traditions are modern constructs, sifted through centuries of slander, and waxed with good intentions. We don't have a book, and we have just a handful of trusted teachers. For any prospective practitioner its a daunting task to even become familiar with a tradition. There's one road to take, and for now, its your own. You'll honor the path you're on if you do your best to stay true. If you respect the past, and want it to have a future, then you will be a more critical auditor than anyone else. 

Late nights, endless reading, followed by quiet repetition is how most of us get our bearings. At first its a romantic idea, but it doesn't take long to realize the magnitude of the undertaking. Don't trick yourself. You're trying to resurrect a way of life that has been on life support for more than a millennium. Remind yourself of that, and all the work will seem more worthwhile.

Keep the candle burning folks. You're doing great things. Now I've got to get back to studying. I've got a Scottish Gaelic seminar to Skype into at 6 a.m. 

Tapadh Leibh

Owen

Jerks with drones, and how we share the land

My partner and I are soon to be the newest additions to the tribe mentioned above. Photography is a relaxing hobby for us, and the prospect of pushing that even further sounded appealing. So we bought a drone. We haven't received it yet, but I've already begun phoning land owners and stewards to request that I may fly it over their land. As you can expect in a small New England town, most have responded with a reserved no, and I completely understand why. Drones are annoying, buzzing, blinking mosquitoes from hell. Unless you're flying one that is, in which case they're a blast. For me however, it brought to mind land use in a broader sense, that includes worship.

Few of us are blessed with large tracts of land, so naturally we seek them out in the form of parks, forests, bogs and the like. Beyond the obvious concerns of degradation and overuse, issues remain for Pagans with such communal land. Can we leave offerings, have a ritual flame, harvest wild edibles, or even just be there at twilight? Most rules and regulations are drafted consciously, but fail to take into account spiritual considerations. Thats not to say that they're invalid, but rather a dialogue between practitioner and steward is necessary. I have consistently found land owners are open to most requests, as long as you're completely clear about your intentions. Don't ask to leave some rushes on their hill, only to show up naked with 10 of your friends. 

As the Pagan community changes and grows, I imagine the issue of land use will be met repeatedly.  At first, with frustration and feelings of exclusion at times. Difficult at first, challenging experiences will push the next logical step, which is land acquisition. It doesn't seem much longer before Pagan organizations reach the financial and membership thresholds in order to make those wishes a reality. In the meantime, and always, we share the land we revere.

Tapadh Leibh

Owen 

Tha glé garbh a th' ann

Living on an island has its upsides. It never ceases to be beautiful, there's a great community, and the reality that you live in a place people pay thousands just to visit. However, the summer has receded and now we remain, with the wind. There's a lot of it today. One of the reasons I believe that I've found resonance with Gaelic Polytheism is the environment. I live on the edge of a coastal heath, whipped by winds in the North Atlantic. When I talk to fellow students in Scotland we have a mutual understanding when we say the ferry has been canceled for days, and there's no milk...anywhere. 

The great gift is the connection to the environment we all have. The weather dictates everything here. Warm weather brings tourists, and work, while rough weather cuts us off and brings us closer together. It's not uncommon to lose power in a storm here and have half your neighbors congregating in one kitchen with a generator running on the deck outside. Nature is still a major part of our everyday lives, and we're very lucky for that.

The last refuge of Pagans has generally been the most remote climes and places, for the above mentioned reasons and many others. Their environment was more important than anything else. Today however it seems different. The more Pagans I meet, the more I meet who are running back to embrace something. Most have grown up in urban or suburban areas, only occasionally experiencing more rural environs where the weather effected more than their commute. As they've grown, many have found a home in those removed places. This is quite the shift. This isn't to say the majority of the Pagan community doesn't live in urban areas, which I guess is true. The point here is the importance placed on rural places, connection to the natural world, and some of the values found in those places. Community, family, local history, are a few. What will be most exciting, is how these ideas are integrated into urban and suburban environments. 

The Pagan community has a unique outlook and value system that as time goes on, will change their social and physical environment to reflect those values. As a community, I think we have exciting times ahead. It may also be that I've had too much coffee. Enjoy your Sunday folks.

Tapadh Leibh

Owen

The most important step: the second

In my opinion, dedication separates hobbies from hustle. With this blog I'm going to do something a bit daunting for a neophyte like myself. I am going to make a post every day. Every friggin one. Now having said that, I'll leave this disclaimer. As I've written in the About section, this site is a record and example of the everyday life of a modern day Pagan. Like anyone else, not everyday will be packed with excitement. Somedays may be, while others I may just discuss a daily prayer, a personal perspective, or some time outdoors. It's less about being entertaining, and more about being real. Being a Pagan should be showcased just as most of us really are; totally mundane. To be fair, we're usually a bit different, so maybe it will be a bit more entertaining. Stay gold folks. 

P.S. I'm really digging to remember my grammar, so if I am butchering these colons and semicolons, sorry.

Oidhche Mhath

Owen

A Pagan today, for tomorrow

Writing my first post is pretty exciting. I cant hide that. For a few years now, I've gone back and forth considering if I should start creating my own content. Finally I made the move. Any Pagan will tell you, life isn't easy if you're out of the proverbial broom-closet. Feelings of loneliness, hopelessness, and general apathy are commonplace for many of us at times. However, we continue. Why do we? My reason, is the future. We live in an incredible time, where there has been a resurrection of the old ways. The opportunity has been given to us to take it further, and create a lasting legacy, and community. I find few issues today that couldn't benefit from a Pagan perspective. Climate change, multiculturalism, education, etc. When it comes to the heart however, many of us simply want to bring something back. Maybe its nostalgia, romanticism, or just daydreaming, but something is there. We want a renewed connection to the land we live on, our ancestors, and the spiritual world around us. Those feelings transcend any title. For those of us that call ourselves Pagans, or a similar moniker, this blog is for you and our community. I'm thrilled to share my life, experiences, passions, and story with all of you. 

Tapadh Leibh,

Owen