Becoming An Animist

Welcome to the Animist Blog Carnival, July 2013!

Originally, this topic was floated as "How I became an Animist". I couldn't write it that way. I am constantly in the process of 'becoming" something. The only constant in my (or anyone's) life is change.

I have always been an animist. Since animism can stand beside any religion, I know animists of every stripe, although they would not necessarily admit to it. Most people I know are animists. Its in our bones and guts. 

Next time a bit of technology malfunctions, watch the way one speaks of and to it. Listen to the way people speak of their tools, their houses, their cars; "Come on sweetheart, just a little further." "Fucking bastard, don't you crash."

Oh, but Paganaidd...that's just a way of speaking. People don't really believe that. 

Yes, but like things said in jest, these little comments are a window into the subconcious, intuitive self. Our intuition is a thing that has worked very well for our species and lately (last thousand years or so--a blink in the time of the planet) we have abandoned our intuitive selves. So perhaps the problem is that people don't believe it and thus lose their ability to clearly see that we are but a little species in a larger intricate system. The core of my own animism is understanding that I am as much a part of a natural system as my gut bacteria is part of me.

I am a big technology fan. I'm an early adopter and a geek. I love gadgets (although some just don't speak to me). I am just as likely to muse about my relationship with concrete and steel as with wood and water. This week I spent from Monday to Friday without any home Internet access...You can bet I was appealing to the spirits of communication and electricity. Configuring my new modem and router I alternately cajoled and scolded them. 

Wherever I go, I try to find the local spirits. I've been asked if I mean "Spirits" metaphorically--most people who know me, know I am very rational and not really woo at all. I suppose on one level, I do mean it as a metaphor,however on another level I perceive it as the literal truth. The spirits of place are palpable and distinct. Detroit is not Chicago, although they have many things in common. The Adirondacks and the Green Mountains are completely different ecosystems, although they are separated by less than seventy five miles.

And yet, I wasn't that aware of my own animist tendencies until recently. I mean, I knew how I felt about things, but I had that strange idea that seems rampant in our culture that religion must be old and handed down from on high to be valid. It didn't occur to me until recently that my peculiar way of thinking about things was a kind of spiritual inspiration. All those weird stories that popped into my head when I tried to get in touch with these impressions and perceptions were more important to me than the mythology of the long dead.

Since I opened myself to my own revelations, they've taken on a life of their own. One of those positive feedback loops that is so common in natural systems. The world communicates with me, so I communicate back and vice versa. I become an animist as I realize my own animism. 

Here are the views of other Animists on the theme of Becoming an Animist:

The Animist Blog Carnival HQ

Naturalistic Pantheist Musings sends us an essay about the influences that shaped their Animism

Allergic Pagan asserts, "Today I am an animist"

Therioshamanism says "I lost my religion and gained the world."

Naturebum gives us a lovely meditation and a Zen sort of poem.

Jesse Wolf Hardin Blog speaks.


Three links, one for the Earth Medicine Alliance, one for Graham Harvey, and one for the actual youtube interview.

Earth Medicine Alliance

Graham Harvey

Earth Medicine Alliance interveiws Graham Harvey, author of Animism: Respecting the Living World

John Dougill interviews Kazuhiko Kiyono,a Shinto Priest trainee Blog: Green Shinto

Heather sends us three posts

http://ecoanimism.com/blog/heather-awen/2013-jun-26/part-1-let-ancestors-lead-animist

http://ecoanimism.com/blog/heather-awen/2013-jun-26/part-2-let-ancestors-lead-animist

http://ecoanimism.com/blog/heather-awen/2013-jun-26/part-3-let-ancestors-lead-animist

Animist Jottings outlines a long and winding road.

Paganaidd Returns

Imagined conversation in my head:

Paganaidd: "Hey, Internet"

Internet, "Hey, Paganaidd. Where you been?"

Paganaidd, "Ummm...busy?"

Internet, "Uh, huh..."

Paganaidd, "No, really! Health issues! Job Loss! Chaos! Locusts! Frogs! Really!"

Internet, "Hmmm...Well, don't let it happen again."

So, here I am dear reader. Back again--don't know how regularly I can post, but at least you know I'm alive.

I'm hosting the Animist Blog Carnival for July. It goes live on the 1st of July, so stay tuned.

If you'd like to dash off an essay, musing or article, feel free to email me the link.

Cultural appropriation?

Many years ago, I realized that I'm as close to Family-Traditionalist witch, as one can get.

My mother was a bit of a witchy person. She was Catholic, but in that odd sort of saints-are-almost-gods sort of way. I couldn't tell the difference between the lives of the saints and the Greek myths when I was growing up.

And my mother was full of spells--I mean prayers--for every purpose.

For all that, she was quite devout, was very well versed in Doctrine and even taught Catechism.

My grandmother was born around 1900 and she was the right age for going to seances during the 1920's. In the blackout, they used to do the Ouija board of an evening, having nothing better to do. She was reputedly a pretty good medium. Although, she always said that Mrs Next Door moved the planchett.

My mother and I were fascinated by ghost stories.

Some time in my teens I learned to read Tarot cards. I used to read my mother's regularly.

Is it any wonder I ended up Pagan?

But, there was no secret-tradition-that-was-handed-down-since-the-burning-times. There's just stories, superstitions, and things that my mom always did that have long since lost their meaning.

Then, I have this name my father gave me, because he loved the Arthurian Legends, and they'd just come to Montreal. He was feeling homesick, so he gave me an ethnic name. Little realizing the effects it would have on my life.

Every time I meet someone at a festival who's taken it as a "Craft Name" I want to say, "Look, you didn't get beaten up on the playground over it, so you can't fucking use it."

I don't say that, of course, but the urge is there. Petty? Probably. But all I can remember is that I struggled (perversely at times) to keep some dignity and my name when I was constantly told that if I just let people call me by some diminutive, my life would be easier.

It would also be easier if I pretended not to be so smart, learned to not be a fashion disaster and learned how to tell people apart (I've got faceblindness).

I also get people who look down at their noses at me, convinced that I have taken on this "powerful" name to make myself feel important. I usually get along with those people, eventually.

So, this is my teeny tiny experience with cultural appropriation. It is certainly not on the same level as other's experiences. But it is the experience I draw upon when I'm trying to explain why cultural appropriation is wrong.

In every group, there's always the urge to prove one's cred. That's human nature I think. In some groups, it's easier to spot the posers. Like with military people; the guy in the corner of the party, talking about how many people he shot in Iraq? Yeah, he probably spent his tour of duty in Germany.

In Pagan and New Age circles, there's often someone who's made a name for themselves by talking about their journeys to the Astral, and thing like that. They often take money for "initiations".  They do the plastic sweat lodge thing, write a lot of books filled with repackaged "wisdom".

Stay away from those guys,they're just scary.

I was talking recently about cultural appropriation with friends and how much of a struggle it is to figure out what is appropriation vs what is already a part of American Culture.

The biggest enemy of American Animism is hipster-ism--that "Look at me! Look how cool and special I am." The craving to be a "unique and beautiful snowflake."

My daughter brought it up yesterday when we were having dinner. We were talking about dreadlocks and the politics of hair. Her position is that white people shouldn't do them because A) unless you have the right hair, they look terrible and B) it is serious cultural appropriation.

The person she was talking to had the position that one should be able to do whatever one wants with one's hair.

We talked about Celtic hair and how there is such a thing as Celtic locks, but they are different from African locks.

I love the look of locked hair. If I could get mine to do teeny tiny ones, I would love that. However, I can also imagine the African American woman looking at me and thinking, "I got/get beaten up on the playground for that. You can't have them."

As a Pagan and an American Animist, I have been examining my own beliefs for cultural appropriation. So much that is American is appropriated though. Every group that has come here, whether voluntarily, forced to flee here, or dragged here in chains brought their gods with them. Coming here, they met the gods of this land and everyone was changed.

It's all so complicated. The obnoxious and egregious appropriations like the Victoria's Secret ads are easy to spot, but what about the small things? When my children were little, they were each given a dream catcher. My daughter and I now ask the question about whether that is cultural appropriation. Hm.

The Gods are not static. Even the Abrahamic God with his tomes of literature, changes depending on who's looking.  For years, I played it safe doing the Celtic Recon thing, but it never quite worked. What kept happening was that these weird gods would show up in ritual and in my head.

The most extreme was Kali Ma. I was skeptical that She was really calling me, so I told Her, "Give me the means to make a pilgrimage to one of your temples."

Bang. The very next week I discover that there is a Temple to Kali in Laguna Beach California. The money for airfare appears from the aether, as does a place to stay. The entire trip, every obstacle was removed from my path. So much so, that the plane arrived 15 minutes early due to a tail wind. The bemused pilot informed us that a tail wind going from east to west is actually pretty rare. The Swami at the temple had time to sit and talk to me about how and why Kali Ma chooses people. He essentially said, "Yeah, she does this. Get used to it."

So, I am a devotee of Kali--but I have always had an affinity for Goddesses with bad reputations. I do not worship Her as she is worshiped in India, but she seems content enough with what I do offer.

So, are my little Kali figures cultural appropriation?

The latest goddess to call me is Santisima Muerte. She at least is an American goddess. Although I am not of  Mexican descent, I can claim her patronage as one who works on the roads at night.

An idea occurs to me; perhaps she is the Road God's consort?

I appealed to her for a homeless friend and again to her for a friend in the midst of divorce. She protects the powerless and impoverished.

But, she is the saint of a group of people who are deeply oppressed. Do I have any right to appeal to her? To display her symbols?

I suppose it's to do with respect. Understanding that I am a guest in her shrines.

Daughter and I have talked about it at length.  Thinking about pagans with their craft names, it wouldn't be obnoxious if they didn't show my name off as proof of their pagan cred. If I didn't get accused of being  one of those very hipsters every time I turn around.

So, I approach these deities very gingerly, with respect. Like one would if one were the guest in their house.

Maple Sugaring: The Trees Announce Spring.

I don't celebrate Imbolc. Like other Pagan holidays, it has never spoken to me. It doesn't work in most of North American, in fact. I have never lived in a place where the weather on February second made one iota of difference to whether spring would come early or late. 

No matter what the calender says, spring in Vermont begins with sugaring. The very first day of spring is the day you see the first maple tree tapped.

The sap buckets sprout on the trees long before the snowdrops, but the weather has turned. Even if we get a cold snap now, we are aware that it will only last a day or two. The snow has taken on the specific texture that skiers say they enjoy and I warn the kids not to make snowballs of to hit their father.

It is not just the temperature that has changed. The quality of the light is more substantial as the angle of the sunbeams are steeper. Every bodily sense understands that the long cold is breaking up. Winter is shrouded in silence or it roars with wind. Spring announces itself with song, even before the birds return. In the sugar bush the sap drips into the galvanized steel buckets creating a high pitched musical plink.  A dozen of these on a sunny day sounds like a couple of people riffing on high pitched steel drums. The base line is provided by the stream that is chuckling then roaring as the ice breaks up.

We have snow on the ground up here in the mountains, but it's mostly gone on the valley floor.

My neighbors for whom sugaring is a commercial exercise are up and down the street with their tractor and our grey muzzled dogs play together, running up and down the trails. 

Maple sugar is a wonderful thing. It is the only form of sugar that does not lend itself to the Plantation System. A sugar  bush can only be tapped for about 6 weeks out of the year. The rest of the year the maples just grow happily in their forest with only minimal help and protection from humans.

Sugar Maples are only found in North America. From Cornell University:

Distribution and Habitat: Sugar maple is one of 148 maple species found in the Northern Hemisphere, which includes about 90 native and introduced species in the United States. The range of sugar maple in North America extends from Nova Scotia and Quebec at its northern edge, west to Ontario, southeastern Manitoba, and western Minnesota, south to southern Missouri, and east to Tennessee and northern Georgia (Figure 2). Sugar maple is most common in New England and the Great Lakes states as well as Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York.

Sugar maples can be grown in other places, but they will not yield sap without the specific weather available in these specific parts of North America. Thomas Jefferson apparently tried to sugar in Virginia, to no avail. In order for tapping to happen, there must be warm sunny days and freezing nights.


When I tap the trees, I ask for their permission. The first time I did this, I worried that the trees felt the  way I would feel if somebody stuck a needle in me and bled me. To my astonishment, the overwhelming feeling I received was pride and happiness. 

I have often asked myself, when I commune with the spirits of the land, if the answers are just my imagination. It's oddly reassuring to get these completely unexpected answers.

These trees are  proud of themselves. They are happy to be tapped. Strong healthy trees are tapped. It's almost a status symbol (as much as trees have the concept of status) to sport buckets or sugar lines.


Maple trees are prom queens of the arboreal world, "Who else?" they ask, meaning the other trees, "Who else can gift you with this treasure?" They gown themselves in red in the autumn and preen because they are the belles of the ball.

One of those strange myths that just appears in my head occurs to me. The trees seem to tell me that they are hear to help the People, both four footed and two footed, survive the until end of the winter. February and March are famine months. The sap that browsing animals can glean from chewing on the bark of the maples provides valuable calories. These trees see themselves as saving the whole forest, every year.

There are no GMO maple trees (yet) and since the trees are North American, there's no need to look for the free trade label.

Maple sugar that comes from my own trees is as untainted as any food can be in this world.

Movies, Myths and Virtue

A culture transmits its virtues with its myths.

Mythic heroes aren't necessarily gods, but they can be. Always, they are expressions of values and ideals specific to a culture. Sometimes they are subtle, more often they are exaggerations of desirable qualities and the dreams a culture holds dear.

For the last 100 years, American Myths have been created and promulgated by Hollywood. We have exported our myths and they have returned to us.

Myths are always changed by the people who come into contact with them. The reasons American Myths are, like everything else American, a mixture and a hodgepodge. Often conflicted and self contradictory.

Virtue, according to the Wikipedia, is defined as moral excellence. A virtue is a positive trait or quality deemed to be morally good and thus is valued as a foundation of principle and good moral being. Personal virtues are characteristicsvalued as promoting collective and individual greatness.

In today's world, the concept of Virtue seems rather quaint. Childish even. So our myths which keep the Virtues alive are pitched to children. However, a group of humans without an overarching code of conduct, a stated or implicit set of Virtues is not a community in any sense of the word. The agreed upon Virtues are not necessarily something we expect everyone to have, but they are ideals to strive for. In a community, a person with enough Virtues is considered respectable, a person who does not is an outsider.

Each community self defines Virtue and from this our ethics and values are formed. Within the various American subcultures, certain Virtues are valued more than others, but I do believe there is a unique set of Virtues that pretty much most North Americans can agree on.

Social pressure is stronger than laws for controlling the behavior of community members.

I feel strongly that it's long past time to claim our Myths and our Virtues.

I really enjoy comics and I watched The Avengers again. A classic bit of myth from Marvel Comics and Paramount. I enjoyed it, partly because I love comic books as a genre, but more, Avengers is a wonderful example of US American Myth.

For those who haven't seen the movie, and are not comic book people, The Avengers are a team of super heroes. Their leader is a mysterious figure that answers to an equally mysterious, quite literally faceless, Council.

The Femme Fatale is a Russian immigrant by the name of Natasha Romanov AKA Black Widow. The first time we see her, she is tied to a chair, apparently awaiting painful interrogation. By the end of the scene, she has beaten up the bad guys with said chair and picked up her high heels to go find another assignment.

There are two Smart Guys on the team. One is Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man. Genius, billioniare, playboy, philanthropist. Sort of Bill Gates with super powers. He also plays the Handsome Rogue.

The other Smart Guy is Bruce Banner. He is sweet, kind and tormented. With "astounding anger management issues". He's got a Jekyl and Hyde thing going on, turning into the Hulk when he gets pissed.

The By-the-Book Soldier is Captain America. He was trapped in ice from WWII and is a man of his time. He is the military man who is accustomed to fighting wars without moral amibguity.

Rounding out the team is a  demigod by the name of Thor. They're properly ambiguous as to whether Thor is really a God god or just some really impressive superhero.

So, a list of some of the Virtues portrayed in this film, in no particular order:

Teamwork
There is an absolutely stunning moment in the film, when our team is surrounded on all sides by hostiles and they prepare to fight and die back to back. This is powerful in our myths, that the power of a team

Justice
In the film, the war they fight is a clear cut, just war. No messy moral ambiguities. Unlike most of the United States' wars. The Bad Guys are clearly marked.

That is one of the primary American Virtues; to fight in defense of Home and Hearth. We dislike thinking of ourselves as an Empire. We like to talk about "just" wars. Most powerfully we use the concept of the "just" war to salve our conscience over the crimes committed in our names.

Interestingly, Captain America, who is a man of his time, is the conscience of the group. Originally a soldier from World War II, he reminds the other team members that although  a soldier should follow orders, "Just following orders" is never an excuse. 

Cool
By this I mean the "Nothing upsets me, I always think with a clear head and I am rational" sense of the word. This is one of the most highly prized of the North American Virtues. I think that (like all the other Virtues) this one is easily misunderstood. Many people I know think "cool" is a sort of callous cynicism. That hipster I'm-so-cool-the-world-bores-me attitude of studious nonchalance.

People who've been in scary situations know that true "cool" is the person who takes a deep breath and thinks about what needs to be done. Cool is Shackleton in the Antarctic. Cool is the crew of Apollo 13. Cool is the pilot who landed a commercial jet on the Hudson.

Every character in this movie is deeply, deeply cool.

Fairness
This is related to, but not the same as Justice. An unjust law that applies to everyone equally is fair but still unjust. 

Courage
The courage of the superheroes is never in question--they're superheroes, but there is a lovely (although predictable  moment where an elderly man refuses to kneel before the villain, "I will never kneel before men like you." he says.
The villain replies with, "There are no men like me."
The old man sighs, seeming to resign himself to his fate, "There are always men like you."
The villain raises a weapon to destroy the elderly man and Captain America appears from nowhere to defend the old man.

Most symbolic because it is Captain America. The conscience of the group fighting a just war to defend an ordinary but courageous man from evil.

Competence
Oh, and there's another guy. Phil Coleson. At first glance he is merely a support character. A special agent, he is the teams handler and go-fer. A little lacking in the social skills dept, but extremely affable, very good at his job, and very, very ordinary.

Or he is on the surface.  He has ordinary strength, speed and agility for any athletic human, but this looks unimpressive next to the showy superheroes.  What he lacks in special powers he more than makes up for in competence.

You see, Phil makes competence into a superpower. Phil is the guy we could be, if we were really, really good at our jobs. 

He is a special agent, so he is a marksman. He's really, really good with his gun. He's got normal hand to hand skills, but he's really, really good at it. He specializes in logistics, so people always have everything they need. 

Most powerfully, he understand what makes people tick. He's really, really good at managing them.

There are other Virtues I could unpack, but those are the ones that leap out at me. Mythic heroes are reflections of what we could be. Arguably what we should be. Sadly, Virtues in North America appear to have been relegated to the realm of fairy tales.

Size-ism, Able-ism, Disgust and Compassion or If I'm a Pagan, how come I meet Christ so often?

In my first post in this blog, I mentioned that one of the Gods of my house is Christ in his guise as homeless dude.

I've met Christ several times in my life--Not literally (I don't think, but perhaps I'm wrong), but in the "I greet the divinity within you" sort of way.

Last week I met him in the form of a possibly drug addled, traumatized, toothless, middle aged white man.

The thing is, whenever I've met Christ, He's always in the form of someone who would normally inspire both fear and disgust. It is my obligation, my intention, my wyrd to overcome both, in order to see Him.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle just before we got there, about accepting a women to the shelter because she had higher medical needs than we could cope with. The medical supervisor called around to the various shelters that handled nursing home level of medical needs. For hours she did this. None of them would take her.

The problem was not her medical issues: She walked with a cane and needed help getting in and out of bed. She communicated just fine, albeit slowly. Had control over her bodily functions. She was on numerous medications, had a bunch of chronic problems. This would doubtless why she was receiving the level of care she was getting.

The problem then? Her weight.

In what I can only think of as rampant size-ism, these places complained that they couldn't find a bariatric (specially made for fat people) cot (we had one, we could have sent one). They complained that they didn't have equipment. They complained they didn't have staff.

In other words, she was too fat to be sheltered.  At less than five foot, she probably weighed 400lbs. She had a lot of the issues that one would see in a person of that size. So, they would turn her away because of it.

The woman was kept hanging like this until Mister Toothless White Guy says to the shelter manager and medical supervisor, "You know what? I live in the same building as her. She's fine. We'll (the other shelter residents) help her out. She should stay here."

And as it turned out, people did help. People made sure she got three meals a day, they talked to her, they helped her to the bathroom and the shower. Perhaps there was some comments about her size, but I never heard them.

One of my night shifts, one of the other night staff came to tell me that this woman needed help getting to the bathroom. There was a look on his face that I really couldn't place. The nursing supervisor was catching a nap and I was really reluctant to wake her. On the other hand, the worker seemed to be implying that this was a major undertaking. I decided to see what I could do without waking the supervisor. I figured I could always call her  if I needed to.

I went down to the dorm and found the female police officer and the male shelter manager trying to help her up. They both were clearly uncomfortable, but mostly because this involved helping someone rather intimately.

I was concerned that, the way everyone was acting, that we had to carry her to the restroom.

Really, it was surprisingly easy. She had some of the typical motor control issues that you see in stroke patient but she was able to swing her legs out of bed with only a little help. She was practiced at using her cane to pull herself up. From there, I walked beside her to the restroom. Really, I was only there to make sure she didn't lose her balance.

I asked her if she needed help in the rest room and she said, "No, thank you." and I just waited outside. When she was done, she walked her own self back to her bed, with only a very little bit of help. She needed help getting into her bed, as again, the motor control on her legs was not good.

That done, I left, wondering what all the fuss was about.

In retrospect, I realize the male shelter workers expression was disgust, that great killer of compassion.

I'd heard that before. I know that Kali is all about overcoming disgust, but I'd never had it brought home to me what a huge deal it was.

Our fat woman had some problems that inspired disgust in this normally (I'm pretty sure that people who don't have compassion don't work for the Red Cross) pretty compassionate man.

First, and most obviously was her size. Second was the fact that she was a little whiffy--she'd been wearing the same clothes for days because she'd lost literally everything and (big surprise) we didn't have any clothes that would fit her. She also had trouble bathing, because (another big surprise) she really couldn't do it herself.

The man muttered darkly about her but I didn't catch it (ok, I was mentally going "lalalalalala I can't hear you!"). It seemed to be a weight thing, as though her weight issues were causing the other things. Actually, given the neurological issues, I doubt she could have done those things anyway.

This was when Toothless White Guy entered the scene. He very politely asked if he could have a word. I really though he was going to complain about her. Instead, he asked me if I could make sure to write  a report for her case manager, outlining her needs. He spent a long time with me. There was no condescension in his manner, no sense of anything but pure concern.

Toothless White Guy had nothing in the world but the clothes on his back.

I mentioned how sweet I found our lady. He agreed that she was very sweet, but then very seriously told me, "And even if she were an asshole, she'd still deserve the care."

He smiled toothlessly at me,and I realized I had, for perhaps the third time in my life, met Christ.

As I said, not literally, but I cannot think of anything quite so Christ-like--going out of his way to care for a woman who frankly is suffering from a type of modern day leprosy (the social stigma, not the actual disease). No one would have blamed him if he had just ignored the whole thing, it wasn't his problem. But his actions inspired the compassion of others. I noticed how many people helped this woman, before I left. All people who didn't have to. She never lacked for company or help.

I found myself thinking about a friend of mine, wishing I could offer more concrete help. But she lives three hours away from me has Mulitple Chemical Sensitivity and I don't kid myself that I am anything but toxic (I don't do scents, or cosmetics, air fresheners, but we have a wood stove and I use cheap ass shampoo and Arm and Hammer detergent on my clothes so they don't smell) to her. I worry about her and have done what I can. She's another one suffering from metaphoric leprosy, only hers is of the "Middle-aged-woman with weird health care issues" variety. This makes her a bad patient. She is the bad poor person because she won't shut up. She doesn't "know her place".

Another friend who is fleeing a bad marriage suffers from it too. All those people she thought would support her have evaporated. Again, I can only offer my sympathetic ears

Having met Christ, I think a prayer to him and hope he can help the all the people who need it navigate the Byzantine maze of so-called aid organizations. Perhaps Christ is the patron God of those who seek compassion?

A little note about my use of the term "fat": "Fat" is a descriptor, not a value judgment. It is an adjetive like "Short" or "Tall" and is preferred by many size positive people.



  

All The Creatures

So here's where I've been sleeping. It's the weight room in the athletic building that the Red Cross is using as a shelter. I brought my backpack and hiking gear, which seems like a good decision. They are currently short of housing for shelter volunteers and since I'm so short term, I'm happy to stay at the shelter and sleep on a cot.

 The shelter I am working in is one of those that can accommodate animals. They have a heated trailer out back staffed by volunteers. We went outside for some kitteh and puppy therapy.

Shelter in the storm

We arrived at 10:00 this morning at Red Cross headquarters. They sent us to an orientation class. After we identified ourselves as health care workers, we were "fast tracked" in regards to assignments.

It took two hours to get us an assignment--the Red Cross headquarters were less than organized chaos. The nor'easter was spooking everyone. The Weather Channel is calling this storm Athena:



We're now expecting six inches, if this is to be believed.

Five minutes after we left the headquarters, the Red Cross issued a travel ban, but we were already on the road, and honestly it wasn't bad yet.

The shelter Tanya and I arrived at had on nurse who'd been on for at least 24 hours. She'd been promised an EMT the night before who never arrived.

So, it seems that Tanya and I are going to be here through tomorrow evening. I'm working 12:00 to 8:00. Tanya worked 4:00PM-8:00PM and will work 8:00AM-8:00PM. In all likelyhood I will work tomorrow from 8PM to 8AM.

We took our supplies to the Occupy drop point because they seem to be the ones who are doing the best job distributing things. Here's what was bought:

Gas lines were back again today and many stations said "No gas".

 The Governor Christi and Mayor Bloomburg put out travel warnings, asking people to get off the roads by 4:00. We passed this sign on the way.

So here's us in our vests:

Tanya is better at taking pictures than I am.

It may be that we will see an influx of residents tonight or tomorrow. Or perhaps not. We'll see.

Things are really difficult down here. Everyone seems to be waiting for the locusts and pestilence along  with the governor.

One thing that we're expecting is that people who can no longer afford to stay in hotels will have to come to the shelters, as perhaps, people who've already been ten days without heat.

We're seeing utility companies from all over, but its tough to work in this stuff.

Arrived!

We have arrived safely in NJ. So far, except that we keep seeing people with lots of stuff in the backs of their cars and on trailers, you wouldn't know that much is wrong here.

However, under the surface you can hear the anxiety. Lots of people talking about this or that persons house gone, people still without power.

We waited for gas in Ramapo for twenty minutes. That was nothing, compared to some of the lines.

Once inside NJ proper, about half the gas stations were closed and some stores didn't have power.

We dropped off our donations at the Lyndhurst Police station, where Occupy is gathering them. Everyone seems to agree that Occupy is doing the best job of distributing things.

Going to head into the Red Cross in the morning.

Paganaidd becomes Pagan Aid!

I'm heading down to volunteer with the Red Cross in New Jersey day after tomorrow. Praying to the God of the Roads to keep me safe while I do so.

If anyone wants to contribute monetarily, I've got a microgiving account opened

Prayers and good thoughts are also appreciated!

Omens

A bird in the house. Red and white flowers with no other flowers in the arrangement. A red blanket on a white bed.

These were the worst of omens when I was growing up.

Along with new shoes on the table, blood on the doorstep, salt spilled on the table.

But my family wasn't superstitious.

If a bird gets in the house, there's going to be a death.

Red and white, an accident. In the UK hospitals where my great Aunt used to be a nurse, if someone sent a red and white flower arrangement, it was a sign that someone on the ward would die.

New shoes on the table, bad news.

Blood on the doorstep, very bad news.

Salt spilled, the Devil's in the house.

Any of these sound familiar to anyone else? I've seen them in books about the Appalachians and heard them from New Englanders and Southerners. Westerners?

Animism can stand beside any other brand of religion, I think. Even Monotheists want to propitiate the local spirits.

Once upon a time it was hex signs and witch's bottles. Now it's affirmations and "The Secret."

I think its very important to think about these beliefs; it is through this unconscious Animism that I first came to an understanding of my own beliefs in the sentience of everything.

Not every bird is an omen, but when one starts to persistently insist on being in your house, that's something to think about.

Blood on the doorstep doesn't mean much when its accompanied by the body of the mouse your kitty dropped off for you. It's different when it's red drops against white snow and you don't have any animals to either cut their feet or bring you presents.

It's the weird thing that grabs our attention. 

I've wondered before what the purpose of omens are. They don't tend to be helpful in forearming people for hard times. They're so darn vague that, generally, one never has any idea what they're about.

But, like so much about the way we view the world, that's a rather human-centric idea, that the omens would be good for us.

What if omens were just a result of interacting with the world?

There's this idea that time as a linear thing only seems that way because of human perception. I won't go into that, because it starts to hurt my head to think about it too much. Suffice to say that, to quote Dr Who, "It's all wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey...stuff." The perception of time can, perhaps, be bent and and perceived in advance.

According to a Cornell researcher, our lymbic systems (where many of our emotions arise from and what can just shut down our higher cognitive functions in a pinch), can perceive events before they happen, especially those events that are emotionally charged.

So, perhaps our interaction with the natural world, combined with these perceptions, produce the omens, dreams or precognitive moments that happen so frequently to people. 

Most of the time, a raven is a raven and we don't see it or think about it. Every so often, when some powerful event is about to happen, we get that weird peek through time. Our mind must give it context, so one gets a deep chill from the raven that is cawing on the branch in the yard. 

In other words, we are merely noticing these meaningful symbols in reaction to these moments of perceptual breakthrough.

So, omens are not necessarily helpful. They just are.

As an Animist, I can accept that those being that I have forged alliances with, might be trying to communicate in their own alien (in the sense that they are non human intelligences) way. 

Some years ago, I had a week where I kept seeing foxes everywhere. Pictures of foxes ended up being sent to me by email. I say foxes in stores, on bumper stickers, all kinds of places. One day I looked outside to see a fox standing in the middle of the yard, looking at me. I was invited to a talk a psychic was giving and she, in the middle of the Q & A session looked at me and asked, "Did you know you have a fox totem?"

So I go and look up foxes--Here's what I find:

The fox encourages us to think outside of the box and use our intelligence in different, creative ways. The fox also brings us a message to try to approach our circumstances differently that we normally would. Be aware of some of our habits, and try a different angle of action.

The fox also a reminder that we must utilize all of our resources (seen and unseen) in order to accomplish our goals. Sometimes this means calling upon some unorthodox methods.

Furthermore, the fox is a sign to be mindful of our surroundings.

Phenomenally effective shapeshifters and incredibly adaptable, the fox beckons us to not make too many waves but rather, adapt to our surroundings, blend into it, and use our surroundings (and circumstances) to our advantage.

A week later, I found myself in the situation where all of these things were true. So, for whatever reason, Fox had taken an interest in me because I needed her (the fox I saw was a vixen with kits). Why? I couldn't tell you, but Fox is one of the spirits that chose me I guess.

As far as omens in general go, it doesn't do to get too hung up on them, unless they are clear enough that they supply you with a way to change your future. Most of the time, a raven is just a raven.








  

Heather needs help

My friend Heather over at Adventures in Animism is in serious need. She can no longer live in her apartment due to Multiple Chemical Sensitivity. I've set up a microfunding site for her.

She needs a safe place to live. If you are one of her followers and you can spare anything, you would have my deepest gratitude.

Juneteenth

I'm not a summer solstice celebrator. I tried, I really did, when I was younger and attempting to do the Celtic Recon thing, but it just never really spoke to me.


What does speak to me is Juneteenth. This is the 19th of June: The annual National Day of Reconciliation and Healing from the Legacy of Enslavement (This year the official celebration was on the 15th, but the original holiday was June the 19th).


That is something to be celebrated.


Here's what Wikipedia has to say about it's origins:

Though Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation on September 22, 1862, with an effective date of January 1, 1863, it had minimal immediate effect on most slaves’ day-to-day lives, particularly in the Confederate States of America. Texas, as a part of the Confederacy, was resistant to the Emancipation Proclamation, and though slavery was very prevalent in East Texas, it was not as common in the Western areas of Texas, particularly the Hill Country, where most German-Americans were opposed to the practice. Juneteenth commemorates June 18 and 19, 1865. June 18 is the day Union General Gordon Granger and 2,000 federal troops arrived inGalveston, Texas, to take possession of the state and enforce the emancipation of its slaves. On June 19, 1865, legend has it while standing on the balcony of Galveston’s Ashton Villa, Granger read the contents of “General Order No. 3”:

"The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and hired labor. The freedmen are advised to remain quietly at their present homes and work for wages. They are informed that they will not be allowed to collect at military posts and that they will not be supported in idleness either there or elsewhere."

That day has since become known as Juneteenth, a name coming from a portmanteau of the words June and teenth like nineteenth and other numbers ending with -teenth.

The holiday went into decline around the Depression, but has seen a resurgence in its observance since 1994. 

I lived in Louisiana in the late nineties, and that was where I first heard of it. A day of healing and reconciliation. Not a solemn holiday, but a celebratory one. To celebrate the first steps this country took into actually making real the promise of  "All men are created equal".


I found a rather pleasing piece of history the other day. Many African American surnames are Welsh; Evans, Davis, Jones, Morgan and Floyd (from the Welsh Lloyd which is pronounced with an odd aspirant that doesn't exist in English--the word means "Brown"). There were not many Welsh slave owners, so these names didn't come from owners. Turns out, there were many Welsh Quakers in the Underground Railroad. Moreover, these Welsh Churches welcomed freed men and women into their midsts. The newly freed people often took common surnames of others at their church.


Being Welsh, these are ancestors I can feel good about. The Welsh of this land. Celtic spirits I can honor and respect.


So, Happy Juneteenth everyone! 

Memorial Day

The second Holiday in the Americana Animist wheel of the year.


Memorial Day is the official start of Summer to most Americans. Sure, most of the kids have  two or three more weeks of school, but this is the first long weekend of the summer. Parties and barbeques abound.


Strange that a solemn feast should be celebrated that way, but solemnity is tough for us, I think. There will be ceremonies at monuments and cemeteries, laying wreaths and and hearing speeches, but after that beer and hamburgers.


Memorial Day never fails to make me sad.


There is only a part of this country fighting a war. They have been fighting a war for years. We see it on the news, but it hardly touches most of us. 

This photo has been floating around the web for years, and it is true. Most of the people who go into the military, go in because there is very little opportunity for them elsewhere. 


Recruiters are commonly accused of selling the military life to people to whom higher education is nearly impossible due to economic constraints and these are kids who desperately want to improve their circumstances.


They come home with injuries that go deeper than skin and bone. For the second year running, we lost more troops to suicide than to combat. 


We're losing these children to failures of leadership. They go, they do what they're told to do. What the leaders tell them is right to do. And then, they come home to a country that doesn't care about them (Don't even make me start about what a nightmare it is to get treated at the VA), to houses in forclosure, and not a job in sight. Is it any wonder the domestic violence statistics for the military are ridiculously high?


Count the significant others of the military veterans who are victims of this war too, and the human cost is astronomical.


While we're on the subject, sexual assault in the military is endemic. Women in the military now have more chance of being  sexually assaulted than being injured in the course of their duties. 


I'm one of those people who've occasionally bought a serviceman their lunch anonymously. I don't go to memorials or parades. I don't like crowds and the memorials are too sad. I really dislike the rhetoric of "honoring the troops". How about we just stop sending them to wars we don't need to fight and treat the injuries they come home with?


When my family goes to Washington DC, we visit the different monuments. I like the Korean War Monument--life size statues of soldiers, all with thousand yard stares. They remind you

 

 When I worked in the homeless shelter, twenty years ago, we had lots of vets. Its a cliche, isn't it? The veteran who ends up a homeless junkie or a drunk? 


One of the first descriptions of PTSD appears in Norse mythology. It's where we get the term "berserk".


Jonathan Shay, MD, a psychiatrist and researcher in this field, makes a connection between the berserker rage of soldiers and the hyperarousal of post-traumatic stress disorder. In Achilles in Vietnam he writes:

If a soldier survives the berserk state, it imparts emotional deadness and vulnerability to explosive rage to his psychology and permanent hyperarousal to his physiology — hallmarks of post-traumatic stress disorder in combat veterans. My clinical experience with Vietnam combat veterans prompts me to place the berserk state at the heart of their most severe psychological and psychophysiological injuries.^[12]

Another war word from Old English is fæge (pronounced fa-yah), existing in modern English as "fey". It means "doomed to die". More correctly, I suppose it means someone who thinks they are going to die in the next battle. If they don't actually die, they were said to have their soul already halfway to the next world.


How many of our service people are coming home both fey and berserk?


On this weekend, if you're the type to go to memorials, remember the living as well as the dead.

The Witch of November, One Spirit of The Great Lakes

Although it is May, not November, I've had this on my mind to write for a while. I wanted to talk a little about weather phenomena and one of my favorite songs. 


I spent most of my childhood on the Great Lakes.  Mostly in Southeastern Michigan, but we visited all the Lakes at one time or another.


I have always had this idea that the Great Lakes like their human inhabitants. The cities on their shores inspire fierce loyalty in their people. Ask any true Detroiter or Chicagoan about their city, even in these days of urban collapse and decay, and you'll hear stories of beauty and renewal.


If you have never been to the Lakes, you have to remember that they are not really lakes. They are freshwater inland seas. In other words, they are huge. When cousins from the UK used to visit, they were always waiting for the tide to come in or go out. They couldn't wrap their heads around a lake that one couldn't see the other side of.


Years ago, there was an effort by Vermont to include Lake Champlain into the Great Lakes system. Sorry, Vermont. I love you, and Lake Champlain is a pretty darn good lake, but the Great Lakes are things unto themselves.


The Great Lakes are big enough to form their own weather systems. The most common one is "lake effect snow", familiar to anyone who lives to the east of one of the Lakes.


The other common weather phenomenon is both more sinister and more romantic sounding; The November Witch, as made famous by the song "The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot.


If you don't remember the Gordon Lightfoot song, here is an awesome cover that includes the radio chatter from that night. Here is the transcription of the radio transmissions that can be heard in the recording.


I find radio recordings, such as these, especially moving tributes. They seem to open the doors between the worlds, like nothing else does. This particular cover makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.


The Witch is not something Lightfoot made up, but the name of a particular type of November gale. She's been known to be deadly since we've had records of sailing on the Lakes.


Weather is a mindless force and the analytic part of our brain understands it that way. On another level, however, our intuition forces us to deal with these mindless forces as if they had intelligence. Apparently, it must work well for our species, because we have been able to live in every climate on the planet--never mind that we are a tropical species.


So, we feel the weather as a living thing. It's not even spiritual, but visceral. Otherwise, why would we give hurricanes names? Why do we call a November gale "The Witch"?


As I said, I have always felt that the Lakes are quite content to have people living on their shores. They have always been very generous. So much of this country's wealth in the 20th Century was concentrated right there. I know that now, it's considered "flyover country", but consider that, from about 1950 to about 1975 that was where our wealth was. Those same Lakes supply water to millions of people, and continue to be a major waterway for trade.


There's this idea that sailors are superstitious. The ones I have known were not. Mostly they were just very knowledgable about their craft. In the absence NOAA and radar (and even with them) sailors have to read the weather and water. Their lives depend on the water. They love it and they fear it.


Love and fear are perhaps the best description the Animist's attitude for approaching the natural world. Not panic or phobic fear, but that sharp little spike of adrenaline that keeps you awake and alert. The fear that prevents a bad case of stupid.