My goals as a parent:
To raise my kids as conscience, caring people.
To instill in them a sense of the universe and how it is greater than themselves.
To let them be free to make their own choices and their own mistakes.
There’s more here, there has to be. But that’s a start.
So… I had to go to the doctor today. Joy. (not). This was a new doctor for me, and as such, I had the requisite 9 million pages of medical history and insurance information to fill out. On the top of the medical history form, they asked my religion. Apparently I was feeling brave and so I put Pagan. Typically, I’ll say None, or Other.
The first thing this doctor said was upon walking in the exam room was: What’s Pagan?
Zuh??
So, I proceeded to trip over myself to explain Paganism to him. I think I assumed that he knew it wasn’t Satanism. Or Idolatry, or something made exclusively for Hollywood. He didn’t know that - and then there was much back pedaling.
So, For Doctor Prin, since I am sure I forgot stuff:
Pratciners of Wicca are called Witches. Even the boys.
I am not Wiccan, I am Pagan.
Pagan is to Wicca what Christianity is to Catholicism
I belong to a church in York that is mostly Pagan.
Druids, Wiccans, Cerimonal Magicians and a whole lot of others typically fall into the Pagan umbrella.
I am not personally a big follower of a specific pantheon, but there are those who worship the Ancient Greek, Roman, Hindu, Egyptian pantheons, among others. Yes, seriously.
Yes, I do believe in God…and the Goddess (the look on his face was PRICELESS)
No we do not sacrifice babies…or anything else.
Yes, sometimes we wear costumes, but then, so do priests and the pope.
Wanna know more? Read anything by Scott Cunningham. He’s a good white-lighter.
The candle that started at Imbloc built to a zenith on Beltaine. It now recedes. Because, really… who wants a huge bonfire in the heat of summer? As I get older, I apprecate the cycles of time more and more. And how they affect me. I am at my most industrious in the fall. And at my most dream-like now in Spring. Looking back over the years, during those years that I’ve had something to distract me, I have stayed more grounded in the spring. During those that I don’t… I do very rash things, like up and join the Army.
2008: slowly going crazy
2007: April thru June: 2 trips home in 8 weeks, very distracting
2006: March and April: trying to get pregant. If that’s not a cure for spring fever, nothing is.
2005: April and May: Bought a house. Very distracting
2004: April thru June: Pregnant, alone… very bad time
2003: March: up and joined the Army
2002: May: Screw Juniata - dropped out of school.
So now it’s the middle of June and in my attempts to function on a daily basis, I feel like an old washing machine, going round and round the same routines until I rattle apart at the seams. What I WANT to be is a balloon, drifting up in the clouds to parts unknown. How many balloons does it take to lift a washing machine?
From another blog I wrote:
Allies
Current mood: Itching for a fight
I have a difficult time distinguishing between Friends and Allies.
Friends are those you can chat with, relate to on some level, hang out with, and can rely on in times of trouble.
Allies are those with which you share a common belief, or goal, or situation. Not all beliefs, but at least one. You don’t actually have to like the person.
Now often, these groups overlap, but not always. I’m not great at telling the difference. I want all allies to be friends. Not just in my life, but all lives. You share a common belief with me…you should be my friend…yeah, yeah, I know… it doesn’t work like that.
I find myself in a place where allies are proportionately rare. We stand alone amidst a sea of, well, non-allies (some are out right hostel) So in these Us Against The World situations, are allies more valuable? Or should we be friends? Can we work toward a common goal?
Are you my ally? Are you my friend?
There is more to this, but I am still working out the details. *hunts for a sharper pen* Something about the futility of a common goal in a herd of cats…
Seasonal Mood Disorder is something that I honestly have a hard time wrapping my head around. I do understand that people take the change of seasons and daylight and weather very hard and it can and does affect people’s lives in a real way. But it is more foreign to me than most things. I ‘get’ schizophrenia… multiple personalties….bipolar etc. without having to live with these illnesses. I can see how a person can live in that reality. I don’t necessarily understand that not everyone feels a steady drizzle is their preferred choice of weather. It is for me. I’ve talked to people who like thunderstorms, snow, even fog…and all these things are cool too. But the best thing ever is a solid, steady drizzle. The kind that goes on for DAYS. Having grown up in Oregon I suppose this was trained into me from a young age. Perhaps the rainwater has seeped into my brain. Winter is not 3 ice storms in 10 days, it’s rain from Oct 11 to April 14. Maybe I need to go to Juneau to appreciate the fullness of seasons, or Aarhus or somewhere. For now, I’ll deal with my bright, sunny, snowy February and wish for rain.
I have *always* known that I do not DO confrontation. I would rather jump out of an airplane than confront the person who curses me out in the store for whatever trivial offense someone committed. It’s not that I *can’t* stand up for myself, I just don’t. Unless you are my Mr. Ink, and then I will argue insignificant and trite things with you all day long.
In my somewhat successful attempt to psycho-analyze myself on this issue, I follow this train of thought. Confrontation = standing up for myself, which not everyone will agree with. So if someone doesn’t agree with me, they might get offended, or WORSE, I might be seen as rude (a grave sin, my mother assures me).
Confrontation also works better with practice and I have not had a great deal of practice talking in general. The first time I ever spoke up in school voluntarily was as a freshman in college. I don’t know that I suck at it (I hope not all the time) but I am certainly less than good at it. I am usually happy at living in my head, with minimal interference from the outside world.
Also, for those who don’t know me, I speak with a stutter, which does not help my cause any. In most debates, it is important to at least make a clear, concise point. Try doing that when it takes 10 seconds to say the word ‘What’. Really. 10 seconds. Stop right now and TRY taking 10 seconds to say 1 syllable. I’m not saying this happens every time I talk, but it happens often enough that it is prohibitive from getting me to voice my opinion in a crowd.
So far we have me scared to be rude, out of practice and very often physically incapable of speaking fluently. Though really, if I could fix the first one, the second would come in time, and people can just deal with the third.
The inspiration for this entry is Mr. Ink. Who is my hero for many reasons, one being that he is absolutely unafraid to say what he thinks to whoever is before him, all else be damned. Today he did something I consider truly heroic… he went to the home/place of business of a former associate. One with whom we had a grave falling out with. He did this with no build up, or air of concern or really much thought to how the meeting would go. He was able in 20 minutes to re-establish the relationship (or at least the beginnings of it). I would have fretted about such a meeting for a week, gone in, tripped and tumbled over every third word that I spoke and when nothing good came of the event, gone to my car to cry. Very sad.