Pagan and the Pit(bull)

The adventures and musings of a Pagan and her dog.


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A Song of Endurance

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When I was a child, I met La Llorona. I was playing in the river and slipped and fell in. The water was deceptively still, so the current took me by surprise. While I was, and am, a decent swimmer; the current carried me downstream, and I could feel fingers wrapping around my ankle and pulling down. Surrendering to that firm tug was the most comforting thing to do. It was a small thing, just follow it down, don’t fight it. Above the surface is difficult and hot, just sink down. It was only after I scraped my hand on a rock, did I come back. My stinging palm reminded me to swim, so I did. Because I had to. I had no other choice.

I’m entering the first harvest after my divorce. And there were many times during the disintegration of my marriage and later adventures in the legal system, where it was so much easier to sink. To sink into depression and anxiety. There were sometimes I did, and my two pit bulls were great sources of strength for me at the time, but they were more “keep my head above water” strength. Other things, such as hecatedemeters Prayers for the Resistance, scraped my hand and reminded me to swim.

Now, a year after reading the Prayer for the Resistance, I’m writing a response to that post. This is a Song of Endurance.

 

This is a song of Lughnasadh. This is a song of Endurance.

 

Lughnasadh: when the wildfires send ash into the air, when the harvest is beaten by hail, and we dream of the cool in the dark. Here, Lughnasadh is when we share and share alike: frying green tomatoes broken from the vine, and neighbors watch the river to protect what we have. Lughnasadh is the song of Endurance.

This is the song of the green witches, who grow communities in the rich bosque soil. Who build arches of peas and plenty, even in the high heat of a desert drought. This is their song of Endurance.

This is the song of children making lemonade as taught by their mothers and the song of women making Lemonade as taught by Beyonce. This is their song of Endurance.

Lughnasadh is our fire festival when ash graces our hair and clings to our taste buds, and we crave the clean taste of winter and fall. Lughnasadh is when we share and share alike, for that is how we survive. Lughnasadh is the song of Endurance.

This is the song of the scientist working against disbelief and lack of funding to bring light to the dark places. This is the song of the teacher who tries to protect students from swastikas. This is the song of waiting for Mueller Time. This is the song of Endurance.

This is the song at the food bank, giving rhythm to sorting good food from bad. This is rhythm reverberates in typed letters to Senators, dial tones to Representatives, and the endless march of feet. This is the song of Endurance.

Lughnasadh is our fire festival when the heat of fires miles away make it too hot to sleep and exhaustion pulls our bones into Skeleton Woman’s embrace. Lughnasadh is when we share and share alike, for this is how blessings grow. Lughnasadh is the song of Endurance.

This is the song of the women’s group, moving one step forward through all setbacks. This is the song of the mothers who push back against encroaching normalization. This is the song of Endurance.

This is the song of the nagging reminder: they/them not she/her. She/her because she was always a woman, even when she isn’t here. And he was always a man. This is the song of Endurance.

Lughnasadh is our fire festival when the rainbow lightning touches trees bringing rain and fertile ash to the dry, sandy earth. Lughnasadh is when we share

and share alike, for this is how rain falls and the wheel turns. Lughnasadh is the song of Endurance.

My song isn’t for tomato cravings, or gorging cucumbers, or rambling vines, or sharp-witted eggplant. My hands aren’t made for plants, only the hardiest survive my home. Aloe, pothos, bamboo, and an oddly defiant orchid. They endure through my neglect, and my unskilled watering. My wheel never centered the agrarian.

Lughnasadh is our fire festival when the ash has settled, and the monsoons unleashed; a second quiet growing season begins with curling sprouts around charcoal foundations. Lughnasadh is when we share and share alike, the gifts I bring combined with yours means we all survive. Lughnasadh is the song of Endurance.

Lughnasadh is how we endure. When the hardest hail punishes growth, and the lightning strikes those who dare to touch the sky, and the fire burns all but the hardiest away; Lughnasadh sings, Endure. Endure. Endure. Hold on, and hold out. Sink roots deep to the hidden water, let the broken branches protect new growth. And when you have survived all this, reach once more for the sky.

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Yemaya says cut your crap

A lot of the information I have about this is either second hand, or from first hand accounts. I have never been to a Pantheacon (it’s totally on my bucket list) and I didn’t contribute to the discussion about the statement from Covenant of the Goddess (while my coven is a member of CoG, I’ve got other things on my plate currently). Shine_Bomba for Yemaya

For those not in the know, in December CoG issued one of the blandest non-statement statements. Black lives didn’t matter, all lives did. And while true, in theory all lives should matter; the fact is that some lives are held as more valuable than others. To not acknowledge that is insensitive and ignorant at best. Understandably, many people were upset about this and it sparked a lot of conversations. Some Pagans of color left CoG, something I can’t blame them for in the slightest. At last check CoG seemed unresolved about the issue and I’m fairly certain when (if) it ever is, it will be too late and CoG will be marked as an irrelevant has been.

Fast forward to Pantheacon. For as long as I’ve been aware of, and paid attention to, the goings on of the national Pagan community it seems like Pantheacon has been a big thing. Not only is it actually a huge thing, it also seems to rip the band off of some of the darker pockets of ick. See the transwomen and gender debate of 2012. This year it race. A satirical workshop description was put out “Ignoring Racism: A Workshop for White Pagans”. It caused a bit of a kerfuffle as I understand it.

Here is where I weigh in. Pagans, particularly polytheistic Pagans, are aware of the diversity of gods and goddesses out there. Amateratsu, Yemaya, Lakshmi, Kali are all very popular goddess of color (for lack of a better word), and often find their way into eclectic circles. But if those goddesses have a place in your circle, your altar, your magickal practice, then you cannot ignore where they came from, your woven connection to them, or to the people who look like them. To worship Yemaya, but to completely ignore the fact that black people face a horrifying set of challenges in the world is not only anathema to me, but to my mind highly racist. It implies that the lives of people of color, that black lives are only of value when attached to Divinity.

So, CoG, you could use some changing and a healthy dose of the real world.

But, Pantheacon don’t ever change. Keep exposing the nastier sides of our community that we can keep learning and growing into a better and more supportive group.