High Holidays and Why They’re Important

I haven’t yet decided if or when I’m going to separately address each of the eight high holidays (or Sabbats, as some Pagans call them.) If so, that will probably start happening around Yule, since the Winter Solstice marks the new year for many modern Pagans. However, I’ve been thinking about the function of celebratory events in a specifically monastic context, and this is what I have come up with.

I feel that it’s very important for monks and nuns to enjoy the high holidays with as much enthusiasm and revelry as seems fitting and as one is capable of showing. Some may not see much point to this — after all, aren’t monastics already striving for a constant state of reverence for holy things? In a sense, there is really no difference between the contemplative devotionalism of the monastic path and the pomp and circumstance, joy and fun of a celebration which may be broadened to include one’s family, religious community or even one’s community at large. The former does require a keen awareness of the interior life, while the latter largely emphasizes the world around us — plants and animals, stars and moon and sun, sky and weather, seas and wind and stones, trees and people. Both of these, however, seek to unite the seeker or the worshiper with the gods and spirits and with all that is sacred — which, for Pagans, includes the natural world, the body and all that goes with it.

Because we may be heavily influenced by other religious traditions where embodiment is seen as an obstacle to enlightenment, Pagan monastics might sometimes have a harder time honoring that immanent sacredness, especially if one is on a more ascetic path. It can be tempting to feel that one’s moral integrity rests on never deviating from one’s work routine or spiritual restrictions, even for ritual or celebratory purposes. That’s a matter for one’s own conscience (or perhaps one’s own gods) to determine, but remember, moderation is our friend — and after all, we’re only talking about eight times a year. Joyful acts like feasting, drinking, dancing, making love or other earthy, sensual activities force us to acknowledge before all the gods as well as our fellow mortals that embodied existence is quite a good thing, really.

I’m not saying here that less prosaic acts of spiritual devotion are inferior or that an individual cannot learn on his/her own to appreciate or honor the physical.  However, there is something special about coming together with like-minded folk to celebrate each of the turning points of the year, during which the seasons shift and the natural world undergoes its many spectacular changes. The energy raised during a good ritual is as much of a celebration as any prayer, offering or sacred drama, and the gods and spirits feel and savor that energy as much as we do — which is part of the point. But even if all you can manage is to share a special meal with people who are close to you, if you’re paying attention, you will sense the difference.

So I think that participating in household or community celebrations of the high holidays provides a useful and necessary counterpoint to the vast amounts of time a monk or nun may spend in solitary devotion and contemplation, even if that solitude only exists in the privacy of the mind. I also feel it’s important for us to acknowledge that we do not live in a vacuum, and that we are all part of something greater than ourselves whether we’ve donned a habit or not. Before the might of the gods, and in celebration of the powerful tides and forces that rule our planet, we humans might seem frail and even superfluous. Around the sacred fire or in the ritual circle, however, the divisions between us and everything else drop away, and we may see into the heart of the Mystery…even though it is staring us in the face every day.

Another page

I’ve made a Bibliography page listing some books I like. These will not be reviewed in the blog, although that isn’t to say that books I do review here won’t eventually make it onto the list as well.

Community Service

It is late and I am tired, so this is somewhat rambly. Here’s hoping the point is made anyway.

This week I’m going to attend a small gathering where I have volunteered to do some of the cooking for the entire camp. Specifically, I am making breakfast for everyone and lunch and dinner for the vegetarian/vegan attendees. This is the first time I’ve been to this gathering and I am largely unfamiliar with the sponsoring group as well, so I’m a bit wary. I’m also not exactly a member of what you’d call the target demographic; the event is primarily aimed at transmasculine people, whereas I am somewhat female of center. Nevertheless, this was something I chose to do because I felt it’d be a good experience, and it was a good excuse to go camping in the mountains and spend my non-cooking hours doing nothing. (These days if I get to leave the house for an extended period it’s probably connected with my work in some way.)

It is hard to be a monastic and not have a community of like-minded individuals — many solitaries have teachers and even the early desert fathers and mothers of Chrisitian tradition had elders to advise them whether or not they lived in isolated huts in the desert. I personally do not know any other Pagan monks or nuns, although I know they exist. Sometimes I even wish I were Catholic or Buddhist, not because I want to give up my religion and my relationship with Himself, but because of the fellowship and support to be found in a community of fellow monastics all devoted to the same religious calling. If I want a sense of community I need to look elsewhere. Fortunately, as I mentioned, I don’t have to look very far.

Some of the same people I’ve seen at spiritwork events, Pagan events and kink events are going to be at this one. Others who were in attendance at one or the other of those wouldn’t be caught dead at this particular gathering, or are at best totally uninterested. I suppose from one standpoint, the fact that I don’t move in the same circles with the same people is a liability — perhaps even more of a liability for a nun than for a lay person. However, rather than feeling deprived because my community is so fragmented, with such varying interests, I feel that my life is enriched by having so many friends and colleagues whose interests may or may not overlap.

Admittedly I am not always consistent or gracious about it, but I can’t use the excuse that opportunities don’t exist right here at home and that in order to be of service to other people I need to travel all the way to West Virginia, as I’m doing later this week. There’s my household, which currently consists of me, three housemates and a plethora of animals, including a highly energetic dog who needs lots of attention and exercise. There’s my geographic community — the semi-rural neighborhood and the town where I live. There’s the aforementioned Neo-Pagan church, and also the exclusively Norse/Germanic kindred I helped found. There are the friends and colleagues I know who are shamans, diviners, magicians and other technicians of the occult from various traditions. There’s the kink community, of which I am but a peripheral member — but hey, I get a kick out of hearing stories from my friends. There are other god-spouses and other Lokeans, many of whom have been kind enough to say nice things about Trickster, My Beloved. I can’t say that I serve one or another of these groups than I serve the rest, or that the lines between them are neatly drawn, or that the service is all the same. Most of the time it’s something They have requested that I do, and how it might help other people isn’t clear to me until it’s long finished.

Would I be as involved in “worldly” things if I was part of an established Pagan monastic tradition? Probably not. But as one of my other jobs is to act as a priestess when called to do so (which happens more often than you’d think) retreating entirely from the rest of the world isn’t an option for me. I have to be available to a certain extent, and I have to be just as willing to be of service as I am when it’s all my idea, or when I can clearly see how beneficial my service is to others. I have a harder time seeing that as a priest, and often the things I do in that capacity take longer to come to fruition.

And, of course, my primary obligation of service is to Loki and Hela. In fact, many times when I do service to others I serve Them as well, often unwittingly. (Little did I know that Loki would later use my devotional to woo other consorts to His side, for instance.) Knowing that, however, often makes hard tasks easier and takes the sting off of the unhappy but inevitable lack of acknowledgement or thanks that happens from time to time. I know it isn’t all about me, but it’s natural to want to have one’s efforts recognized, and when they aren’t, I have to remember that ultimately I am working for Her Ladyship, or doing something to please Himself. And in that light, it hardly matters whether or not I am part of a community of fellow religious, because They often send me where I am most needed and useful…even if it’s not necessarily what I might have chosen to do myself.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that, since I’m not part of a monastic community and do have to do priestly duties from time to time, my focus has to be on service. At the same time, I have to be a part of various communities without prioritizing any of them over my religious calling. That can be really difficult to pull off all the time. But then, I expect that I wouldn’t have found myself in this situation if it wasn’t good for me in some way to learn to grapple with it, and it’s not my gods’ responsibility to make sure I can do my job correctly. It’s mine. And if that means taking a 14 hour drive to make pancakes for a bunch of strangers next a weekend, I suppose it’ll be what they call a “learning experience” no matter which way it falls out.

Turning

I’ve been out of town recently and busy with various other things, hence the silence. However, I hope to write a review of the Norris book I mentioned earlier (just as soon as I finish reading it, that is). I’d also like to do a series of essays on the eight “high holidays” celebrated by most Pagans and what they might look like from a monastic perspective.

Today is the traditional old Midsummer Day but the actual Summer Solstice was two days ago. I’m going to enjoy the summer while it lasts, since it is short but sweet in New England — fresh vegetables and fruit, blue skies, thunderstorms, sunny beaches, forest greenery and (sigh) bugs.

Edit: No! Today is actually Midsummer’s Eve and tomorrow is Midsummer.

Book Review: Practical Wabi Sabi

“Wabi sabi” is a concept derived from Zen Buddhism. It is both an aesthetic and a way of thinking which emphasizes an appreciation for the world as it is — imperfect, ever-changing and transient. Simon G. Brown’s Practical Wabi Sabi is not about Zen per se, nor is it necessarily concerned with self-help through getting rid of all your stuff. Rather, it is a brief guide to the principles of wabi sabi and how these may be applied to one’s daily life, in particular one’s home environment, regardless of your religious beliefs.

The book opens with a short description of the history of wabi sabi, followed by a section exploring many of its aesthetic and philosophical principles: simplicity, emptiness (as in space), transience, asymmetry, tranquility and naturalness, to name a few. Brown uses specific examples to illustrate how a wabi sabi house and garden which incorporate these principles might appear. While wabi sabi is not what you’d call luxurious, it does not advocate strict practices such as lying on beds of nails, or getting rid of all your cozy blankets — quite the opposite. A wabi sabi house may seem plain and spare, but the goal is greater authenticity and awareness of existing beauty, rather than deprivation or punishment.

Practical Wabi Sabi’s main section covers various rooms and home features one by one and suggests how to bring them into accordance with a wabi sabi mindset, with ideas for decorating, removing unnecessary items and storage. The style evoked is natural, simple, sparse and muted. There is a small section at the end of the book which briefly addresses related topics like meditation, diet and creativity. Many of the practical suggestions offered are similar to those extolled in the so-called “voluntary simplicity” movement. For example, Brown advises readers to paint rooms in muted hues, to use natural fabrics for bedding and clothing and clay or earthenware for dishes, and to have lots of empty space in your home. Good natural lighting or candles is said to be preferable to glaring track lights, and objects and surfaces with texture and “character” are favored over slick, new-looking things.

Using branches, seashells, dried flowers, plants, rocks, even rusty metal objects as objets d’art (arranged in asymmetrical and nonregimented ways) is highly encouraged because such things remind one of imperfection, transience and nature. The idea is, in part, to foster an appreciation of time’s passage, the seasons and the changes they bring, as reflected in the objects surrounding you. From a Pagan standpoint, it can be seen as bringing nature and the raw elements from outdoors directly into your home. Of course, this aesthetic will not suit everyone. Those who are fond of elaborate altars, fancy ritual tools and shelves lined with statues, crystals and bric-a-brac will probably recoil from this approach as being too self-denying and boring.

Overall, the book is mostly about redesigning your living space, but the idea is that doing so in accordance with wabi sabi will also alter your outlook and allow you to focus on what is truly important in your life — whatever that may be. However, what struck me most forcefully about Practical Wabi Sabi is that without the text ever once mentioning the word “mindfulness,” that concept underlies everything Brown discusses, even when he’s talking about painting a room. Zen is a philosophy which stresses mindfulness, however, so this should come as no surprise. It’s just unusual to find this in a Western lifestyle/decorating book.

The book is neither very long nor very dense (just about all of the topics covered are limited to two facing pages) so it is a fast read — perhaps too fast for some people, who might see it as a blithely superficial approach to a thoughtful subject. Here and there Brown makes some dubious statements, such as his assertion that “by introducing a more wabi sabi atmosphere into your home, you may find yourself in a better frame of mind to accept the loss of someone close to you,” which to me seems unduly optimistic. Even the most serene and orderly environment has its limits, after all. Also, his repeated mentioning of macrobiotic diets grew a tad annoying, and the bit about relationships in the third section seemed out of place and the most superficially addressed of all. However, these were all minor quibbles.

While I am personally not interested in Zen Buddhism, I did like this very much, despite its flaws. I recommend this book for fans of voluntary simplicity, novice monastics and others interested in an ascetic approach to one’s home that advocates a keen and honest appreciation of natural beauty and everyday objects, without the sacrifice of either beauty or comfort.

Practical Wabi Sabi
by Simon G. Brown
2007, Caroll & Brown Publishers, Ltd.
United Kingdom, £12.99

Prayer II

A while back, I described the set of prayer beads I have and the words I use with them. It’s my habit to go through the entire set and then hold them quietly and address the gods directly — someones one at a time, sometimes in groups.

That, to me, is what prayer truly is — speaking to the Holy Ones as if They were sitting right beside me. I see nothing disrespectful about this, for it is my experience that the Northern gods, at least, do not generally stand on ceremony with Their followers unless there’s a damn good reason. Therefore, I feel comfortable addressing Them in a familiar sort of way, although I do generally refer to each of Them directly as “my Lady,”  “my Lord” or by whatever other title of respect seems appropriate. So then, I asked myself recently, why am I fooling around with the beads at all if what comes afterward is the “real” praying?

What I’m really doing with my beads is more along the lines of meditation about the nature of the gods rather than speaking to Them. In other words, it’s a contemplative activity. When I say these prayers, I typically think about each god or goddess as I recite (out loud or silently) the line connected with His or Her bead, and I consider the connection between that deity’s personality and/or story, and the qualities I seek to foster in myself. For example:

In the name of Utgard-Loki, Sorcerer-King, may I know when to speak and when to remain silent.

I actually don’t have any kind of relationship with Utgard-Loki and I’ve never prayed directly to Him, but when I recite the above line I consider how, according to Gylfaginning, His cunning was evidently greater than that of both Thor and Loki combined — no small feat. I also think of what some of my more experienced friends have said of Utgard-Loki — that He is less crude and boisterous than those He rules, but His intelligence and reserve make Him more dangerous. As someone who is sometimes guilty of carelessly shooting my mouth off about things, I could stand to learn discernment. My approach to the rest of the bead prayers about other gods is much the same, even for deities I’m closer to, such as Loki and Hela.

I do find that after saying this set of prayers, I am in a much more receptive state of mind to receive true insight and perhaps even actual communication from Them than I might be otherwise. I also have an easier time speaking from the heart without letting myself get distracted. Sometimes, as I’m diligently praying through my beads, one of Them will issue the equivalent of an “ahem!” at which point I will stop and listen to what They have to say. So yes, the prayer beads are a very useful tool, besides being pretty and sparkly. There are many ways to draw closer to the world of the gods.

Hrafn has written an interesting series of essays about using  Northern Tradition prayer beads on his blog. linked from the sidebar to the right.

Happy June!

Four Cornerstones

In the time since I started this series of posts about ethics and values, I’ve shifted my focus, at least in terms of this blog, away from strictly Northern Tradition-based monasticism to a pan-Pagan viewpoint. This is in part because I suspect that when Hela requested that I write about my journey, She had a somewhat broader audience in mind than I did. Therefore I’ve narrowed my list of monastic values down to four: faith, contemplation, service and mindfulness. As for those mentioned in previous posts and which I have omitted (i.e. hospitality, sacrifice and contemplation) here are my reasons for that.

I have an obligation to show hospitality to guests who come into my household, both because of my personal feelings on the subject and on behalf of the other people who live here. It’s something I’d be doing even if I wasn’t a nun. However, if I were cloistered or an anchorite, hospitality would not necessarily be an issue. And some Pagans might not feel as strongly about it as I do. While I don’t expect anybody to follow my recommendations, I also feel obligated to leave this virtue out of the list for the sake of being inclusive of all expressions of Pagan monastic life.

On the other hand, sacrifice, I feel, is an intrinsic part of service. In the course of serving the gods, other people, our communities or all of the above, we are often asked to make sacrifices, or else we choose to make them in order to realize a goal or achieve harmony in our communities. Sacrifice in terms of the giving of a special and extraordinary gift as an offering to the Holy Ones is also a part of serving Them. Making the decision to enter into a contemplative religious life on a full-time basis entails a great deal of sacrifice. Because of all this, stating it as a separate value seems redundant to me.

Celebration can also be seen as service. When we partake in ritual and devotional activities, we serve the gods and spirits by giving Them love, friendship, honor and respect. When we partake in these activities alongside other people, we serve each other as well by strengthening our collective faith and creating unity. Service can be extended to cover a wide variety of subjects, possibly to the point f ridiculousness, but here I want to stress that service in a monastic context is all about being a part of something larger than yourself, even if you’re a solitary, and working to make that larger something better than what it already is.

I feel that for Pagan monastics, no matter what your tradition or religious leanings, the four remaining values are key to a more fruitful relationship with the Holy Ones and a deeper understanding of one’s place relative to Them, to other people, and to the rest of the world(s). Were I to set up a more or less eclectic Pagan monastic order, I would want these, at least, to be a foundational set of values for the establishment of a Rule and the day to day functioning of the community. If I were to set up a specifically Northern Tradition order I would still want to retain these, but I would augment them with other values, such as hospitality and honesty, which are particularly emphasized in Norse/Germanic literature as well as those cherished by modern-day practitioners.

Having said all this, here is a vow of profession based on the four “cornerstones” of monastic practice I have chosen to retain. Feel free to use this if you are so moved, and while credit is greatly appreciated, it is not necessary.

I, _______________, [beloved of (patron/matron deity)], come before the Holy Ones of earth, sea and sky, of spirit and flesh, of death and life [and before my peers, brothers and sisters, friends and allies, etc.] to make these vows.

I vow to strive for faith so that it may become a staff which supports weakness of flesh or spirit and a shield which protects from fear and loneliness.

I vow to strive for mindfulness and to use my powers of observation and attention as a lens by which to clearly see the world around me and a mirror by which to clearly see myself.

I vow to spend time in contemplation of the Holy Ones and Their ways, as numberless as leaves in a forest, and the Mysteries that go as deep as the roots of the oldest tree.

I vow to serve my gods [ancestors, allies, brothers and sisters, community, etc.] with my whole heart and to the best of my ability, that I might become staff and shield, lens and mirror, shade and root for those to whom I am obligated and those who look to me for protection, clarity or relief.

Therefore I, ____________, make my profession as a [monk/nun/whatever] from now until I am released from my oath by word, deed or death. So may it be heard and remembered by the spirits of this place, [by all who stand here and] by the gods in whose names this vow is spoken.

I had set out to write a very different sort of statement, but as these things have a way of happening, what came out was the above vow. I realize now that after several years, I’ve gotten past the novice stage and am ready to dedicate myself formally to being a Pagan nun — as in taking an oath before the gods and possibly some of my friends as witnesses. Before I do that, however, I need to establish a better daily routine and spend some time thinking about more practical aspects of monastic life, as opposed to intangible things such as I’ve been discussing here. And then the real work will begin, no doubt.

Material Simplicity, Part Two

As Pagans, we need to look at money differently than members of other faiths do, since there are factors to consider which come into play within a generally animistic worldview and which do not necessarily spring immediately to mind when one considers money and its uses and abuses. To nuns or monks, dealing with money at all might be a necessary but unwelcome chore — or it might instead be a blessing and honor. There is no one-size-fits-all solution to the question of how Pagan monastics should deal with money, and much of what I said in the previous post about material goods applies here as well. Looking carefully at one’s life and circumstances, taking responsibilities and genuine needs into account, and having a certain level of self-awareness are all helpful in determining how this resource ought to be used in your life.

However, while one’s possessions may or may not be of spiritual or magical value, money does have a spirit. Though it is manmade, it is alive in the same way certain other parts of the physical world are alive — roads and buildings, for example. It knows to whom it rightfully belongs, and it can become stubborn and stagnant when wrongfully hoarded or conversely, turn useless when recklessly misspent. A Pagan who wants to have a healthy relationship with money, whether s/he is a monastic or not, should be mindful of the spirit that inhabits this resource. It’s a lot harder to mistreat your finances when you know that the money you spend or save is aware of what you’re doing with it. I have seen money misused and consequently fleeing the person who misused it, and I have seen money used mindfully with gratifying results for more than just the person who used it thus.

I know someone who, although she does not consider herself a monastic, lives a contemplative life utterly dedicated to her gods. Happily, she is independently wealthy and a good deal of her wealth goes towards endeavors which she feels do honor to her deities, or towards helping other Pagans meet their spiritual needs. She has used her money to support environmental and animal rights causes she admires and to make her home a holy place where the gods she loves are always welcome. She has been a benefactress for numerous people and has paid for at least two persons of my acquaintance to finish their schooling. And she does not deny herself life’s pleasures — she enjoys good food and wine, has a beautiful garden, and lives very comfortably. She is no spendthift, but her generosity and wise use of money are inspiring and a fine example of how money, when used in a balanced way, can make a great deal of difference in the world in accordance with Pagan beliefs and values.

That’s the key here, I believe — balance. As Pagans we are not required to give up “worldly” things, but neither is it a good idea to get too wrapped up in them. However much money you have or don’t have, it is well to consider your own ethics and responsibilities, and then determine how those are best reflected by how you spend what cash you’ve got. The will of your gods might or might not come into play as well. In my experience, Loki does not seem very concerned with whether or not I’m thrifty or make wise financial choices. Hela, however, is all about prudent use of resources and not wasting anything — including money. (Sometimes it’s, er, interesting serving two deities whose attitude is so very different.) There are always going to be exceptions and extenuating circumstances, but the point here, for a monastic at least, is to avoid as best as possible either grim-faced miserliness or excessive and irresponsible spending. Neither are conducive to a contemplative life.

While it is true that too many of us are struggling to keep ourselves and our families fed and sheltered, and a lack of needed money is a hard burden to bear, people often need far less than they think they do in order to sustain themselves. There was a time when I would have gasped in horror at the idea of living as I do now. I subsist on very little money, but it is enough to cover my needs, which are few. I buy clothing mostly from secondhand shops. I have but one credit card with a very low limit and no other outstanding debts. I haven’t got any expensive habits or hobbies. I also have the good fortune to live on a farm which produces organic meat, milk, eggs and vegetables, so (particularly in the summer and fall) my food expenses are considerably lower than most people’s. And everything I own can fit into a modest-sized car — if I had one, that is.

A few people have taken all this as evidence of a lack of favor from the gods or an inability on my behalf to live a healthy, functional life. I strongly disagree. I don’t mind being “downwardly mobile” because while it is sometimes annoying to be house-bound and occasionally I miss having a certain amount of disposable income, my life has been enriched in other ways that make the lack of money negligible. And although it’s embarrassing to admit, I am one of those people who has used “retail therapy” when feeling out of sorts, so not having as much cash to throw around has forced me to deal with my issues in other, more useful ways. However, this is not to say I look down on those who have more money than I do, nor do I believe wealth is an evil thing in and of itself. Having a healthy approach to money includes not being envious or self-righteous when other people have more of it than you do.

Money is a sacred thing and should be approached with respect. It can take a long time for us to unlearn the unhealthy and petty attitudes about money with which our culture indoctrinates us, but it can be done. I recommend the book Root, Stone and Bone: Honoring Andvari and the Spirit of Money, which, although a Northern Tradition-oriented book, has a lot of useful things to say about this subject to interested Pagans.

Material Simplicity, Part One

Note: I’m not addressing money in the following post because I feel it deserves a more detailed examination on its own, which will be “Material Simplicity, Part Two.“

The question of whether or not it is necessary for a Pagan monastic to live a life of scarcity is an interesting one. Most monastic traditions, founded within faiths where spiritual transcendence is often emphasized over physical indulgence, stress an ascetic approach to the material world: simple clothing, a very basic diet, few if any luxuries and a marked lack of personal possessions beyond whatever one needs to perform day to day duties. (As for celibacy, I’ve discussed that elsewhere.) While clothing, food and luxuries are often as dependent on one’s environment and physical health as on one’s financial means, not owning a lot of stuff has seems to be a more unsettling idea to many Pagans than, say, wearing only simple, comfortable garments or abstaining from sugary foods or alcohol. At least, that’s my impression from talking to others and hearing their reactions to the news that I am attempting to live a monastic life.

After all, we live in a dominant culture which tells us every day and in a hundred insidious ways that we are our stuff — and it’s hard to undo that conditioning. And let’s be honest, at first glance being a Pagan seems to be all about the paraphernalia — statues, jewelry, altar items, books, magical tools, herbs, incense, oils, T-shirts with a wind-blown goddess posing under the full moon with a pair of wolves…you get the idea. (I still don’t understand the ginormous pentacles I’ve seen cropping up in occult stores within the last few years, though. Wearing a religious symbol larger than your foot seems a bit much.) Also, as there are gods of wealth in our various pantheons and a high emphasis on property and inheritance in some traditions, some might believe that it would be ungrateful to turn our backs on Their blessings and selfish to deny those things to our heirs, as well as silly to downplay all the hard work which earned that new car and five-bedroom house. And because it is so strongly linked with notions of extreme self-denial, accurately or otherwise, monasticism in general has even been called “un-Pagan” by those who feel that it has no place in a religious milieu where the physical world is viewed as every bit as sacred as the intangible one.

However, I would argue that for a Pagan monastic, simplicity of possessions is an idea which should be considered. Even the poorest of us often have many possessions which aren’t really necessary for a life of devotion and contemplation. Living with few material goods can be satisfying and spiritual without being painfully life-denying or self-abasing. (It also makes moving house a lot less hassle.) While it is always possible to take this too much to heart and become a scowling Greyface type who has forgotten how to honor the joys of living on this world, most of us aren’t going to go that far. But how does one know how much is too much, or conversely, how little is too little?

That, actually, is largely dependent on your circumstances. If you have the good fortune to live in a monastic community that has property in common (such as automobiles, appliances, tools and learning materials relevant to your tradition) then you probably don’t need a whole lot of personal belongings. But if you live in an isolated area and are the only monastic within several hundred miles, you may require more in the way of material goods simply to conduct your day to day affairs. Most of us fall somewhere in between these two examples; living a monastic life, or trying to, while juggling work, family, running a household and other “real world” responsibilities. Deciding how much you really need means, therefore, that you have to look objectively at your life in every aspect and determine whether or not the things you own are useful to the way you aspire to live, as well as whether they enhance or detract from your goals as a monk or nun. Perhaps it’s not really necessary to give up your comic book habit since it is something you enjoy without being very attached to it. Then again, maybe having your own computer is too much of a temptation for slacking and you’d be better off using the library computers for email and business instead of spending hours playing World of Warcraft at home.

There are a lot of resources available for those who feel they might benefit from reducing the amount of things they own. Many books and websites have useful information on de-cluttering your house, organizing what’s left, and determining things like whether or not you really need five winter coats or just one. The phone book has listings for charities which will accept all manner of goods, and eBay, Craigslist and your local classified ads are possible places to exchange unwanted items for cash. Even if you aren’t a monastic, doing this might well be a good idea — striving for material simplicity can show us what is really important, whether it be family, work, community service, activism, living more lightly on the earth or really enjoying one’s embodied existence instead of spending most of your time worrying about how you’re going to pay for it all.

The other side to paring down is not replacing all the stuff you got rid of with more stuff. (George Carlin had a funny routine about this.) Lots of us use acquisition as therapy or shopping as recreation — this is of course not immoral or unethical in and of itself, but does it really solve anything? And there’s a big, glaringly obvious issue about which many of us seem curiously blind despite all our talk of being in a nature-based religion: whether or not acquiring and owning an item justifies the environmental impact, use of resources and amount of human toil necessary to manufacture and transport it to wherever you are. Did those shiny crystals come from a strip mine in South America where they were clawed out of a mountainside and subjected to a chemical bath before being thrown in boxes and shipped all the way to the psychic fair? Maybe you’re better off using rocks you pick up from around where you live or special places you’ve visited. On the other hand, perhaps you do need that 4 wheel drive SUV because you live in the mountains and during the winter, it’s the only way to get to town to obtain supplies for your household. Careful consideration of all your material goods in this light might lead you to some startling conclusions, but at least you won’t be in denial anymore about what an earth-loving Pagan you are. (Or maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised — not all of us follow the dominant culture’s emphasis on thoughtless materialism to begin with.)

Granted, some monastics may not wish to instill this kind of constraint on their accumulation of possessions at all. Remember, I said that considering material simplicity is a good idea — but it isn’t necessarily useful for everyone. If you serve a deity of abundance, then having a certain amount of material luxury is probably the thing to shoot for. If you support yourself with craft work or some other activity that requires a lot of supplies, then getting rid of all your yarn and raw flax and wool is folly. If your tradition teaches that the gods favor the faithful with material prosperity, then it may be important for you to openly celebrate the blessings They bestow rather than shunning them. But there is a world of difference between enjoying your stuff in a spirit of honest delight and gratitude, and becoming avaricious and greedy — an attitude that is seldom tolerated for long by either other people or the gods, if myths and fairy tales are anything to go by. If a monk or nun chooses not to live a life of material simplicity, it is important that he or she pay close attention to how much time, money and energy are spent dealing with or acquiring possessions, and thus take care to check excesses whenever they seem in danger of coming up. (Moderation is a monastic value I hope to address in a future post.)

Generosity is a much-admired trait in almost every religious tradition, and if there is one thing to be said for having material abundance, it does afford one to be generous. Some cultures see the most important people as being the ones who regularly share all they have with their fellows, while in some religious traditions, gift-giving is seen as something that creates an obligation between people and forms bonds between people of various social ranks or family relationships. For a Pagan monastic, none of this might matter — or it may matter a great deal. This is another reason why one may wish to retain his or her material goods, in order to develop a stronger sense of community and stronger ties of friendship and alliance. These things can be done without handing out stuff, of course, but there is a special kind of bond created by the gifting of a precious or personally important item to someone who is aware of its significance, and these bonds might be more important to cultivate with one’s co-religionists and neighbors than giving everything you have away to strangers.

Whether one is restrained about material ownership or not, there is one thing to keep in mind: it’s only stuff. Its presence or absence does not have to interfere with your spiritual life unless you allow it to, nor does having more or less necessarily make you more enlightened or blessed than others (and the gods sometimes exhibit peculiar standards for showing favor anyway, in my experience.) Exerting self-discipline and remembering to take pleasure in whatever you do have, however much or little, is more important than worrying about whether you are sufficiently ascetic or are not exhibiting enough proof that the gods have blessed your family. And as always, being mindful of your relationship to your possessions is the best way to avoid letting them (or a lack thereof) own you.

Fire

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll say that like a number of my friends, Pagan and otherwise, I’m a kinkster. It doesn’t have a lot of bearing on my spiritual life since I don’t do ordeal work nor practice any shamanic or magical techniques that would make such things relevant to my vocation. This is not a place where I normally care to discuss my private life, either. However, I had a rather intense experience this past weekend which I’d like to share, as it is actually relevant to the themes of this blog.

At a large-ish Beltane gathering focused on sacred sexuality, I attended a workshop about fire play. This is practiced on another person, but not to harm them or cause pain or discomfort — it’s more like giving a massage with fire. It’s very sensual and relaxing, even therapuetic. Some of the other folks in the class even said that working with fire in this way helped alleviate arthritis pain in their hands, as it’s warming both to the giver and the receiver. I was unsure what to expect and was cynically prepared for it to be boring or lame. As it turned out, it was anything but.

Basically, playing with fire in this way entails moving a lit fire wand (which looks like an oversized cotton swab) dipped in rubbing alcohol across someone’s skin and following it closely with the other hand to make sure the person doesn’t actually ignite. There are other techniques one can use to cause various sensations, but that’s mainly what it is. The man who taught the workshop was a jovial fellow who sort of looked like Mario from the video game. He had come highly recommended as someone who was both enthusiastic about sharing his expertise and very safety-oriented, which was part of the reason I decided to take the workshop.

“Fire is a living thing,” he told us at the start of the class as we were going over the basic information. “It will act the same way in the same circumstances over and over…until one day it doesn’t. You have to be ready for that.”

I know this all too well. As a child, I thought of fire as being something my mom made in a fireplace occasionally, something my dad used to barbeque ribs in the grill in our backyard. I was taught not to play with matches or lighters and to stay away from fires. But when I was 7, my family home burned down on the Winter Solstice due to bad electrical wiring. It was very sudden and we lost the house and everything in it, but my family (including the dog) were all unharmed, and after the initial shock was over life went on, in large part thanks to the generosity and help of family and neighbors.

I consider this a formative experience since it taught me not to be too attached to my possessions, a useful lesson for a future monastic. It also taught me at an impressionable age that there are things even adults cannot always control or conquer. Fortunately, having seen my home  turn to ash within a few hours did not make me terrified of fire so much as warily respectful of it.

Whether this was believed in earlier times or not, lots of people today apparently associate Loki with fire. I too associate it with Him because that element is an apt image for Loki’s essential nature as I understand it — beautiful, dangerous, wild, hot, hungry, sometimes a helpful and comforting friend, but at other times a raging, destructive force that listens to no reason. Yet I love Him anyway, as I love the fire which burns in our wood stove in the winter, and which once warmed my ancestors in their simple huts and tents. This is also the fire that may have burned some of those same dwellings to the ground and left prairie, forest or rice paddy scorched and desolate…but only for the time being. Fire allows new growth to emerge, uncluttered by the past yet fertilized by what’s left of it.

The first day of the workshop was spent going over basic information and watching the facilitator demonstrate the techniques on two prearranged volunteers. The building where this occured was an old wooden barn — not exactly the safest place for waving lit objects around, but it was large enough and anyway, it was raining outside. As night fell, the fire stood out more and more as it played over the models’ skin, and I thought it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Still, because I was tired and cranky from a long drive, I griped to my friends later on about maybe not going back the next day and just spending the time lying around in my tent until the rest of the workshops and events started.

However, I did return and the facilitator cheerfully told us that we’d be practicing on each other. This is not as dangerous as it sounds.  70% isopropyl alcohol does not burn terribly hot, we were all grown adults, and we had no mishaps during the entire workshop. There was a lot of joking and good-natured teasing while we got the hang of it. The class had moved into a side chamber of a large tin warehouse which was far less of a fire hazard than the barn, and the small room echoed with laughter. When it was my turn to lie down and be toasted, I wasn’t afraid so much as weirdly anticipatory, and only some of that had an erotic tinge to it.

Three people started passing lit wands over my skin, followed by their hands to extinguish any errant flames, as the alcohol sometimes ignites briefly in the wake of the wand. I am physically standoffish with people I don’t know, so I was actually more uncomfortable with strangers touching me than I was with a fiery piece of tightly wrapped gauze being passed over my bare skin. The sensation was warm and pleasant, however, not at all painful unless the wands were left too long in one place or if alcohol dripped from a lit wand.

I rested my head on my arms and closed my eyes, and suddenly I heard Loki’s voice in my mind. Then as someone passed a wand down the length of my spine, His presence seemed to envelop me, and it was as if my whole body was surrounded by intense flames. And I understood. I got it. I experienced some of the mystery that is Loki, in a way that I find it impossible to write down in words — which makes it a real Mystery, I guess. I had to swallow hard several times to keep from bursting into tears, as I didn’t want to either freak out my classmates or have my reaction interpreted as some kink-related catharsis experience, which it wasn’t. It was pure, uncontaminated knowledge of my Beloved’s essence, burned into my soul as the fire wands warmed my flesh, and the suddenness of this revelation made it that much more powerful.

Suddenly I felt my leg stinging when someone failed to follow up with their hand fast enough and some burning alcohol was left behind. They hurriedly put out the flame and apologized. It was a sharp reminder of the dangerous side of fire as well as the dark side of Loki. I have seen that face of His very clearly at times. It is not a side of Him that I commonly interact with, but I do acknowledge and accept that it’s there. He is, as others have often said, not always a nice guy — maybe not even most of the time. But at that moment I couldn’t have cared less.

This is going to sound bizarre, but the simplest way I can describe how I felt is the realization that, purely out of my love for Him, I would let Loki devour me utterly. I would gladly lose myself in the Fire that is Himself — even if that Fire is awful and destructive at times. I had secretly wondered if this was really true about me, having read the writings of mystics and poets like Mirabai or Kabir where similar sentiments are often expressed. But lying on that table right then, I knew it to be so with every cell of my fire-kissed body.

That being said, I was glad that the rest of my workshop experience was pain-free. I rose from the table feeling light-headed and dizzy, but quietly ecstatic. The workshop facilitator had me sit down for a while until I felt ready to pick up a wand again and practice on someone else. “…after you stop flying,” he added, grinning. I did eventually stop feeling light-headed, but I don’t think I’ll stop flying for a long time. The memory of that absolute understanding will stay with me always.