There are probably people who think I’m lucky because one of my housemates is a fairly well-known spiritworker who’s written a lot of books, and because I count several other spiritworkers of varying notoriety as friends, as well as belonging to both a Neo-Pagan church and a Northern Tradition kindred. And I’ll admit, compared to when I was isolated and first experiencing the crisis of actually being god-touched, it’s pretty convenient in a lot of ways. If I want a second opinion about some divination, I have a list of names. If I need advice on any aspect of energy work, I know people I can go to. If I want to celebrate Beltane by singing “Somer Is Acumin In” and dancing around a Maypole in a parti-colored Deadly Fool gown decorated with people dying in various creative ways, well…I’ve been doing that for the last five years. But while all this sounds fantastic (and in many ways it is) and enviable to many who aren’t so fortunate, I have to say that grappling with the other side of the coin has been something of a challenge, to put it mildly — that other side being the feeling that everyone else’s service to their gods is more important and more worthy of respect than mine.
My Job, such as it is, is simple. All I have to do — all I’m really required to do for Loki — is to love Him. That’s mostly what’s expected of me, when it comes down to it. The rest is either an obligation to fulfill my oath to Hela, or things that have sprung up along the way (as with the sudden reception of an Oya shrine that came with its own obligations). I honor my other beloved gods — the House of Mundilfari, the sea-etins, Freyr and Gerda, Bragi — out of friendship and gratitude. I remember my beloved dead because I miss them and want to honor their memories. But all of this, while important, is in many ways secondary to that first Job. Love, that’s all I have to do. For the longest time, I felt like shit about that.
So many other people I know — spiritworkers from various paths — have, in the course of their service to their gods, become college professors, authors, healers, magicians, priests, ambassadors for interfaith harmony, warriors, leaders, people who know a thing or two. They give workshops, counsel clients, write useful books of advice, mediate between groups, conduct initiations and rituals, fight the good fight as activists. They do important work for the spirits and are recognized as having contributed to the betterment of the world. And what do I do? Stick googly eyes on subway ads to amuse my fulltrui and get kicked off the MBTA. Write poetry that doesn’t sell. Set things on fire. Wash a never-ending stream of dishes for my household, like Sisyphus rolling a rock made of crockery up a hill. Wring my hands on this blog about other Lokeans doing it wrong. Walk the dog and collect the mail when my housemates are out of town. Sometimes I do readings or trancework or give workshops myself, but largely, I’m confined to home, where entire weeks go by without me doing much of anything but chores, writing, and prayer.
That’s fine — I knew that’s what being a nun would entail — but how does that compare to anything my friends have done, are doing? It used to drive me crazy, and I’d try to go beyond what Loki wanted of me, But every time I tried to do something to show that I, too, was capable of doing Great Work, it backfired, sometimes horribly. The message was clear — stay where you are, do what you’re doing, it’s enough. In truth, it was as much an acceptance of my role as it was a public declaration when I took my oath to be a nun. In most ways, I’d already been one for years, essentially, without calling it that.
I’m being honest when I say that for me, it really isn’t about fame and adulation from other people. It’s nice to be thanked for what one does, or recognized and admired from time to time (you can’t imagine how much it blew my mind when I met someone who traveled all the way from Florida mainly to come to my ConVocation workshops), but that’s not what was at the forefront of my thoughts every time I compared my Job to those of my friends. I wanted to do something worthy of my gods, something They needed. As time passed and my life did not change much, it became clear to me that I was incapable of doing anything more significant or generally of use to the world — and what did it matter, anyway? After all, the gods have plenty of people to love them, right? What does Loki want me for, when He has dozens of other people dying for His attention and willing to give Him whatever He wants?
And so it went. Months went by, and I watched my friends learn and change and acquire new skills, while I learned a hundred and one ways to fold cardboard boxes so they’d fit in the recycling bin. I tried my hardest to do what Loki wanted. I wrote poems and prayers for Him. I made Him offerings — sweets, liquor, home-cooked food, the occasional silly toy or joke item. I made my bedroom into His space as well, and the largest of my altars has always been Loki’s. I spoke for Him, invoked Him, asked for His blessing and presence in public rituals and fainings. I commissioned a god-pole for Him at the farm where I live. And I loved Him, as best as I knew how.
Once, I was told to go get training in yoga, and even had the tuition money come out of left field and practically drop into my lap. After getting certified as a teacher of classical yoga, however, I still had no car, nowhere to teach, and no students save for my loyal friends from down the road who wanted once-a-week sessions. It was plain, especially after I did divination, that They wanted me to get that training for other purposes than employment, and I wasn’t supposed to make a career as a yoga instructor. I became more resentful, more sad, and more convinced that I was being played for a fool by my gods and by every other spiritworker who patted me on the arm and assured me that my Job, too, was important — even when I thought that it was easy for them to say because what I did was so far beneath their “pay grade” or level of experience.
Loving Loki is easy, you might argue — He makes Himself so very charming, attractive, good company, worthy of admiration and adoration. And that’s true, but love (for a nun) isn’t simply a feeling, as I’ve said — it’s an action, and when you think that nothing you do can possibly be good enough, nor as good as what other people are doing, it becomes really hard to be enthusiastic about doing it. Now, I have never for one second stopped feeling love for Loki, even when I’ve been at my angriest and most doubtful of His love for me, but the idea that I ought to be doing more inexorably became an idea that my love was a meaningless thing and that I was fooling myself most of all when I told myself that what I was doing as a nun was just as important to Loki as anything anybody else did for Him. That, to be frank, is poison to a contemplative life.
The goal of monasticism isn’t to prove how disciplined or obedient you are, or to make a show of poverty or self-denial. None of that — the regular hours of work, prayer, and ritual, the rules, the restrictions, the funny clothes — are an end, but are all means to an end. They’re tools one uses to rid the mind and body of habits which impede the real goal: attaining perfect union with the Divine. If you’re also a hard polytheist, as I am, then that means your goal as a monk or nun is to seek without cessation a true, deep, and abiding understanding of your gods, or your particular god or goddess — and with that gnosis often comes love, a fierce, passionate love quite as compelling as any love one has for another mortal. I was aware of this, too, but felt that because my Job couldn’t possibly be that simple, I was failing both Loki and future pagan mystics and monastics, assuming anything I write will survive for someone else to look at after I’m dead.
When you become that depressed about your life, nothing anybody says can shake it until you, yourself, decide you’ve had enough. That’s true even when it’s a deity telling you to get a grip. Loki tried in a number of ways to make me see that He did, in fact, value me and my contributions, but I wouldn’t hear any of it because the malaise of self-doubt and unnecessary shame wouldn’t let me, and because I’ve always had a hard time believing I’m as good as other people. So finally, after months of this torment for us both, He was forced to seek another channel to get the message across. I’ll never forget it, either.
That year at EtinMoot, as it so happened, we were visited by Sithgunt, the sister of Mani and Sunna, who is said to be a goddess of twilight. I knew next to nothing about Her, but since I was at the time the gydja of Iron Wood Kindred and nominally in charge of the event, I wanted to thank Sithgunt for coming to us. When it was my turn to speak to Her, I went before the goddess in Her seat, knelt in front of Her, and opened my mouth to speak. I never got the chance. She lit into me right away — politely, never raising her voice, but I was frozen in shock nonetheless. I could see glimpses of Her through the horse’s body — hard to describe, but it’s more or less like being able to see through glamour. Her pale face wasn’t harsh or angry, but Her violet eyes penetrated me as She spoke:
I have come here to tell you what you otherwise will not hear. Do you think that what you do is unimportant? Do you think you are less than these [Sithgunt gestured at someone off to my left] or these? [She gestured at another person to the right.] He needs you so that he may drop the mask when it becomes too much to bear. What you do is not easy, I know, but it is simple. I envy you the simplicity of your job; I, with all my books, all my wisdom, envy you. Think on that — a goddess envies you your work.
I am not the sort of person who responds well to being reprimanded, but Sithgunt’s soft voice hit me like an arrow to the heart. I was in tears when She stopped talking, although I can’t really say that She was being unkind. Sithgunt said what I needed to hear, and the fact that I had never before had any dealings with Her made the message all the more potent — not to mention that the person being possessed by Her knew nothing of my spiritual difficulties at the time. I thanked Sithgunt when She finished reading me the riot act, to which She remarked that She had come to “repay a debt.” I don’t think I’m being egotistical when I say that I’m pretty sure the debt (whatever it was) was to Loki, and that He had asked Her to come and say something to me. Believe me, it’s not something I feel smug about.
After a talking-to from a goddess who makes the effort to come in the flesh and say something like this to your face, it’s really hard to keep being obstinately convinced of your own worthlessness. Sithgunt’s words stayed with me, and although I have never asked Loki about what really happened that day, from then on, I stopped feeling as if my Job of loving Him was insignificant. Sometimes it is still hard for me to believe that I’m doing what I need to do, but I keep making the effort, and that’s what counts — love being action and all. And I may only be a home-keeping nun, but it seems Loki loves me enough to ask another deity to set me straight, rather than letting me continue to be unhappy. I can’t argue with that.
Sithgunt was right, however; making it your life’s work to love your god may be simple, but it is not very easy. It isn’t easy to set aside things I once loved and that were a huge part of my identity for years because I need that room in my life for Him. It isn’t easy to continually throw myself into the pursuit of gnosis, knowing beforehand that from the outside, it’s not going to look like anything more than self-indulgent spiritual wankery and an excuse to sponge off others. It isn’t easy to know that I will age without a mortal spouse or family to shelter me, and die without descendants to mourn me, because I’ve forsaken all of that for love of Him. It isn’t easy to ignore all the bullshit spread about Loki and His kin and His followers, rather than let it upset me all the time and make me say and do things I’ll regret later. But I’m going to try to do my Job and not worry about whether or not it’s as much as other spiritworkers give or whether it’s as important as what my friends are doing in the world. It’s what He wants, just love, simple and uncomplicated — or as uncomplicated as anything can ever be with Flame-hair.
This was very beautiful and insightful. Thank you.
When I first found your blog, I was really happy; yes, I enjoyed others’ and their words, but there’s also a different wisdom and knowledge to gain from yours. Your words are so important and so: Thank you, because you provide something new and different, and it is immensely appreciated and has been very useful (or enjoyable, depending on the situation).
I’m glad to hear that you’ve found this blog useful. I’m also glad you’ve started a blog of your own; it’s always refreshing to see things (and Loki) from another perspective
It occurred to me while reading this that your cloistered vocation is very much like that of a homemaker. It’s not flashy, it doesn’t seem to do the world much good, nor does it win any achievement awards. Even when you get thanked, it’s a thankless job.
But I think it’s a bit like Raven being the Classical Shaman in the “petting zoo,” there so everyone can see what that looks like. We really don’t have a lot of examples of Pagan monastics, what they go through, how they might like to be more active in the world, how challenging is it to do only that, how their job is simple… but not easy. It helps that you’re not a monastic for an austere deity and that there’s silliness in your service. If it were otherwise, we’d all see too much of the Christian nun in that and dismiss it. But we can’t dismiss you because it doesn’t look anything like that.
Sigyn isn’t flashy either. She just loves Loki in whatever way he needs at the time. She doesn’t go fight dragons or teach workshops, lead troops or take clients. She’s basically a divine homemaker too. She does it because someone has to. Because it’s what she chose to do, and so she does. Your work is much like hers. Holding the bowl is simple… but not easy. Not by a longshot.
A number of us believe we must make some great measurable changes in the world to be a success. Should we fall short of this arbitrary yardstick in our minds, we decide to think ourselves failures. You remind us that we don’t always see our impact, and what what we see isn’t always what matters to our gods.
I write stories and cook suppers for my goddesses. Oh, I hope people will like my stories, that they’ll have some magnificent positive impact in people’s personal lives and change the world. That’d be nice for my ego. But you remind me that even if no one ever reads them… I am still serving. Not in some future where people are reading and pondering them but *right now* as I reach out, as I write, as I struggle to do them justice, alone with paper and keyboard and words. The very act of pulling on those story threads brings them closer to all of us, I think. I serve as I write chants for them, even if no one ever sings them. You remind me that what I think is important… probably isn’t as important as I think it is. And what I think of as pointlessly spinning my wheels might actually be the real work. You remind me to be mindful in enjoying the act of service rather than dwelling on what results it might have.
Thank you, teacher.
Well, I don’t know what to say, Linda *blushes* except thank you. And I really appreciate your commentary here and elsewhere; you always seem to cut right to the point and remind me that things aren’t always as complicated as I sometimes perceive them to be *hugs* Hope to see you sometime soon!
Elsewhere you lament that there’s no better word than wife, spouse, concubine or consort. After much thought and meditation (like, almost a full minute), I think I have a better term for your relationship with Loki :
“Happy Fun Ball Play Partner !”
But just remember… *Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.*
Linda, you are the bee’s knees
This is beautiful. Thank you so, so much for sharing.
Thanks for reading
I can relate to this a lot. When it comes down to it, my primary spiritual job is simple but not easy too. It also entirely revolves around spirits that no one else even knows, which can make it a lonely path at times. There was a time at which I could have, I think, become more of a Big Name Pagan but I gave all of that up to focus entirely on this job, these spirits. Now the bulk of what I do, what I accomplish, has no audience but Them. So I know how hard that can be. But I too have received the message, over and over again (though I struggle with accepting it much of the time) that what I do is important, necessary, meaningful, etc. I think it just goes back to not comparing ourselves to others. It always does seem greener on the other side, but I’m sure many of the people giving workshops and writing books and receiving acclaim wish sometimes they could just be a quiet solitary nun.
I imagine that it is hard, in some ways, to have your main spiritual work be with spirits that others do not know. At least I know other people know, to some degree, what I’m talking about when I reference things He does. Reading your blog, however, I can tell that your devotion is very strong and you are committed to your path and really, that’s what counts. You have my respect
You and I once had a mutual friend/person in our lives who’s only role was to love and cherish their god. It was humbling to be in their presence because they were just so damned good at it. They would often make it plain that they didn’t consider themselves to be a “spirit worker” (whatever that truly means) and throughout their life, I think they never saw what they did as particularly important compared to the people out there “doing” stuff.
But they were wrong.
If nothing else, loving and worshiping the gods is something that a lot of spirit workers *suck* at. It’s sometimes like being hired as the personal assistant to your favorite Hollywood star. The shiny wears off surprisingly fast, and while you may still like and respect them, it can be hard to “worship” someone you’ve seen with their hair in curlers.
Speaking only for myself, reading your writings and talking to you always helps ground me back in the spiritual and emotional side of my relationship to deity, which is something I often find myself needing. Before their death, our mutual friend I mentioned earlier tended to do that for me. They considered themselves to be a “mystic” and I think it’s a title you might play with in your mind and see if it fits. There certainly have been mystic nuns before after all.
And having been on the receiving side of a deity smack upside the head, it sure can work wonders for bringing clarity, even if it sometimes leaves one feeling like a foolish child at the end.
You’re right about spirit-workers and devotion. I think the “work” part sometimes overwhelms the love part (at least, it has happened to me like that, and I have to keep re-grounding myself in the devotional aspect of my practice).
That mutual friend is one of my role models for this, and the “mystic” role is something I think has become increasingly apparent to me as time goes on. And I’m happy that you’ve found my writings relevant — that’s the most I could ask, that people can take something useful away from them, even if their path doesn’t look a whole lot like mine. Thank you, Winter.
I have sometimes looked in on your life – at least the glimpses of it you provide here in your blog, and some of the remarks you’ve made in the couple of your classes I’ve had the opportunity to attend – and thought that what your path offers is a focus that many of the rest of us rarely have the chance to seek or attain. I’ve chosen to pursue a career and an earthly marriage, and both of those occupy time that I cannot give to my gods. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to give up so many things for love of Him while balancing out feelings of somehow doing or being less than other spiritworkers. In the end, though, all we can really do (barring the occasional incident of kicking and screaming resistance.. or maybe that’s just me!) is follow Them and become who we can be for and with Them. I recently had to make a career choice – to pursue tenure or accept a ‘lesser’ position as untenured faculty. The push, the expectation, is to aim for tenure, and I struggled for a very long time feeling like I’d be failing if I chose something different (within academia). In the end, though, I realized that being a professor would make me feel important, that I’d attained a position of prestige and power. But it wouldn’t make me happy, and it would take me away from other things I value. Prestige here and now won’t gain me anything better in the long run that I absolutely have to have. It won’t bring me closer to my beloved gods. So, in the end, I took the position that was right for me and where I need to be, and accepted (not without some recurring pangs, admittedly) that I’ll never have that other status. This might seem like a less impactful choice – science is not spiritwork, nor does it have the same effects in terms of community service – but it strikes me as a parallel, in part.
Also – as a related thought that came up as I was reading. The term ‘Great Work’ gets bandied around a lot in various pagan and occult circles, and I’ve thought of late that it leads some of us astray thinking that there is some grandiose glittering Work that lays ahead of us. I think that does a vast disservice to many of us whose works are meant to be more subtle, quieter, turned inward or more private (etc). Giving one’s life to the gods, to be loved by them and love passionately in return, to dedicate everything to them – this to me seems like a great thing indeed.
No, the “kicking and screaming resistance” isn’t just you. I think a lot of us have that happen at least once, and I’m no exception
Your story about choosing the untenured job over the tenured position rings a bell for me, as I was once in that situation in regards to my spiritual life. I made a hash of things for a while, but ultimately I think I took the road that was best for me, even if I should have done it in a less messy way.
There are a lot of terms, like “spiritworker” or “priest/ess” or “Great Work” that often carry connotations which don’t apply to every person, and that doesn’t mean those people aren’t genuine. Thanks for pointing that out.
Reblogged this on The Darkness in the Light.
I just read this and nod. I’ve found the insinuation of “just the wife” as sexist; I think part of the reason that I call up my days of early motherhood when you talk about monasticism is because the parallels are striking – it’s “woman’s work” – read:under appreciated; it’s a patient act of love, and it’s taken for granted by many. The hard parts are often invisible; people have rude or mistaken opinions about how, what, and why you do what you do when they do bother acknowledging your work.
People who aren’t engaged in parenting sometimes forget that woo experiences can be applicable to other areas of life, as if there’s nothing sacred in the mundane of everyday activities. I can look at your blog now, and read entries like this, and in a way, wish that it had been around when my child was a wee babe. I was a baby pagan when zie was a baby, but your words would have comforted me then, even though I wasn’t interested in monasticism at that time, I was just trying to take care of zir and be a good mother. Your work is about a greater understanding of love, and that has a value that is beyond measure, and people who try to diminish it are often afraid of it on some level.
This is both my response to your comment and an attempt to dispel any misconceptions others may have about my spiritual roles and what those might mean for others who use the same labels. I don’t know if I haven’t made myself clear enough or assumed that people already know what I intend when I write about some things, but I feel as if I should point these things out:
One is that being a monastic is not the the same thing as being a godspouse. For one thing, there are thousands of monks and nuns from other traditions who do not consider themselves married to their deities, just as there are a number of pagan godspouses who have no desire to be monastics. Granted, for me, the boundaries between “nun” and “consort” have become somewhat blurred, but even if I had never been Loki’s wife, I think I might still have ended up as a monastic of some kind. The point of this is that I don’t want anybody to read my blog and believe that monasticism and godspousery, at least as we modern pagan types understand these, always go hand in hand. They don’t.
Secondly, this essay was less about how other people treat me and more about how I treated myself. I am in no way accusing others of being disrespectful, and will be the first to admit that I often believe everyone else thinks the worst of me, when actually that’s untrue. That’s my own baggage, and I will admit to having it. That’s what the essay is really talking about, despite any references to others.
Finally, I also need to empathize that no one has ever made sexist remarks or implications to the effect of me being “just Loki’s wife.” My friends know better than that. Those who are spiritworkers, a number of whom are transgender and/or genderqueer, are also some of the first people who will rush to dispel gender-based assumptions about spiritual roles. Frankly, if there were a better term than “wife,” “consort,” or “spouse,” none of which really satisfy me, I’d be using it for myself, but such are the limitations of modern English
Fair enough, although I wasn’t going for implying that any of your friends were the ones who were being sexist asses per se; I know in my own life, I find sexism inherent in both my upbringing (from the South, yo) and the worker bee model – if you’re not producing THINGSTHINGSTHINGS, you’re obviously lazy/doing it wrong/blah blah, and a lot of the more “traditional female” jobs – like teaching, mothering, etc are not easily quantifiable in terms of shiny doodads. Our baggage doesn’t come from nowhere, is what I was trying to say, not to point a finger at anyone in particular.
I am grateful to those in our community who have taken the time to produce materials; even if I come to monasticism later in life (and there are a fair number of women who do, particularly in Catholic practices) – my child’s almost grown. I’m not a tabula rasa, but it’s still helpful to me to see how others arrived at their own paths, even if their experiences don’t mirror mine completely.
My particular baggage isn’t gender-role-based. I think it’s more that I felt that as a well-educated person formerly from the 1%, I should have been doing “something better” than simply being an anchorite. Most of that comes from the strong emphasis to succeed that I got from having an Asian parent, and being “the smart one” in my family who was supposed to be a brain surgeon or whatever. (The stereotype comes from somewhere, after all.) Having said that, I should also mention that my relationship with my old, traditional Thai dad is pretty good these days.
Also, I don’t really identify as a “woman.” I’m female-bodied and use female pronouns, but if I had to put a label on my gender identity, it would be “genderqueer, female of center” (because “elf” doesn’t appear on most forms as an option.) Also, Loki doesn’t always interact with me as a male; I use male pronouns to talk about Him because most of the time, that’s how I see Him and that’s largely how others see him…but I wouldn’t characterize our interactions as “husband/wife” in the sense most people are wont to think of it.
I wish there were better labels than “wife,” “consort,” or “spouse” to describe myself in this role, but such are the limitations of modern English. This is why I said what I did about not being considered “just the wife.” And the range of relationships I’ve witnessed between mortal spouses/lovers and their god/desses has been pretty broad, so my own experience hasn’t had the kind of assumptions you’d expect to get in a mostly cisgender, heterosexual context. For that, I feel pretty fortunate.
I can relate to this so very much, and wanted to thank you for sharing it. My own Job is also very simple and not flashy and is centered almost entirely around spirits rather than humans. The only things I am *required* to do for Odin are to be His wife, love Him and make a home for Him (in my heart as well as in my immediate surroundings), take care of myself in accordance with His ideas about what that entails, honor a few other members of His family who I am close to, and act as a resource for the small group of spirits (spirits bound to Him) that has chosen me. I am a priestess because Odin chooses to call me such and I do have priestess duties I perform, but I rarely serve in that capacity for other humans, mostly for non-humans and the dead. Everything else I do–crafting, writing, oracular seidhr, even my relationships with my Disir–is by my choice, and He has made it clear that the services I perform for other humans, such as seidhr, can and will be given up if need be, if I fail at my primary obligations. It seems so simple, yet I don’t have to tell you that it is anything but easy. I have always felt love for Odin, even when I’ve been depressed or there’s been strain between us, but as you stated s well, love is an action.
The only time I am ever truly envious of other godspouses or spirit workers is when I see how accomplished some of them are, how much they seem to be helping people, in comparison with my very simple life. And yet, whenever I have attempted to challenge Him on this it results in an argument (such as the one I wrote about not too long ago), and in failure if I persist, because He is adamant that He wants me following my own path, not someone else’s. I am sure the grass is always greener on the other side, though; probably there are lots of spirit workers who wish they could devote most of their time to just loving Him, and after all, He is so very worthy of that (as Loki is, too).
It sounds as if you and I are in the same situation in a lot of ways. Thanks for sharing that, too. It makes me feel less isolated in this work
They also serve who also stand and wait.
Thank you so much for everything you do.
Thank you for reading
I can’t believe you got kicked off the T for putting googly eyes on the stupid ads! Oh, Boston . . .
I remember, as I was realizing where I was being lead, avidly reading both your blog (which has been immensely helpful, in so many ways) and other writings about what it means to be a consort or spouse to a deity, and being struck by the weight of the part of the role that is providing that sanctuary, the space and time for Them to relax and be “off duty.” And that being asked “just” to love one of Them, which was the one thing it was very clear Loki wanted from me, seems like an incredible extension of trust by the deity. It feels like such an awesome (NOT the slang meaning) and immense Job. I’ve cried harder over some of those realizations than many other things, because like you’ve said, it is so simple, and so easy to -feel-, and yet putting it into action is anything but, and truly feeling up to the task is hard.
I think the MBTA official was being a dick. I waited on the platform until another train came, then got on that one. But he took away my googly eyes! I have more now, though.
It’s funny: I had wanted to write a blog about monasticism, had been TOLD to do so, and felt that this ought to be the focus of the blog for a long time (see early entries here) but it seems that people are taking what they need from this whether it’s about monastic life or not, and that’s good, too. From my perspective, I haven’t shifted focus much except to become a bit more personal, but being known as a “Lokean godspouse” blogger is kind of a surprise to me, because I don’t think of myself writing just from that angle. But as I said in my comment to Winter, if people are being helped by the things I say here (which is pretty mind-blowing to me) then I’m satisfied.
I’ve found your earlier, very clearly monastic, writing really interesting, too, although I am pretty sure I am not being steered in quite that direction. I suspect my job and my other Work will overlap . . . somehow, details TBA. With, in all likelihood, all/most time remaining in my day going to Loki. Anyway, I’ve mentally filed them away in case I do need to read up on acedia or something because it -has- become Relevant to My Interests, and it’s all made me think about my own daily devotional practices more.
I was trying to figure out how I wanted to reply to this. It struck a strong cord in me. I often wonder what it is that my Boss wants from me, what kind of a relationship we have. I’m not particularly far as far as devotions go, as developing a routine is damn bloody hard for me to do, but often I get the ‘just be there for me’ response, and I think… that’s it? It sounds sort of shallow when it’s written that way. It also sounds easy, but then you think about what that entails, what it means…
I guess I’m just trying to say that it’s helpful to know that one isn’t alone. It’s good to be reminded that EVERYONE has doubts and concerns.
I’m glad this was helpful to you! I’m also glad to hear comments like yours — not that I revel in other people’s difficulties, but it helps remind *me* that I’m not alone with this as well.
I have been struggling with self-esteem in the wake of SIX YEARS
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[...] found Elizabeth’s post, “Simple versus Easy“, to be an absolute lighthouse – a blessed, blessed beacon warming and warding and [...]
___ “I’m being honest when I say that for me, it really isn’t about fame and adulation from other people. It’s nice to be thanked for what one does, or recognized and admired from time to time” ___
Actually, at risk of sound all net-stalkery and such, I’ve been aware of, and appreciating, your Work for/with Him for around ten years now. Entirely aside from the significant amount of personal resonance the content of your posts has often had for me, I’ve also found a couple of other things to be useful (and I’m sure I’m not the only one):
1) the evidence that someone can hang in there *that* long, and actually make a go of the whole devotion thing (clumsy, sorry, but that’s the best I can explain it; for me “that long” is “as long as I have been”, so it’s personally significant)
2) the gradual public comprehension that one can Serve the Gods, and inspire us humans, without being a Big Public Figure with loads of books and workshops and pagan media interviews (all credit to our BPFs, but they are, after all, only a very visible minority)
I have the horrible feeling I’m rambling, but really – not only should you not underestimate your worth to Them (or yourself), you shouldn’t underestimate your worth to us.
Wow. I am touched and flattered by your comments. Thank you!
[...] today, I read an article that really helped me come to terms with myself, and my “role” within my religion, and [...]
Reblogged this on Story of a Godslave and commented:
A gorgeous post by Elizabeth Vongsvisith. I might have some more thoughts on a similar subject another time; however, now I hie my ass to sleep before Kit and Sir bonk me on the head and drag me to bed.
I just wanted to thank you for this post. I’ve been thinking about it all day and it seems to have triggered a revelation of sorts. I’ve always felt confused about my path because the only thing Loki’s ever specifically (and with much fervor) asked me to do is write for him. And when he first showed up in my life I knew nothing about spirit work or shamanism or even heathenry, lol. But when I started reading about other people’s experiences I started to think, wait, why am I not doing these other things? Am I supposed to be doing these other things?
I honestly think that in my case part of that questioning and attraction to other paths has been about ego and an attraction to shiny things, even though I know they’re not really as shiny as they seem. But on musing over this post today it occurred to me that maybe this isn’t just about me being selfish and naive. I’ve had a really hard time writing lately, partly because I got sucked into the professional/publishing end of things and stopped writing for him and started writing for other people. And partly because it never feels like enough. No matter what I do or write. Even now when I think of only writing for him and doing nothing else I think, “That’s it? Shouldn’t I do more? Shouldn’t I do these other things, too?”
And that’s when I realized that maybe I’ve been struggling with the same doubts you have, because my immediate thought was how could writing ever be as sacred or as important as being a priestess or a shaman or what have you? Even though I know there are many people who write for their gods (yourself included, I love your poetry btw) somehow I internalized this idea of writing as being lesser than these other things. Is it because writing fiction and poetry doesn’t get talked about as much? Is it because It isn’t as immediately recognizable as sacred as, say, a ritual or a prayer? I don’t know.
Anyway, your post really made me pause and ask myself why I think that. Why I think I need to do all these other unasked for things in order to be doing something important or of value. And it made me think of a recent incident in which I was asking for guidance from Angrboda and Sigyn and the only clear message I got was “All you have to do is make him happy.” When I think of him in the cave suffering, in pain, a story doesn’t seem like such a little thing after all. Not if it can make him laugh or forget the pain for awhile.
I’m glad to hear that the post helped you figure out something about your own path. That’s why Hela insists I keep writing the blog, I guess — not because I’m full of wisdom or anything, but because I know there are people out there who’ve experienced, or are experiencing, the same sorts of things I have, even if their path or their gods and traditions are different.
I know a few people who write professionally and they’ve all complained about people asking them when they’re going to get a “real” job and so forth, so that in itself makes it hard to keep motivated, without even something like a god telling you that your main focus is to write for Them. So I’m glad you brought this up. Writers don’t get enough respect as it is!
Well, I for one really appreciate that you share your thoughts and experiences with us
That’s a really good point, too, about writing. It’s hard enough to have confidence as a writer in the mundane world. I suppose the least I can do is try to respect myself 
[...] Simple versus Easy — Elizabeth Vongvisith explains how the “little jobs,” though not exactly glamorous, are still important. We don’t always get to choose our duties, but whatever we are assigned, whatever we find ourselves in, we should perform our tasks with gratitude and pride. [...]
Just came across your blog, and I look forward to reading more of it. In particular, this post deeply resonated with me. I’m not a godspouse or a monk, but I am a stay at home mom and I do work as a priestess for my local grove. I spend a lot of time struggling with daily mundane work. I could probably share some awesome cardboard folding techniques with you or trade stories of mountains of dishes.
I am the most spiritually inclined person in my multi-family household and so I have the added bonus of feeling badly about spending so much of my time basically sitting in a corner. Reading books or meditating or burning perfectly good food and such as offerings don’t exactly do a lot to keep the household going. In a weird way I envy your problems, being surrounded by so many people who understand what you’re doing. We all struggle with our own challenges though, and the grass always looks greener when far away. Thank you for sharing your struggles. It truly is encouraging and helpful.
I think that there are many people who aren’t monks or nuns, yet who find themselves doing “mundane” jobs alongside their daily spiritual pursuits, who may also be feeling that what they do isn’t as important as those who do things like speak at conventions or write books or run large organizations. I also think this is sad, since it really isn’t books and workshops and big Pagan groups that keep the world going; it’s people doing the everyday things that need to get done.
Part of my own struggle has been to try and see the sacred in *everything* I do, no matter how ordinary or “non-spiritual” it seems. I believe that approach is fundamental to being a Pagan monastic since our world-views generally hold the material world as sacred. I also think it might be a helpful approach for non-monastic folks, too. It helps to put things in perspective and to understand a little better how all of us depend on each other, and to learn to value our own contributions, no matter how insignificant they may feel sometimes
Building a relationship with one’s gods is never a waste of time or energy, no matter how much it feels like “sitting in a corner.” I know how you feel, though. I have many friends who are Pagan, some of whom are spiritworkers, but I know no other monastics in my local community, and it can get strange at times when someone makes a casual remark that highlights just how restricted my life is compared to theirs. I try to remember, however, that being alone doesn’t have to equal being lonely, and that my gods are there to be discovered in the world around me as well as in the pages of books. It’s an uphill battle, but it’s worth fighting.
Good luck to you in your journey, and thanks for reading!