Carrying On December 3, 2009

I’ve had a couple of changes in my life recently that have impacted my practice in different ways, but have together helped me see where I’m going a bit more clearly.

One is that my income has basically disappeared, so that I am living even closer to the bone for the foreseeable future as I try to drum up an alternative source. Fortunately this development is not catastrophic. I am in no danger of becoming a homeless Lokean nun or starving to death. My basic needs have all been met — food, clothing, health care, shelter. I have no dependents and my material needs outside of the basics are very few. It was a shock to learn of this at first, but mostly because it also involves family members who are now worse off than I am. I know we’re among far too many people who have recently had this most recent economic depression affect their lives in inescapable ways. We’re in good company…even though it really sucks.

I had been expecting this, although perhaps not in so drastic a form. I’ve been feeling a strong tug towards a much simpler lifestyle for a number of years now. Since I’m as human as the next person, I’ve been resisting the call to some extent. I did willingly give up my car, most of my furniture and a great number of other possessions when I moved to Providence from Colorado Springs a couple of years ago. When I left Providence for Hubbardston I got rid of even more. Since then I’ve been steadily making forays to the Salvation Army to donate things I no longer use or wear as well as to look for appropriate clothing. Everything I now own can fit in the back of a moderately-sized car. (This often amuses me because two out of my three housemates are unapologetic pack rats; the third is more like me in the sense of not liking to own very much. Even the room I sleep in is mostly full of other people’s things. I suppose it’s just as well. If all four of us were pack rats we’d have to sleep in the barn because there wouldn’t be room for us and all our stuff.)

I have the distinct impression that part of the reason for the recent narrowing and eventual departure of my income was Hela saying, “Look, I’ve told you already — you don’t need nearly as much as you think you do.” No, I don’t. It’s been surprisingly hard to accept, though. That’s not because I’m all that materialistic. I’m happy and committed to my choice to be a monastic for life, but some of the things I owned and some of the money I was free to use as I pleased represented aspects of my old life that are hard, even now, to let go of. If I’m honest with myself I can agree that I don’t need those things anymore, and the emotional gaps they once filled have been filled with something far more sustaining and meaningful.

The other change is that in the past couple of months I’ve started training as a yoga teacher. I don’t find this at all incompatible with being a Pagan who worships Northern European gods. If that makes me one of those hated eclectics who are supposed to be the ones ruining other traditions and being cultural appropriators…well, tough. It works for me, and while I won’t pretend that yoga has anything to do with Loki, Hela, the other gods or what I do for Them, its potential to help me become a better nun and priest is nothing to sneeze at.

True, there are some concepts and ideas among the various branches of practice that are very foreign to me and which I’m not all that excited about, but the basic premise of yoga (which is not a religion, by the way) is that one should strive for truth. Trying to understand one’s own essential nature and how that fits into or reflects the nature of reality is a perfectly respectable monastic goal no matter what tradition you follow. To find the Divine — that essence that lives within gods and mortals alike — within oneself, barring some cosmic intervention on a mythic or legendary scale, one must generally undertake a certain amount of discipline and training, be patient, and strive to release whatever is unnecessary and which stands in the way of one’s goal. Or at least, that’s how it works for me. I find that yoga is a more than adequate tool for all of that.

This isn’t all about my spiritual life, however. My more practical goal in undertaking this course of study is to learn how to teach hatha yoga (which is mainly about the asanas or physical postures) to other people. It’s a fallacy that in order to practice hatha yoga one must be able to put one’s feet behind one’s head or do every pose perfectly. In the United States, the emphasis on competitiveness and doing physical things as well as or better than everyone else has led to a lot of misunderstanding about yoga. It’s not about proving how flexible you are or doing every pose as well as the person next to you. It’s about achieving a synthesis of physical, mental and spiritual centering, which is supposed to lead to greater awareness.

But my opinion is that if people just want to focus on the physical part and aren’t so interested in the spiritual, that’s fine too. There are many benefits to be had from doing just that. And of course, should I manage to find enough students willing to pay for my classes, that’d be money which I can use to support myself without compromising my spiritual vocation. Even though I’d be charging for my classes, working with yoga students counts as service, and I intend to put as much into it as I can if I ever find myself actually teaching. I particularly want to reach folks who might feel uncomfortable in other yoga classes (i.e. people with impaired mobility, overweight people, the elderly and surprisingly, men in general, many of whom seem to have the idea that yoga is something only women do).

I did undertake some divination beforehand to find out whether this was something I ought to be pursuing. I was a little worried because I couldn’t afford to pay for the tuition, although the course instructor was willing to work with me to find a solution, even if that meant doing a lot of work-study and constant wrangling with my housemates for use of their car. However, the readings all came out very positively. The strongest sign that undertaking this would constitute right action was when an old friend, upon hearing about my intentions, blurted out that he’d gladly finance my yoga education. It was an incredibly generous offer but while I’m very grateful to my friend, I also know that it was a sign that this was indeed something I should pursue. I’ve already found that the benefits have helped me in many ways — physically (I’m noticeably better at some asanas than I was before, and my overall posture has improved), mentally (I find myself living more mindfully) and spiritually (my religious viewpoint hasn’t changed, but my approach to it is more consistent and determined).

Now that I’ve made myself sound like some kind of “yogavangelist” and probably put people to sleep, I’ll get around to the point of relating all this, which is that sometimes when you’re uncertain how to proceed, the Universe (or the gods, fate, wyrd or some other force) will drop hints or perhaps even smack you upside the head to show the way. I find it less than coincidental that the change in my income and the opportunity to study yoga came along so soon after I made the conscious choice to be a monastic for life. It makes it much harder to doubt that the choice was a right one.

A few weeks ago, I went to a bookstore and bought a little red hardback journal with a replica of a British World War II-era poster on the front. I starting using it to keep copies of my various bead prayers, a list of the eight limbs of astanga yoga and the yamas and niyamas, the Witches’ Pyramid, other people’s various deity invocations and prayers, and other bits and pieces that are important to me. So far I’ve memorized three Sanskrit chants for class but haven’t adopted a personal mantra. If I had one, though, it would be the one from the journal: KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON.

Options for Black Friday November 26, 2009

(This post is mostly directed at the Americans reading this. We sure do love our consumer goods! “Black Friday” refers to the day after Thanksgiving in the United States, which is the biggest shopping day of the year as millions of people turn out to malls, stores and shopping centers in search of sale items for holiday gifts.)

Tomorrow is Buy Nothing Day. It was begun as a protest of the rampant consumerism that infects American society like a plague, especially at Christmas, to the point where people put themselves into debt for months or years afterward, act awful and rude to each other as they struggle to deal with crowds of other shoppers, and even trample people to death in their rush to snap up bargains. I’ve done this for several years now (partake in Buy Nothing Day, I mean, not trample people). I suppose it helps that I don’t spend any money at all most days, but I still make it a point to participate. However, I’m also realistic enough to know that at least some of you reading this might be planning on slipping out to shop tomorrow, so here are some alternatives that will let you have your cake (feeling good about doing something charitable) and eat it too (spending money.)

First of all, I suggest shopping online. At least you won’t be burning fuel, battling enormous crowds in brightly lit, noisy malls or adding to the general chaos and unpleasantness on the streets. Even better, you could make a purchase from an independent seller of handmade goods. A number of people (some of whom I know!) sell their wares on Etsy or similar sites where the items range from charmingly amateurish to well-made and professional. You can give someone a one-of-a-kind, handmade gift this year while supporting independent craftspeople and retailers rather than large manufacturers and chain stores.

Should you want to give something exotic with more global impact, consider shopping at one of the Greater Good Network’s “click once a day to help” sites. They sell many imported handmade, fairly-traded and/or green goods including clothing, jewelry, accessories, toys, home decor and gifts. Profits go towards the charity from whose store you bought the item — the item description will tell you exactly how many cups of food, square feet of land or free mammograms your purchase will fund. You can also donate directly to the GGN if you’re so inclined.

If you want to give someone a gift but don’t want it to be “stuff,” you can donate a microfinance loan in the recipient’s name to help a small entrepreneur start or improve their business. You can do this through Kiva, which lists the names, photos and descriptions of folks around the world seeking loans. The minimum loan amount is $25 but that amount can be rolled over endlessly to help other entrepreneurs (or collected by the person in whose name you donated) once the original loan has been paid back, thus having the potential to help a number of people with the same small investment. They have an excellent repayment rate.

Finally, you can make or bake your own gifts to give, share your time and service with someone who needs it, write a letter or a poem for each person on your list, invite everyone over for a special homemade meal, round up a group of people to perform community service together, or make some other gesture that shows how much you care, all with a minimal outlay for supplies, transportation or postage. Or you could reconsider the whole thing and come up with holiday gifts that cost nothing — which is the whole point of Buy Nothing Day, anyway.

(Cross-posted in somewhat different form from my LiveJournal.)

On Monastic Restrictions: Personal Conduct November 3, 2009

I had a much longer entry here which explained why and how I arrived at my guidelines for personal conduct as a monastic. The more I wrote the more explaining I felt I had to do, which made the post even longer and more tedious. I did say I’d explain, however. For those who are curious, I have briefly listed Loki and Hela’s expectations of me as a nun, which I knew would be required of me long before I took my vows.

For all intents and purposes, I’m spoken for. I’m Loki’s priestess-wife and a dedicated, professional monastic, so I don’t date nor am I interested in any other sort of romantic attachment. I simply haven’t got the time, energy or emotional resources for that. As for what (or who) I can and cannot do in regards to sex, that is something I’d rather not discuss here. Suffice it to say that I am not celibate in the sense of never engaging in any sexual activity at all, but I’m not going to be hooking up with anybody new unless my red-haired Interloper decides it’s a good idea and sends someone my way.

I must cultivate total honesty with myself about my motives, reasoning and feelings about everything. Loki’s biggest lesson for His folk is that even if you lie your head off to others, you should never lie to yourself. Being clear about why I say and do the things I say and do is a high priority for me, partly because that kind of awareness fosters wisdom, compassion for others and greater understanding, and partly because understanding why I’m driven to act a certain way might change my mind about acting that way in the first place. Note that this doesn’t require that I refrain from doing anything, just that I’m honest with myself about why I’m doing it.

Being honest with myself also means that I must to be able to accept the consequences of my actions without making excuses or trying to get out of paying the price. Admittedly, that’s not something Loki’s terribly interested in (he does spend a lot of time in the Eddas running away after doing something unwise)…but personal responsibility happens to be something Hela values in those who serve Her. In fact, Loki and Hela are really interested in people who can own their shit in these ways. They don’t seem to mind if you haven’t got all your shit together, but you need to be able to point to it and say, “Yeah, that’s my shit, right over there!”

This is not an uncommon thing to encounter for those on the path to greater understanding; carved above the Oracle of Delphi were the words “Know thyself,” and one of the four corners of the traditional Witch’s Pyramid is “to know” — which I always believed must imply self-knowledge as well as esoteric acumen. The danger with striving for self-knowledge is in becoming too absorbed in your own navel-gazing and sense of your place in the greater scheme of things, which brings me to my next point.

I must remember that it isn’t all about me. I am in service to deities who have Their own agendas as well as Their own existence outside of being my gods. I am in a community (or several intersecting communities, rather) of people with needs and goals which are no less important than mine. I am writing this blog as much for the sake of other Pagans interested in monastic practice as I am for myself. Just because it was my choice to devote my entire life to religious service and devotion doesn’t mean that the results will affect no one else.

That’s it. I don’t have a Rule. I don’t use a set of formal Hours to pray or worship by (although I’m working on augmenting my daily practice with something similar). I haven’t got a set of commandments or rules. I’ve just got my four simple monastic values and I have to use my own judgment about right action. I also have to remain humble enough to understand when my ego is getting in the way. If this sounds too easy or as if I’m trying to cop out of having more stringent requirements, well…all I can say is that living up to these few things is going to take the rest of my life to learn to do even halfway well.

As for how, exactly, I determine “right action,” this is going to sound disrespectful in the extreme, but I often think that those who seek to emulate the Norse gods must be crazy — have they actually read what goes on in the old stories? There’s a good deal of oath-breaking, lying, unprovoked mayhem, cheating and pointless conflict there, and no, Loki isn’t responsible for all of it. I say this without judging Them, of course. The gods do things because that’s how They do things. Not being one of Them, I need to have an ethical way to deal with the world based on the things I value as a human being.  I’ll address my personal ethics in a later post. It might be interesting to contrast and compare them with the ethics posts I made about a year ago when I was still trying to take my monastic practice in a direction it was apparently not intended to go.

Pagan Convent Needs Help! October 21, 2009

There’s an article up at The Wild Hunt about the Maetreum of Cybele, which is apparently experiencing problems with local harassment and religious discrimination.

I had the good fortune to meet Rev. Cathryn a few years ago. She is a sensible, devout and honest woman who has been involved in Paganism for decades. Her Cybelline reconstructionist organization currently runs (to my knowledge) the only brick-and-mortar Pagan convent in the United States.

If you can help the Maetreum find a sympathetic, competent attorney or would like to make a donation to their legal fund, I encourage you to do so. The Maetreum is at the vanguard of modern Pagan monasticism, and it would be a great shame for it to have to close its temple and convent doors over something so pointless and harmful as this.

…You Get What You Need October 10, 2009

Not long after I made the post about being in the grip of acedia, I had an epiphany. The timing doesn’t surprise me. When you’re associated with a deity like Loki, that’s what tends to happen: as soon as you realize what’s actually going on, it changes. Basically, I needed to give the problem of my lack of commitment to my vocation a name and a shape before I could make the final leap into wholehearted dedication.

This was spurred by an incident that took place a few weeks ago. I was present at a ritual where Loki “rode” a human spirit-worker. This means that for a short period of time, He possessed the body of the person in order to interact with those of us present. It is akin to the way Voudon and other Afro-Carribean religionists are “ridden” by the spirits. Indeed, the terminology used by other spirit-workers is often borrowed from those traditions since most other traditions lack vocabulary to describe what is becoming a widespread phenomenon. Anyway, while I was not the person who was the focus of the ritual, I did indeed have some contact with Him. This was only the second time I’d interacted with Loki in the flesh, so to speak, in the six years I have been His. And well…it kind of sucked, actually.

One of Loki’s faces is one that I call “Breaker of Worlds.” This is the unrepentant jerk who eventually killed Baldur and went slowly insane bound in a dark cavern beneath the world, and who is an unpredictable bastard when you call upon Him in that guise and with that expectation. That is not the whole of what Loki is. However, it is a very real part of Him that is often ignored by those Lokeans who view Him as simply a fun-loving prankster or an excuse to try and get away with bad behavior.

I don’t often experience Loki that way; He generally comes to me wearing a different face. But the gods are complex beings, and I know that He is both of these things, more than both of these. I do know the mad, bad and dangerous-to-know Loki, perhaps not as well as I do the one who fills me with both joy and longing. But I know Him.

That knowing made it hurt no less when He walked up and insulted me with a single sentence that went to the heart of many of my personal insecurities about myself. He is deadly accurate and unerringly cruel when He wants to really get to someone. For a moment I was stung. However, instead of breaking down sobbing or walking away in silence and denial, as I might have done before, I simply shrugged and answered “I am what I am.”

I’m not sure where I found the presence of mind to say that, unless it was that I had spent some time before the rite bracing myself for whatever He would do or say, and as He had insisted I attend the ritual in the first place, I knew He’d do or say something to me. Apparently that was the right answer, for to my surprise, Loki didn’t respond or insult me further, and soon went back to what He’d being doing before.

It was a test, I realized later, a small but significant one that made me think harder about why I want to be a nun — as opposed to just calling myself one because it’s what Loki and Hela want. It made me think further about why I am Loki’s consort and what it means to be the wife of a god (one of many mortal spouses, and not the pretentious title some people claim it to be, but a different way of understanding a god or goddess than through other kinds of devotional roles). It made me decide that, rather than passively do whatever I feel They expect me to do, I need to do certain things because I want to. Because it’s right and good that I do them, because I see the need for those things to be done. Because it’s my choice.

I had to choose to really be Loki’s consort, and choose to dedicate my life to Him and to Hela’s service. Even though I’m one of those people whom the gods seemingly picked out of a lineup and informed, “You’re ours.” Even though a great many things in my life as a result have not been not my choice — where I live, what I do for a living, where I spend my money, even what kinds of clothing I wear. Even though I’d already accepted that this was how things were going to be from now on. My choice was key to this — my willingness to embrace my vocation as a monastic and my status as Loki’s wife freely and because I really wanted it, not because I was just doing as I was told.

It seems so obvious now, but like many things, it isn’t so obvious when you are too close to see the whole picture and can only make out the details right in front of your face. In some way, standing up to Loki that day helped me gain the necessary distance to see what I had been ignoring or unable to see before. True, He wasn’t as hard on me as He was on the person for whom the ritual had been arranged, but then again, even Loki is capable of subtlety, and being shouted at in front of a crowd of onlookers was not what I needed.

The thing is, I already knew what I needed to know. I just didn’t realize it. I remember having a conversation with a friend some time ago. We were discussing the number of devotional books dedicated to various gods and goddesses that have been published lately. Both of us think this is an excellent thing, but he was saying how glad he was that he didn’t “have” to write a devotional for his particular patron as someone else already had one in the works. I found myself growing annoyed and self-righteous. “I’ve never written anything, except for my nun blog, because They told me to. That’s not the point — devotional work is done because you want to do it. It’s a gift, it doesn’t mean anything if They have to force it out of you.”

Well, duh. That is what Loki has been trying to get me to see for several years. That is why He hasn’t demanded that I stop doing certain things or given me a deadline for my profession of vows. He wanted me to decide for myself that I wanted it. Would I still have to be a monastic if I hadn’t reached this point? Possibly. I imagine I could have conceivably dragged this whole acedia thing out for years, the prospect of which is unappealing.

So the long and the short of it is that now I am finally and fully ready to commit to a monastic life, and to enter into the deep, commited kind of devotional relationship with Himself that by necessity will require some personal sacrifices. I have chosen a date later this month on which, in front of friends who have agreed to witness the oath-taking, I will formally make the vows I wrote about in an earlier post. I will begin from there on in to live according to the rules They and I have set out for me to abide by. I’m finally ready.

I’m fairly amused that this rather undermines the whole Master/slave paradigm that some god-bothered people (myself included) have claimed to have with their gods. It also reinforces both the contradictory nature of dealing with a trickster and the liminal space that people like me have to inhabit in order to do so without going mad ourselves. I’m a solitary monastic who has a community, a nun whose vows do not include complete celibacy, a polytheist whose life-work is to devote the majority of my energies to the worship of one god, a Lokean whose relationship with Himself is bounded by certain rules. Irony is so much a part of my life at this point that I take it for granted.

I’m also under no illusions that I won’t wrestle with acedia again in future. After all, I’m still a beginner in many ways, and it’s always hardest for new monastics, so they say, to resist the grip of apathy and despair. But having chosen to live the life I have been given has filled me with new determination, so I feel better about things than I have in a long time.

I’ll write an account of the actual oath-taking, as well as a post on the monastic rules that are going to govern my life from then on. I also plan to write about the high holidays, as I’d mentioned some time ago. Now that I have a clearer idea of what I’m going to be doing it’s much easier to find things to write about here.

Four Cornerstones May 27, 2009

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 May 23, 2009

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 May 13, 2009

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.

Courage (and Acedia) April 24, 2009

Courage is often equated with brave action, and rightly so, but what constitutes “bravery” is a matter of opinion. Many times, whether or not a person has courage is something only he or she knows for certain. Real courage does not demand or even require recognition by other people in order to exist and be of benefit to us. Courage is what helps us sustain ourselves when we are treated unfairly or misunderstood, and while it can indeed be proven by a deliberate action, having courage can also mean simply refusing to back down — or conversely, stepping aside if that’s what’s called for.

While the kind of courage necessary to fight in a war or defend the helpless is good and worthy, we need another kind of courage as well if we are to grow spiritually and do service and honor to our gods, and this kind of courage is the most hard-won of all: refusing to let our most secret, perhaps unacknowledged fears control us. Successfully conquering those fears releases us to dedicate our whole hearts and selves to our work (monastic or otherwise, if that’s the case), whereas letting them rule our actions means that we can give of ourselves only partly. For devotion to mean anything it must be given freely and of our own will, and if fear is running the show then our devotion is incomplete.

Being courageous can be a hit-or-miss thing when you are trying to conquer your fears one by one. For example, I am unreasonably terrified of hornets. I would rather get up and dance half-naked in front of a crowd of people than be shut in a room with even a single hornet flying around in it. It is a fear I have yet to have gotten rid of. I don’t think that makes me a coward, especially since I have gotten up and danced half-naked in front of a crowd before. Other people would rather face a swarm of angry wasps. But courage is relative in this way, and one person’s mortal fear is another person’s “so what?” (And by the way, if someone had told me when I was younger that I would overcome my body hatred to the extent where I was willing to belly dance topless in front of my friends, I’d have laughed in their faces. Does having done this make me courageous? Maybe. I think I’d have been far more so if I’d done it a few years before that.)

That relativity is why relying on other people’s opinions to determine what is or isn’t an expression of courage is so risky. Just as only you can decide if you actually have courage, only you can decide whether or not an action will require you to overcome whatever fears you have about it. This is not always a conscious choice, and perhaps it’s a matter of seconds, like running into the street to drag a child out of traffic, heedless of your own safety. Or it could have been a decision made after much consideration. At any rate, the refusal to give in to fear, especially when that fear is something one has spent a lot of time in denial about, is the true hallmark of a courageous person.

Monastics also have fears which must be overcome — taking up this work doesn’t automatically guarantee that your human foibles vanish overnight. It is no easier to be courageous when you live a contemplative life. Sometimes, that actually makes things harder, especially if you live in a cloistered or isolated environment where opportunities to face some of your fears directly may be few and far between. But honestly identifying your fears and preparing yourself to face them one day, even if that day never comes, counts for a lot. Even just admitting that you have certain fears might require a lot of courage. And whatever else may be said of the gods, I do not believe any of Them look down on people for being afraid of things — but it’s possible They are disappointed when we let our fears govern us. They, more than anyone, can see we are capable of so much more.

* * *

On another note, I’ve recently (finally!) acquired Kathleen Norris’s Acedia and Me, which I’ve mentioned here before. While I’ve only gotten partway through, so far I am really impressed with it. I find it very relevant to my own experience even at certain points in the past when I was not actively striving to live a monastic life. I’ll post my thoughts on the book after I’ve finished it.

Compassion April 23, 2009

Unlike the other monastic values I’ve been discussing, I’m not at all certain about including this one. It seems like a worthy goal for me personally and others might find my thoughts on it useful, so here they are.

What it means to be “compassionate”  is generally misunderstood. It’s often used to self-describe in a way that makes it implicity clear that the speaker is doing someone else a favor. I’ve witnessed this from well-meaning people who might truly be concerned for others’ suffering, but who are under the impression that it’s their job as allegedly wiser folks to show some kindness to the less enlightened. Or worse, they may be offering help in a “look at me, I’m so unselfish” frame of mind where they badly want others to notice how noble they are. Either way this is not compassion, it’s self-aggrandizement.

Being compassionate means that you acknowledge someone else is in need of help, but you don’t insult them by being condescending  when you offer it — no matter what you may personally think of their situation. You help them without compounding their misfortune through blame or conversely, making it all about your moral superiority. You don’t have to love the person you’re helping. You don’t even have to like them. But the last thing that person probably needs is to be patronized or made into a convenient foil to display how kind-hearted you are. If there is a time for judgment, that time is when deciding whether or not to offer help in the first place — which depends on your personal ethics. Once you’ve decided to help, though, to be compassionate means that you don’t judge the person you’re helping.

I learned about compassion from what some might see as a rather surprising source — Hela, the Northern goddess of the dead. Despite Her sometimes cold nature, She has great compassion for the myriad of souls who come to Her land seeking respite from life’s struggles, and She does not judge them. Once they come into the gates of Helheim, they become Her charges and fall under Her protection, whether in life they were old or young, great or humble, gods or mortals. (As for those who end up at Nastrond being punished for their evil ways, I’m not sure if that’s up to Hela alone or if other deities might curse people to go there after they die.) Working for Hela has taught me much about what compassion really is, though I’m pretty sure She would say I still have a lot to learn.

Through Her, I found that if I want to be a compassionate person, I have to let go of whatever opinions and personal baggage I’ve got concerning someone or the situation they’re in. I have to remember that it is not about me and what I think, it’s about rendering what assistance I can — while also knowing when assistance may be inappropriate. People seem to believe that to be compassionate towards someone is to absolve them of personal responsibility for the hard time they’re undergoing. I don’t think this is always true nor is it necessarily healthy for you or for the sufferer. Sometimes the most compassionate thing you can do for someone is to walk away and let them find a solution all on their own.

I know this, but that’s always hard for me to actually do — I am soft-hearted enough to want to help those whom I see in trouble, even if I have no idea what I’m doing or it’s clear the person will only reward me with ingratitude. Being compassionate is no guarantee that you won’t get hurt yourself. But consider this: someone (I don’t remember who) said that compassion is really a hallmark of the strong rather than the weak. If you are strong enough to act compassionately without being judgmental, you are strong enough to deal with the possibility that people may misunderstand your motives or later treat you badly despite all your help. You have to decide whether your conscience, personal ethics and the rules of your tradition make it necessary for you to act with compassion towards others regardless of the outcome.

Regardless of one’s reasons, the hardest thing about compassionate behavior is realizing that it’s not at all simple to actually put into practice. Inevitably, a situation will arise where you must choose between what you have believed up until then (or are told) is the right thing to do, and what you know is the right thing to do because it’s the most compassionate choice. And that can be painful, indeed. I don’t know what to say to alleviate that because I don’t think it’s possible to avoid. All you can really do is try to make choices you can live with. Perhaps this is oversimplifying things — much ink has been spilled over the centuries discussing compassion and its place in religious life — but these is what I’ve managed to work out on my own from my experiences.

If you’re a monk, nun or other religious and your tradition does not specifically address to whom it is lawful and good for you to offer aid or support, then you might consider what scope compassion will have for you, rather than just deciding that compassion is a word that sounds cool and PC to bandy about (which unfortunately seems to be the opinion of a lot of  New Age types). Will it extend to those who specifically seek you out or to whoever is in need? Will it include only members of your own community, your co-religionists in general, or everyone, no matter who they are?  Whatever the case, the goal is to do it as cleanly as possible. As with many other things in life, particularly a monastic one, you’ve got to remember that it isn’t all about you.