Learning from other faiths and sometimes, teaching them, too....

My Seminary classes are heavily populated with Pentecostal Christians. Some are still practicing, many are (as many of my classmates are) questioning the faith in which they were raised and are going back to school for answers. Some of the earliest small-group discussions involved the practice of Speaking in Tongues--when the Holy Spirit descends upon a member of the congregation and they start prophesying. Sometimes, it's in an unintelligible manner of speech that requires translation by an Elder in the community. Sometimes, there are clearer messages. Pentecostalism is similar to the Craft in many ways. As I understand it, many Pentecostal Churches do not require a specific degree to lead the Church (although many Pentecostal ministers do indeed have Seminary degrees). The process involves clapping and focusing on bringing in the Holy Spirit to embrace someone in the room. In some Churches, it happens more than at other Churches. And in the Churches where speaking in tongues was more likely to happen than in others, it was a common assessment that certain individuals were more likely to "take on" the Holy Spirit than others.

They did not use the word possession.

But one thing came up, and that was how to "diagnose" an authentic case of speaking in tongues. How do we know when someone is actually touched with the Holy Spirit or if that person is faking? Or if that person *thinks* they're touched, when they're actually not?

"In Voodoo," I said. "It's common to stick chilis in a jar of rum. If the person is actually possessed, they'll drink it and be able to handle it. If not, they won't. Not being sure of authenticity in spirit-trance is a common issue across faiths."

It was silent in the room.

I hope I don't sound like I'm mocking because that isn't my intention. These Pentecostals were a little unnerved to hear of Voodoo or Wiccan practices mentioned alongside their own practices. Likewise, I was surprised to learn about how much Pagan faiths had in common with the Pentecostals. On my first day of class, I scribbled in my notebook, "Is Pentecostalism the Witchcraft of Christianity?"

I dunno. But it's something to think about.

There is a re-Paganification, if you will, of Christianity emerging. I see it in my classmates and they certainly aren't the only ones. A Quaker classmate of mine asked for the email address of one of my Covenmates--a mate who is himself a Christian, but interested in Goddess worship and magick practice. The classmate is curious about the Pagan roots of Christianity.

Another classmate approached me after a lecture one day, wanting to know about my faith. My first response is always, "What would you like to know?" Their usual response is "Everything." And then, I'm stuck. That's a lot to answer in the usual fifteen minutes we have, if that. This young woman narrowed down the question to say, "How does what you do relate to what we do?"

I narrowed it down like this, "The myth of the God slain to nourish the people is a very old one indeed--going back to Ancient Egypt and the Osiris myth and probably before that. There is no coincidence that your God resurrects at the same time the Earth is coming back to life--at the beginning of Springtime."

Not sure where that came from. Maybe it was my own tongue of Brid's fire. But she went away smiling and learned something. As did I. Sometimes, it takes someone from the outside asking you about your faith for you to learn something about it, yourself.

Yay, weekend!!!!

Anger, healing and competitive sports. Plus television.

Anger is a process and healing comes in layers.

One of the greatest gifts CRR left with his visit is a new perspective on anger. Seven years ago, we were furious with one another. So furious, one would storm out of the room if the other entered. We warned other people about one another. We did the fucktarded things early 20-somethings do when spurned: gossip, bitch, gossip, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch. (Except...it doesn't end with your early 20's...as it turns out...) But seven years later, CRR flew 3,000 miles just to hang out for the weekend. And during the visit, I knew I'd been very, very angry about something at one time. But those reasons seem so pointless that even if I weren't masking CRR's identity and our story, I wouldn't even know how to explain why I was so pissed.

So, what's the point in getting angry about anything?

Co-workers jerk us around. But it's our job to put up with them. Taking it personally is just going to run up your bar tab at happy hour. The MTA sucks. It just does. And sometimes, we get stuck underground, crammed against a bunch of strangers--some of them smelly. A few of them, rude. All of them just as unhappy to be stuck in there as we. Getting angry at the MTA doesn't make us get anywhere faster, or improve their overall service. What's the use in getting mad at a subway system? It's further proof as to why the Goddess invented the I-Pod. I-Pods save the day in a bad commute.

But sometimes, even our best perspective makes us still want to chuck a stiletto heel into a skull. Or leave a pentacle-ring bruise on a cheekbone. It may have been five months since I had my heart broken and through therapy, friends and sweet, sweet men, I'm doing pretty damn well. Occasionally, however, I'll be going along my merry way; doing my dishes, petting my cats, working on a blog post or something and I'll suddenly look up and scream "DOUCHEBAAAAAAAAAAG!!!"

"Huh," I then say to myself. "I guess I'm still kinda mad."

Tonight, after a few of these angry-Torrets episodes, I went into meditation. "Come on, you Guys," I said as I descended down the spiral staircase to The River. "Why am I still so fucking angry?"

Brid came to me looking like the Alanis Morrisette character in "Weeds." Pan came as the Silas character.

"Why do you look like Alanis Morrisette?" I asked Brid.

"I don't," She said. "I look like a doctor."

It was true. Alanis Morrisette's character in "Weeds" is an OBGYN. Brid was dressed in the white coat and everything. It made sense as one of Brid's traditional roles is that of midwife. And while I may not be having a baby right now, clearly, I'm birthing something that pisses and cries (my anger), and in Her doctor role, She was going to heal me. Pan in Silas-garb made sense: the older brother character who defends those he loves--while being extraordinarily sexy with a mild blip on the Gay-dar. We made out.

Brid pointed at the moon. "Notice how it changes? Its shape cycles in and out. You can't blame it for its nature. It will pass and change and come back."

I guess this means I have to wait it out. Anger will change. Anger will diminish. Anger will indeed grow back, so I guess this means the most dangerous and futile thing to do would be do cling to the anger or force it away. Can't do it for the moon. Can't do it for our hearts. We just have to trust the process and let time do its job. Even when we wish it would hurry up and do its job a little fucking faster.

On that note, I also advise watching basketball. Watching sports is important. When you get into a game, you don't think about anything else. It's the most entertaining form of cathartic meditation out there. Tonight, the Blazers beat the Spurs.

A Spell

Hi Guys!

While waiting for the window guy to come and see what can be done to fix my living room window (I've had to use a cat-scratcher to hold it open since the day I moved in...) I'll tell you all about the protection spell I did last night.

It's not good practice to talk about the spell you're working on until it's been completed. In fact, I strongly encourage everyone to keep their spell working to themselves, unless they'd like to tell their teacher about it. I have a lot of great teachers. They hear all about my stuff, all the time.

This weekend, I went to see my adviser, Lilith. My concern: several of my Group members had come to me saying they had dreams people were casting nasty spells at me, slandering me, or doing otherwise douchey things in my general direction. Now, my regular life is feeling pretty good. If these things are indeed going on, I'm not really feeling it--yet. But I decided it would be best to have Lilith check in on it, anyway.

The cards said there was some negative hoo-ha going on: a little verbal bitching, nothing to be too concerned about--but it was a gentle warning from the Universe. Now that I'm in the role of High Priestess, I need to keep my spiritual life in tight ship all the time in order to still be the best leadership and support I could be for my crew. Time to go tidy up.

Friday night, I dreamed of a moonstone ring to wear on my index finger. At the Pagan Pride Day, I found exactly the one I was looking for at Don Cross's stand. Silver triple-moon design with a secret pentacle at the stone's support. Moonstone has been known for its protective powers and its one of my favorite stones--being a Cancer and a Moon Child and a Moon worshiper and all. The index finger of the dominate hand points the way to your endeavors. The ring on this finger would be the protection for that.

I sat at my altar last night and consecrated the ring with the Elementals: Dipped it in the incense smoke for Air, whisked it through the candle flame (carefully and quickly, as the flame could crack the stone), dipped it in the altar waters which had been perfumed with essential lavender and basil, and then dipped it in the bowl of earth--which is compiled of earth from Ireland, Manhattan and South Carolina--where my ancestors come from, where I live and where I was born. (It's best to have graveyard soil from your ancestral plots--but that's all I got at the moment.) Then, I dipped the ring, again carefully, in the flames of Brid and Pan. I read an incantation to Brid that I got from a book called, "Brighid's Healing."

Bhride! Solas geal!
Gabh isteach!
Gabh isteach!
Caed mile failte!

Brighid! Bright light!
Come in!
Come in!
One hundred thousand welcomes!

Today is the day of Bride
The serpent shall come from the mound
I will not molest the serpent
Nor will the serpent molest me

Hail until thee, Jewel of the Night!
Beauty of the Heavens, Jewel of the Night!
Mother of the Stars, Jewel of the Night!
Foster Mother of the Sun, Jewel of the Night!
Majesty of the Stars, Jewel of the Night!

I asked Brid to bless the ring with protection, and did the same for the pentacle I wear on my neck, every day. It looks different, now. Can't really say how so. Should have done the same for my other ring.

Then, I made an offering of beer and cheap wine--cheap wine for the ancestors. These things make Them happy.