Susan Simone's Blog, page 3

Life In My Body

I’ve been debating about this blog post for a long time.  I don’t want fibromyalgia to define me.  I don’t even want all the side stuff to define me.  And doing this post on a day like today when I have to tell my staff I really can’t answer their questions might not be a good idea either, but here we are.  Let’s see how well writing transcends a bad day.

I’m going to try to not overwhelm people with the same facts that have been spouted all over the internet at this point.  I think it’s pretty well known that fibromyalgia is chronic widespread pain, fatigue, and fog that has no known cause at this point.  The debate about its validity has been well documented.  While the majority of the medical profession is on the side of its existence there remain hold outs that claim it’s a psychological condition.  What is most common is to encounter a medical professional that, while they understand this is a real thing, are ill-equipped within the current system to treat someone with the disorder.  Their hands are tied by insurance companies, pain medication restrictions, and lack of effective treatment and/or research on the disorder.  That is the frustration.  And it extends to doctors, nurses, as well as the patients and their families.

Fibromyalgia is not the only disorder that exists in this perpetual state of confusion.  Chronic migraines, hypothyroidism, lupus, the early diagnostic stages of multiple sclerosis, to name just a few.  There are literally thousands of chronic illnesses that have a profound effect on people’s daily lives.

How I live now is dictated to me by my illness.  You know until today I always said disorder, it sounded less debilitating than illness, but in a lot of ways this is debilitating.  Any time you have to order your life in a significant and permanent way around the whims of an illness that can change daily is debilitating.  There’s no pattern to get used to.  No prescribed set of actions or diet to take or not take to make you feel better.  Sometimes there is a trigger, but more often than not there isn’t.  Some days just suck.

An average good day for me:

I wake up at a decent time—decent being before noon—without being forced up for an appointment somewhere.  My stomach is not upset, so I eat more than just coffee with an egg blended in for protein.  I manage the stairs with less than normal pain so I set about doing things like laundry.  I might bake because I like baked goods.  I might plan a more elaborate dinner.  I get online and check in with work and actually get something done after I answer questions and concerns.  The kids come home and I’m in a relatively good mood so we joke.  I might take the dog for a walk or go shopping with my husband.

Here’s the catch to a good day.  I want to get so much done that I overdo it.  The shopping and the laundry floor me, so if I have work left over after that, it’s not getting done.  I generally only get two loads of laundry done before I have to have my daughter or son carry it up for me or switch things over.  I might get dinner started, but because I wanted to get that special kind of bread before dinner, I’ll have to have my husband finish what I was doing.  The next day will normally be a bad one after this.  I never seem to get two good days in a row.

The other catch to a good day.  I’m not guaranteed to feel well all day long.  Sometimes within hours, I’m back to bad day status and generally non functional.

Average pain level on a good day:  4

An average bad day:

Force myself up about noon because I can’t countenance sleeping any longer even if I needed it.  I already feel horrible for not being up all morning.  Things I could have gotten done had I not been so selfish on sleep rattle around my brain for most of the day. 

I learned long ago, the hard way, that my body simply will not function in the mornings.  I fog.  I literally cannot remember basic things, like how to spell my name, where our sugar is kept.  I sit and zone until about noon.  I could get up at 6 am or I could get up at 11 am.  I will sit and zone, unable to think, until noon.  That is fog.  All chronic illnesses have their own variety of it.  It is more debilitating than pain in many ways.  My life got a lot less heartbreaking when I finally accepted this was how my body worked and allowed myself to use the evening as more productive time and stopped apologizing for not living on another person’s schedule.

I’m lying in bed, and already I hurt.  I can feel my joints screaming and sometimes I call out just trying to maneuver off the bed.  My stomach is upset and I can’t think very well yet.  Coffee with egg is my breakfast.  Seems to be the only thing I can stomach until dinner time.  One or more parts of my body has decided they don’t like life today and are grouchy about it.  I hurt.  Badly.  I’m cold even though it’s 75F outside.  I log onto to work because I’m a manager.  That’s what I do.  I have to make sure my staff has what they need to continue being miracle workers (I thank the universe daily for my amazingly talented staff).  I probably have a migraine looking at the screen and have to stare at their questions for several minutes before I understand what they’re asking or trying to tell me.  I may eke out one or two projects, but when you’re fighting just to breathe focus is difficult.  I might get a nap or I might decide if I nap now I won’t be able to get my medication in and sleep later.

Sleep is a big deal.  Sleep can often determine a good day from a bad one.  It’s not a hard and fast rule but has a major effect either way.  I have to get 9 to 10 hrs of good restorative sleep.  That is the only thing I have found to have a profound effect on the quality of my days, but even that isn’t a rule.  I’ll spend a good two hours at night willing my body to relax enough for sleep.  Even pain medication doesn’t always make a significant impact.  I get less than 12 hours of productive time each day.

Average pain level on a bad day:  7 to 10

Now we have to take into consideration all the side issues that come with fibromyalgia.  Migraines are common.  You have to follow all the rules a chronic migraine sufferer does.  You have a 30 minute window to realize it’s a migraine and not a headache, take appropriate medication and rest.  I’m lucky in that caffeine and a small amount of time in a dark room will usually take the edge off.  Not everyone can say that.

Stomach issues.  IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) is very common.  It can be brought on either by poor diet, the medication you might be on (even over the counter stuff), a combination, or just because that’s where the fibro is hitting you.  I have to pay attention to acids I take in, if I eat gluten (ironically that seems to be the lynch pin for my IBS), the fats…all of it.  I love food.  Really love food.  This is hard to stick to, but you learn.

Tremors.  This one seems to be unique to me.  I get tremors in my hands and sometimes legs.  No ideas yet on why or what to do about them.  They just happen.  Or sometimes a random spasm that sends an entire limb flailing.  Sometimes at night the whole bed will shake and my husband informs me that’s me.

Restless legs.  Or in my case restless body.  Restless legs is a type of nerve issue.  It feels alternating like a low constant ache, or bugs under your skin, or that your muscles are vibrating.  In all cases it is relieved temporarily by movement.  So you end up tapping your foot all night long, or bouncing your legs back and forth.  I will often get the same feeling in my arms and sometimes head.  There is treatment for this, but I have not been given any treatment to date.  However, tramadol, a lower level narcotic pain reliever a regular doctor can prescribe, does help.  No science on why, I just know it does.

I experience all these things on a daily basis in a veritable mix and match of severity.  You throw in more common problems like arthritis or sciatica and those things become monsters you can’t control.

A really bad day?  You can take everything I’ve listed so far and triple it.  Those days I’m better off just watching TV or staying in bed.  I’m useless to pretty much anyone.  The worst part, really bad days come in clusters.  It can be anywhere from a few days to a couple of weeks.  By the time a good day rolls around you have adjusted your pain scale and while you might be a 4 to a normal person, you rate it as 1 because the difference is so stark.

Now comes the guilt.  I battle guilt every day.  Each time someone comments maybe I need to do something different, or if I would just get up, or I have that type of pain (name one small facet of one of the things I listed) too, I feel guilt.  That’s not their problem.  Most people really are trying to help or commiserate in some way.  It’s my problem because I want to live a normal life.  I want to be out there doing things, and get up at a decent time of the morning.  Guilt is something you impose upon yourself.  But it’s very hard.  You go back and forth between feeling inadequate to being miffed that this person just doesn’t want to really get it.  Both are false assumptions.  It’s very hard to live this life without a chip on your shoulder about it.  Most people cannot fathom what it’s like on the inside of it.  But I can’t fathom what struggles they have either.  I try very hard to let things roll off, but when you are dealing with people whose opinions matter to you (a parent, a long time friend, a boss) fall into the pattern of anger or guilt.

In my case we’ve discovered I’ve had fibromyalgia since I was a child, but since no one knew what that was and there was no reason for me to be feeling pain most believed I was being lazy and dramatic.  This is not their fault, and I am NOT angry about it, or even hurt.  It was an honest misunderstanding. I did have dramatic moments as a kid.  Figuring out what was real and what was not wasn’t that easy.  I have teenagers myself now and boy can they be drama queens!  However if you have kids with consistent complaints, give it a second thought.

Add into this mix of illness and self imposed sanctions, the assholes. 

“My cousin has fibromyalgia and they work 40hrs at a factory, why can’t you?”  Good for them!  I’m glad they’re able to maintain their lives to some point.  Maybe make them a cup of tea after work and let them rest.  Chronic illness is different in levels of severity and impact for each person.  Work on my feet I cannot do anymore, but my brain works just fine…when I’m not foggy. 

“You’re laughing and smiling today, you can’t be in that much pain.”  Wrong!  Over time you learn not necessarily how to cope with the pain, but to hide the outward symptoms.  I’m a master.  If you see pain on my face or movements you best believe I am nearing a 10.  This is true for most chronic pain sufferers.  You don’t want to make an issue.  You don’t want the world to stop or people to coddle you, and you most especially don’t want to make other people feel bad for your disorder.  You just want normalcy so you learn to hide it, do what you have to do, then collapse at home.  A cancer patient doesn’t want to hear about their impending death.  They want to joke, gossip, and debate like it’s a normal day.  That’s what I want.  Normal.

“Really?  You’re cancelling again?  I thought you were my friend.”  I am your friend, but if you were mine you would attempt to understand.  I get the frustration.  I do.  You want to spend time with this person but they keep backing out.  You start to wonder if it’s not just an excuse.  It really isn’t.  But I’d love it if you brought the party to me.  I might not be able to cope with the loud movie theatre or their version of air conditioning.  I might not be able to walk the plaza or eat at that new pizza joint, but I do want you in my life.  Maybe we can watch a movie in and have icecream.

Chronic illness is daunting.  It’s a physical and psychological marathon every day.  I have a lot of days where I’m thinking to myself, stop the world I want to get off.  

An Unpopular Voice

I really should just name my blog that.  An unpopular voice.  That is what I am on a variety of subjects.  For the most part I tend to be non partisan enough most people don’t bother to get angry and comment, or they care too much about my personal relationship with them and keep comments private.  I supposed that’s fine.  Not everyone feels the need to broadcast their political and social opinions to the world or engage in debate.  That’s cool too.  What does any of this have to do with my post?  Probably nothing; just a momentary lament for the quiet unread blog that will probably blow up soon.

The world has changed.  There’s no denying it.  Even if the Ferguson riots/protests quiet for the foreseeable future, the world has changed.  An event happened, lines in the sand were drawn, and a battle forged across the line.  The rules are now different for my kids because they’re bi-racial.  How the world, their friends, and community see them is forever changed.  This is deeper than anyone without someone marginalized in some way a big part of their life can possibly understand.  A fundamental shift in how we interact has happened and most of us had no control over it.  All because of two scared men.

I wasn’t in Ferguson.  I wasn’t there to see Michael Brown’s last minutes.  I have only what the media allows me to see.  I flip flopped on this so many times because, depending on where you went and their own personal politics, you saw two completely different sides of the issue.  My husband and I both researched and both got different information, and we were very critical of the sources we chose.  Finally MotherJones.com posted the actual deposition the grand jury heard.  Go read it for yourself.  Form your own opinion.  But read the whole thing, not just the little yellow blocked out snap shots the editor pulled out for easier reading.  It might change your whole world, or it might not.

I was really frustrated when I got this.  I wanted to share it with the world because this document is as close to the truth as any of us are ever going to see.  I shared with a few friends, people I know to be level headed and educated.  People who happily look for the truth most of the time.  These same people continued arguing their side without even reading it.  I found an uncomfortable truth and an unpopular opinion.

Unpopular Opinion #1:
No one wants the truth.

The situation in this country has gotten so bad, that aside from what is now a true minority—white, male, upper class—life has gotten increasingly hard.  Working college professors worry if they’ll have enough food on the table.  Everyone is tried and angry.  Each group has their own whipping boy to blame for their situation.  Michael Brown was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.  No one wants to be challenged by how this happened or who was guilty of what.  They want their feeling justified so they can continue to be angry and not look for ways to change the world in the right way.

Unpopular Opinion #2:
Mike Brown was NOT innocent…but neither was he guilty.  Darren Wilson was NOT guilty….but neither was he innocent.

After reading the deposition I have my own theory about events.  You have a predominately black town with a primarily white power structure.  Even if completely on accident, this breeds racism.  When the group with all the power is different from you and your community, all you see is the group in power keeping you down.  When you’re in power being challenged by a group that is different from you, all you see are the challengers out to get you. 

Both Mike Brown and Darren Wilson are products of this environment.  Wilson, I believe, really was scared.  He saw a black man bigger than him, though youngish, challenging him.  Wilson, by virtue of being in this society, had been taught that a black man challenging him meant he could die.  He was angry and scared and reacted on pure instinct.  He was not thinking nor was he making good choices or allowing himself to hang back a little and see this critically.  Cops are taught when the gun is pulled it is to hit the target.  They are taught when someone takes their weapon they’re going to die by that weapon so do what you have to to get it back and end the threat.  Had Wilson been the product of a different environment he might not have been as scared of Brown.  He might just have seen a punk kid who was frustrated and a little afraid and tried talking instead of feeling the need to push his authority around.

Brown, I believe, was truly scared.  He was from an environment were all he saw were white cops hassling and arresting the other black kids his own age from his own neighborhood.  I lived for a short time in a very poor run down neighborhood.  When you called the cops there, it was knowing, even as the victim, you might get arrested.  Brown was 18 with all the messed up thought processes and need to prove himself that come with the age.  He saw a cop hassling him.  He made some bad choices we can all agree on.  You never strike a cop even when they deserve it.  He got scared.  He knew he was going down for this and didn’t know what to do.  He was scared of this older, armed, cop, an authority figure.  He was not thinking clearly.  He was not making good choices.  He could not step away and look at it critically.

Now we get into the heart of it.  The real questions.  Why did Brown turn around?  The cop truly believed he was going to get charged and possibly harmed.  Brown *might* have intended that, but I doubt it.  He *might* have had a moment of clarity and wanted to salvage it somehow.  We will never know.

Fear and Anger.  Fear and anger killed Michael Brown. That’s all any of this is.  There is enough fear and anger in this country that this one case out of the multitudes (literally thousands) of other examples became the deciding line.

Unpopular Opinion #3:
This case should never have been the deciding line.

This was a case of two scared people letting their fear take over their actions.  Either one of them could have chosen different things if they weren’t so scared of each other.

Unpopular Opinion #4:
The case in Cleveland of a 12 yr old boy shot by police SHOULD be the deciding line.

At first I just shook my head.  The initial media reports told a boy with an airsoft pellet gun.  He had taken off the orange tab (or possibly it was off before he found it or it was given to him) and the gun looked real.  I saw pictures.  It looked real.  The media said he was brandishing it around and pointing it at people.  They said he threatened a cop.  So sad. 

Then the NY Times released a video of it and the 911 call that sent officers on the scene.  Watch it.  I dare you.

In the 911 call the caller makes it clear he thinks the gun is just a toy, but it’s scaring him so could someone go check this out.  He’s asked to describe the “guy”.  The caller starts in on clothing, and is interrupted several times by the dispatcher asking if he’s white or black.  This question was repeated a few times before the caller finally said, “black.”  No one asked if he was Asian or American Indian.  The call ends almost abruptly after the caller admits the “guy” is black.

The video is worse.  I gasped and literally stopped breathing for a minute.  You see the boy, very clearly a boy, waving the gun around in an empty park.  Then you see the cop car roll up on the scene inches from the boy and the cop in the passenger seat shoots in 2 seconds.  The door isn’t even fully open.

This is the travesty.  This is the case people should be protesting over but will likely ignore.

Why?

Unpopular Opinion #5:
Freedom of speech no longer exists.

Yes, you read that right.  The Cleveland case is a disgusting abuse of power and race, but the media portrays a kid that did something stupid and should have known better.  The media shows us the gun and we shake our heads thinking if we were that cop with that pointed at us we might have to shoot too.

During this most recent wave of Ferguson protests and riots I saw what the news showed.  And I watched independent live stream from people just walking with the crowds and documenting.  I watched things as they happened.  They most assuredly didn’t match.  There’s a picture circulating of cops helping a man up from a teargased street.  That was staged.  I watched an independent camera stream from UStream as cops set it up.  The mainstream media denies the use of teargas, saying it was only smoke.  Yet I watched on several streams as the fallen canisters were picked up clearly labeled.  I saw cops use teargas to corral a hundred people into a business and then set off teargas inside the store forcing them all into the basement.  When they had to leave to breathe fresh air they were threatened to go back inside or get arrested by the same cops that put the teargas in there.

The original Wilson/Brown case is so skewed we have no hope of knowing anything with 100% clarity.  Credible sources on both sides of the fence showed entirely different stories.  Each one choosing their own martyr.  It was so skewed in fact I fully believe there would have been riots and protests no matter what the grand jury decided.  All that decision did was decide which group would riot first.

Why?  Fear and anger yet again.  No one wants to be challenged.  No one wants their side to be proven in error no matter how small.  If that happens then everything they were fighting for loses strength.  The wind is out of the sails, and the incredibly heady experience of being in the center of activity for an important purpose suddenly sours.  So you fight so you can feel justified.

White people:  The system is flawed and bred more racism and hate than I’ve known in my life time.  Wilson is an ignorant, flawed, person who made some bad choices.  It may not have been intentional but it colored his actions.

Black people:  The system is flawed and bred more racism and hate than I’ve known in my life time.  Michael Brown was an angry scared kid who made some bad choices.  It may not have been intentional but the state of his world colored his actions.

Now both groups and many friends can be angry with me.  I couldn’t sit on this anymore and watch the fighting go on.  It’s nice to be neutral.  Sweden is a nice country.  No one gets angry with you and you avoid a lot of drama.  You don’t feed into the problem…but neither do you feed into the solution.  Racism in this country is massive.  That’s uncomfortable.  It’s unpopular.  Pretty much all my white friends are going to take exception to that.  And they can because I don’t hang around with bigots of any kind.  Ask around, it’s the quickest way to get on my bad side and I don’t care what color or gender or orientation the bigot is.  

We NEED to address this.  We need to talk about it.  We need to understand that ALL colors are capable of being racist.  We need to understand that even with a bi-racial president our government is corrupt and it wasn’t necessarily his fault.  If you still blame the president for anything you don’t understand the problem yet.

However scary it is, this country needs an overhaul.  What is going on now needs to happen.

Thanksgiving National Day of Mourning

I must really like the political hotbed.  I keep stepping in it.    I don’t think it’s a huge surprise that Thanksgiving isn’t a happy time for everyone.  Nor do I think it’s a surprise that history has been rewritten.  We sort of accept this as par for the course in our nation’s history, but too often we shy away from it because it’s ugly and we don’t want to be reminded of that.

Let’s face it, as a nation we suck at dealing with unpleasant truths.  It’s a societal problem.  No one enjoys having angry memes that tell them harsh truths thrown at them.  We go to great lengths to refute articles based on title without giving the information time to trickle in.  I’m just as guilty as the rest.  I’m feeding into a racist society?  No!  Not me!  I couldn’t be!  But I am, just as much as everyone else majority and minority alike.  Until we start acknowledging the truth and our own personal parts in it we will never evolve past this point.

For Thanksgiving specifically, the truth has nothing to do with pleasant pilgrims and happy Indians sharing a meal after a good harvest.  I really want that to be true.  I want my kids to hear this version and think of all the ways we can get along regardless of beliefs.

The first Thanksgiving was a party thrown by the mayor of a small town in 1671 after the slaughter of over 700 American Indian men, women, children, and elderly.   A white man had been murdered and the nearby tribe was blamed.  The town went crazy as mobs tend to do and slaughtered hundreds of innocent.  For a century after that the Thanksgiving feast was celebrated as thanks for that “victory”.

There is a really ugly truth.  I don’t like it.  I have reason to believe I have Monacan blood, but I also have puritan blood.  Like most American’s whose families have been in the country since the 1900’s or before, I have a lot of mixing in me.  I doubt I’m pure anything.  I don’t think there is such a thing as purebred in America.  It’s simply not possible.

I don’t wish to take away a holiday from people.  I love any reason to party and spread joy.  I don’t think it serves anyone to abolish the holiday.  I do believe there are parts of it that have morphed into true giving of thanks, and I have a lot to be thankful for.  However I don’t think the holiday means nearly as much if we don’t accept the ugly truth.  Having studied Ojibwa and other grassland tribes in my youth I fully believe our ancestors would want us to find a way to honor them and have joy.

I will eat turkey, and green bean casserole, and stuffing (gluten free), and cranberry sauce and make my famous pumpkin fluff and probably steal a few pieces of gluten riddled pie.  Why?  Because I like it.  I don’t care a whole lot what they really would have eaten in the era of the first Thanksgiving.  I enjoy the traditions my family and friends have created over the years.

But I will also pray for the slain American Indians from all battles during the “settling” of the United States.  I will remember them.  I will attempt to continue their memory and live by their teachings which have had a huge influence on my spirituality as long as I can remember.  I will not feed into this false truth of gentle pilgrims and generous Indians. I will openly and honestly attempt a dialogue that does not shame those left with this legacy so as to teach them.  And at noon on Thanksgiving Day, the time when the National Day Of Mourning observance begins at Cole's Hill Plymouth, I will bow my head in silence and feel the beat of drums in my heart.

All this week I will be filing my twitter with images of American Indians.  My purpose is not shame or anger, but remembrance and honor.   We serve nothing by blaming the living for an act that happened almost 400 years ago.  We have everything to gain by accepting the truth and making something beautiful out of it in their memory.

What Is This Samhain Thing?

You can blame Kirk Cameron for this one.  I saw an article about the actor’s claims that Pagans stole Halloween from the Christians. The title alone is a good indication of what you will find inside.  Trust me, it went downhill from there.  So today I offer a history lesson.

The Pagan year is divided into two halves, the light and the dark.  Samhain is the official switch over from the light half to the dark half, while Beltane (May Day) is on the opposite end.  Many Pagans see this as a sort of New Year.  The word Samhain literally means ‘Summer’s End’.  In Ireland it’s pronounced Sow-in,  Wales Sow-een, and Scottland Sav-en.

Before the Gregorian calendar the date for Samhain was calculated as so many days after the Blood moon, the first full moon in October (Blood moon does not refer to a lunar eclipse).  However now, it’s just easier to pick a nearby date, and has been October 31st  for so long no one is quite sure when it started that way.

The most significant part of this celebration is inclusion of ancestors and loved ones passed.  It is said that on Samhain and Beltane the veils between the living and the dead are thinnest.  To a Pagan that means it is more likely to have ghosts wandering around and communicating with you.  This is not a scary thing.  It’s a blessed thing.  Think of it, that grandparent you miss dearly, or an ancestor from far back in your line, coming to you tell you they love you and are proud of you, and to offer advice.  Millions of people worldwide currently seek this service out through mediums.  In the Pagan world this is the time most likely for that to happen and is a time we honor them.  A Samhain ritual focuses on honoring the dead and receiving their messages, as well as all the fun stuff of food, games, and community.   In some traditions this is also considered the launch of the Wild Hunt which rides the entire dark half of the year.  This is when the male form of deity rides with his 'huntsmen' in search of the most evil among us to provide swift justice.  (There is a link between this and Santa Clause, but that's another post.)

Some parts of the world this has evolved into something very similar.  In Hispanic countries it is common to celebrate The Day of the Dead on November 1st.  This community, multi-faith, celebration involves large block parties and parades.  Names of loved ones gone are written and spoken in honor.  The loved ones’ favorite foods are prepared.  They believe that their ghosts will walk among them on that eve and be able to eat those foods and enjoy them.  Skeletons that are already a huge part of that culture become prolific.  This particular celebration has melded Samhain with All Saint’s Day, a Christian holy day.

This is where the biggest confusion comes in.  Very early in Church’s history there was a holy day established for the remembrance of the dead.  The first record of All Saint’s Day being observed in the Western Church is around 608 A.D. on May 13th.  It was moved in 741 to Nov. 1st, the official word being to link it with the consecration of a new basilica, which may or may not be true.  I choose to take it at face value and believe the public made their own inferences of the date. The historic exploits of the Christian Church to win over ‘Godless Pagans’ is well known.  There are several innocuous and malignant examples of this.

The night before All Saint’s Day was known as All Hallows Eve, hallowed meaning sacred.  It shortened in every day speech to Hallow’ een, or Halloween.  With the Pagan rites involving ghosts, the Church remembering the dead, and the constant pull from both sides in the early church years, one says sacred the other says evil, it is a very short jump to see how it all got jumbled.  It is also why modern Pagans make a general rule about using the word Samhain over Halloween.

The advent of costumes and Trick-or-Treating is fairly recent the first actual record being in the 1930’s.  There are some loose connections to old Samhain traditions though.  In England Soul Cakes were made as offerings for wandering souls.  People would ‘A Soulin’ for the cakes, going door to door to collect them.  There was also the practice of Mumming.  As lore of Halloween being a time of all manner of dark and evil things became prevalent and the true nature of the day relegated to old wise tales, it was still common to put out offerings to appease the dark spirits.  Adults would dress up as these creatures and attempt to fool their friends by acting out trickery in exchange for the offering. 

Some also link Guy Fawkes day.  This would actually be the basis of Anonymous and the V for Vendetta movie.  Essentially, on Nov. 5th., a man in the famous Anonymous mask bombed parliament and started a revolution.  Guy Fawkes day is a day of mischief and pranks, and of course it’s costumed to keep you from getting caught.  I can see the basis for Hell Night, the night when older teens and young adults are knowing for playing sometimes dangerous pranks, in this.

Many modern Pagans don’t like Trick-or-Treating, or costume parties.  They feel it takes away from the true spirit of the season and feeds into the myths of evil witches.  Personally I don’t have a problem with it.  In every celebration there is a place for children.  Games, special clothes, general merriment.  As long as we are there to teach them the true meanings, I say let them play and enjoy.

Why Does She/He Stay?!

Why does she stay?!

This is another loaded blog post.  I seem to be good at those.  I’ve never been one to write fluff.  Don’t get me wrong, fluff has its place and I even enjoy reading, but I can’t take myself seriously and write it myself.

Why does she/he/ze stay?

I hear that so often.  It kind of breaks my heart because I know why, but how do I make other people understand?  How do I explain to them what it’s like to be in a position they have never been in.  That’s what it boils down to.  Until you have been put in that place you can’t fathom what it’s really like.  Most of us have no clue what darkness really is until we’re in the middle of it.  I can attempt with my words to make it clearer, but who is to say if it is enough?

Let me be clear.  Men can abuse men.  Men can abuse women.  Women can abuse men. Women can abuse women.  Gender stereotyping has only made the issues of domestic violence worse because it perpetuates the idea that men are savages beasts and women are not.  It doubly victimizes the survivors.  So let’s leave the preconceived notions at the door.

The things I have to say are the same whether your abuser has broken bones, or never even threatened to raise a hand.

We do a pretty good job of warning girls that abuse happens and it’s more than just physical.  We don’t do a good job of warning boys.  There is a ton of propaganda out there aimed and girls and women.  We’re told to draw a line and don’t let the abuser cross it.  We’re told these things are abuse, sometimes the lists are long, and sometimes they’re short.  Sometimes they actually give you some insight, but usually they’re warning signs most of us would consider common sense…until it actually happens.  Where the warnings fail miserably is explaining just how the line gets crossed.  Drawing your line is a point of pride, and letting that line be crossed becomes a societal shaming. 

What really happens is you start out with your line, based on warnings, past experiences, friends’ advice and a million other little cues that are factored into making you you.  Things are good.  You trust this person you’ve brought into your life.  Yeah they can be bullheaded, but so are you right?  Then they step closer and closer to the line.  The whole time you’re thinking, it’s okay, they haven’t crossed the line.  Every time something is said or done you compartmentalize.  They didn’t cross the line and every other time you’re their whole world so it’s normal right?

Then one day they step boldly up to the line.  Inside you’re shaking, thinking is this it?  But they didn’t really cross the line, and maybe they had a tough day, maybe you said something mean out of character, maybe, maybe, maybe…  In that moment the line gets moved.  Probably not too far the first time, but just a little nudge.  For a while they back off and you breathe a sigh of relief.  It was all okay after all…until they toe the line again.

This is a repetitive behavior, but each time they come up with some logical excuse playing on your insecurities, taking away your confidence to make your own decisions…taking away your confidence that the line belonged where it was.  By the time you realize things have really and truly gone too far, you have no idea how you got there.  You’re scared because you finally realize that it’s a no win situation and you have no idea what they’re going to do.  You’re scared because you believe something must be wrong with you for letting it get this far, maybe they’re right.  Maybe you deserve it.  You’re scared that everyone is going to judge you because you let it get this far.  Maybe they’ll believe you deserved it too.  Maybe they’ll believe whatever your abuser is telling people in your life.

You’re lost and very alone.  You have this friend or a family member who tells you they love you no matter what and they’ll help you, but you don’t go because what if your abuser hurts them too?  What if what the things your abuser told you about your friends and family was true?  It got this far, you deserve it right?  You give up friends, family, kids, co-workers, even online friends because you have to keep them safe.  You can’t let them see that you’re not strong on the inside that you let this horrible situation happen.  You choose your abuser over your kids because it keeps your kids safe.  You choose your abuser over your parents because then you won’t have to look in your mom or dad’s eye and have to see their pain because this happened.  You do a lot of crazy things.

All but the one thing you should do.

Leave.

Why?  This is simple folks.  Fear.  What are they going to do when you leave?  Sometimes they have something to hold over you.  Your own guilt.  Something you once did.  A child or loved one.  Your insecurities.  Financial security (shelter, ability to feed yourself, medical care).  Much of the time it’s not physical safety, though that is a real concern.  They’ve done all this haven’t they?  Maybe they’ll kill themselves…or you.

Survivors don’t leave because of fear.  That makes them stay.  Telling them all the things that could happen if they stay or that their kids will learn this stuff is okay, or any of the 100’s of things people who have never been abused will say to convince them, does no good.  Fear is a brick wall.  There’s no going around it.

Survivors leave because they hit so low they stop caring what happens.  So much has been taken from them, death or whatever consequence is waiting for them holds no power.  I left my second abuser (yes second) expecting to die.  I did not think I would survive, but it was that or let my kids think they could do this to someone else.  It was intended as a last gift to my kids.  I still see getting through that night as a miracle.  I don’t talk much about the details.  I was lucky a neighbor showed up when they did, I can still see my reflection in my good chopping knife.

My first abuser was much more insidious.  So much so I had survived the second, moved on, and married before I saw it for it was.  He held me hostage just as much as the second by my emotions and by undermining my ability to think for myself.

I can remember being backed into a corner, him screaming at me full voice, so close I could feel his lips on my nose.  That was normal.  If he didn’t like what I had to say this is what would happen.  He would bring other women, “friends”, and tell me they needed to stay with us in our one bedroom apartment.  They needed help.  At least one was underage.  I was no fool.  I knew what was going on, but when I would assert myself as the woman in his life he would berate me for hours for thinking so low of him and I was crazy, it was all in my head.

He held our son over my head.  Physically pulling him out of my arms when we fought and not allowing me near him because I was yelling and crying and clearly crazy.  After a fight he would leave with him and not tell me if he was coming back.  I was a bad mom for wanting to breastfeed.  The silly part of that one is he actually managed to convince me of this for a short time. I did stand up to him eventually, but only because someone stood by me when I did.  He tore me down so far I ran straight to my second abuser, ironically looking for safety.

This man did things better left unsaid.  Things got to a point I consented to everything just to make it over quick because if I didn’t, it would go on for hours.  I had no desire to even be in the same room with him, but it was a little like taking your medicine.  Just grin and bear it and it will be over.  That is soul destroying.  Took me many years to take my soul back.

Even when you consent, if your heart, mind, and soul is not in it, that is soul rape.  That destroys you just as much as legal rape but there’s nowhere to turn because society doesn’t recognize it.  They don’t recognize you can’t always say no or fight.  These scars go deeper than will ever been seen or recognized by the uninitiated.  They don’t go away and forever color every choice you make in the future.

For the person out there wondering if someone in their life just crossed a line or toed it so close you moved it back, ask yourself how you truly feel.  Shut off the brain.  Close your eyes.  Turn away society and all its varied mixed and damaging messages.  Forget if this is a lover, a family member or a caretaker. How does this act feel?  Is it deeply hurtful?  Do you know in your gut that it was wrong just don’t have the words?  Do you see how close they are to your line?  Are they trying to manipulate you into moving it?

That is the first sign of abuse.

Forget the lists, and give yourself permission to follow your gut.  You know this is wrong.  You can feel it.  It’s tangible like a punch to the gut.  Teach yourself, teach your children, teach your loved ones to trust in their own gut feelings.  The truth is there and covers things no abuse counselor will ever learn.  You have the power inside of you.  I promise.

Now that you’ve seen this for what it is, it’s time to go.  Get out of the situation.  When they call, or come by to tell you how sorry they are or that they can’t live without you, or even to threaten your life, close your eyes again and see every time they pushed your line.

Call anyone, a friend, a family member, even a hotline and tell them it’s time to go, then just put one foot in front of the other.  If you have to tell your person to act for you and then follow their lead.  But trust yourself, trust your gut.  Ignore the rest.

If you have a friend or loved one in this position, the best you can do is tell them to trust their gut and remind them what their gut is telling them. 

If we teach our children to trust in themselves and their own autonomy we could rid the world of abuse.

If you need help go to  http://www.thehotline.org/

Dancing in the Moonlight - Pagan Poetry

This is the last of my Yahoo! stuff.  One of my very few forays into poetry.

Dancing in the Moonlight

I dreamed I was dancing in the moonlight
On a forest shrowded hill.
The wind swirled around my naked body
Alighting every nerve with the earth's will.
I looked out over the world
The magic coloring my sight
And I knew in my very heart of hearts
That this was the night.


The earth balanced on the precipice
Of time changing time
The stars and planets swirled into infinity
In a perfect straight line.

And all around me the forest hushed
Pregnant with sorrow, fear, joy
The unknown
Our little planet insignificant and bold
Hurtling wildly through space
Moved another inch, and then two
And then we were prone.

I stood at the very axis of the change
Feeling the power shoot straight through me
Taking away my body and my soul
But in a tiny little part
No more than a spec I was still me
Watching the world
Become whole.

I saw futures that would never be born
I saw pasts that were wiped from memory
I saw the coliding of realities
The wars and the harmonies

Of all that has been and all that never will be

It was time.
The universe plucked my soul like a musical string.
I could not be sorrowful
For the world that would be lost
I could not be excited
For the world this would bring.
It was time.

My existence sweeped out over infinity
And strangely there was no time left.
The universe called
And only I was left.
The traveler, the shaman
The carrier of the mysteries.
The witch

With a giant heave
I was scarcely strong enough to hold
I pulled myself back in
To one single existence,
One single vessel
One single home.

A planet hurtling wildly through space
Insignificant and bold

The cord to infinity snapped
The sound whipcracking through existence
To be heard by all
But those whose hearts it was supposed to change

The universe held it's breath
Then the earth moved
An inch and then two
The connection was broken
The change begun
The world made new.

I walked on wobbly legs
And slipped through the trees
Back to my bed
Followed by a moonlit breeze

The people watched the sky
Finally feeling what they had missed
But the time was past
The future of our world shapped by the will
Of a single solitary witch

I returned to my home and my bed
Covered myself up in the night
And dreamed of dancing
In the full moonlight

The Traveler - A Short Story with a Point

This short story was originally published on the now gone Yahoo! Contributor Network.  It is a good summary of how I view the myriad of faiths in this world.


The Traveler

The traveler walked down the path. He couldn't remember having started on his journey, he only remembered walking. He didn't know where he was going, or where he had come from. It seemed to him that he had walked from time out of mind. He never stopped walking because all he knew was this path and that he was supposed to walk. It never occurred to him to stop or go the other way.

The traveler slowly became aware that he had been walking a long time and began to wonder where he was going. It seemed to him that there must be a purpose to all this walking and journeying. Where was this path taking him?

Every now and again he would come to a crossroads. He didn't know where the other paths led so he was afraid of them and simply moved on, but he did ponder what those paths might look like.

One day he came to giant hill, so high he couldn't see the top. He thought if he could just reach the top maybe he would see where he was going. So the traveler climbed and climbed for many days, until it seemed there was no end at all, but just when he was ready to give up, he reached the top and felt he could touch the clouds.

He stood atop the hill and looked at all of creation before him. He could see the forests and streams and the mountains. Far, far into the distance there was a golden city that filled his soul with warmth. He watched the sun and moon and skies and earth around this city with great longing. He knew he belonged in the golden city.

All around the city were paths of every kind, some dark jewels breathing of night stars, some brightly colored as rainbows, some as pure and luminous as pearls, and others as simple and relaxing as floating on a mountain stream, but each one different and each one with its own beauty. The traveler searched as far as he could see and found that all the paths led to the golden city. What this meant he didn't know but he was content to walk again because he knew his path would get him there.

One day he came upon an old woman standing in the road crying. The traveler stopped and stared for a long time. In all his days he had never seen another person. He had no idea that other people had walked the path too. Stunned he was afraid to approach her, but she seemed so sad and he wanted to understand why. Carefully he walked to her and asked her what was wrong.

"I'm blind!" she proclaimed. "The road was here, I know it was," she fretted, "but I cannot find it and now I am so old I cannot even see."

"I can see the path," the traveler said. "You can walk with me." This made the old woman smile. He took her arm and they walked together.

"Why are you blind?" he asked her after a time.

"I have forgotten," she told him. "I used to know where I was going but then I stopped walking and I forgot where I was or where I wanted to go and then my eyes became too dark to see." The traveler thought about this for awhile and then told her of all the things on the path around them and of the golden city he had seen high on a hill. Slowly her eyes began to clear and after a time she could see as well as he did and set off on her own path.

Again the traveler walked alone, but for the first time he knew there were others. It occurred to him as he stopped to rest, that if there was a person on the path ahead of him there might be others behind him. It might be nice for them to know they were not alone after all. In the morning he gathered some berries and left them with a simple note. "Please eat these and ease your hunger."

Leaving the gift made him happy so he made another. He gathered water from a clear stream. "Please drink this so you won't be thirsty." He made a bed. "Please rest here so you'll be stronger tomorrow." He even left a bundle of bright flowers. "Please take these and brighten your heart." The traveler made many gifts always smiling when he thought of what the people would do when they found them.

Another day he came upon a man weighed down by a large burden. The man struggled with it, his eyes crinkled shut in strain his body heavily bowed and unable to move. It seemed all of creation was on his shoulders.

"Help!" he cried. "It is too heavy! I cannot bear it!" and he fell to his knees. Overcome with emotion the traveler ran to the man and tried to help him up, but no matter how much he tried he could not get the man to his feet.

"Let me help you carry this," the traveler said and finally the man was able to stand. Together they walked holding the burden. As they walked the burden got smaller and smaller, each step a little piece of it seemed to melt away.

The traveler and the man walked together and talked of many things. The traveler told him about the golden city and together they made gifts for those that would come after them. One day the man's burden was gone and he turned down his own path with a light heart.

The traveler met many people on his way and with each one he learned something. He met hate, and greed, and sadness. But all these people were not bad, they simply needed help on their path. He walked for a long time helping those he met and leaving gifts.

One day when it seemed the traveler was no longer a young man and had walked so long he thought he'd lived a hundred years, the path around him began to change. The world became filled with a bright golden light and soon his feet were walking on nothing but luminous air. As he floated in the loving golden mist he realized that the golden city wasn't at the end of the path…it was everywhere all the time.

"What do you wish of me?" the creator asked, the sound vibrating in the traveler's very soul. The traveler only had one wish. "I wish to go back," he said.

"You do not wish to be with me?" the creator asked

"But you are everywhere," the traveler said. "I am still with you if I go back, and I want to see the other paths and leave gifts."

The golden light grew even brighter and filled the traveler with a joy he had never known before. "As you wish," the creator said. The traveler lived his days wandering from path to path helping those he found, leaving gifts and telling everyone about the golden city. Everywhere he walked, on every path, the world glowed bright and gold even if he was the only one who could see it. And at last he understood. All paths lead to the truth.

One Nation Under God We Trust ... Not So Much

The Yahoo! Contributor Network is closing.  I will start putting the articles I want to save here.  Today I chose to be political and open a can of worms.  It's the 4th after all.  Freedom of speech is important to me.  This is an earlier article of mine before I understood how the internet worked lol.  The links are not embedded, but if you follow the citations at the bottom you'll see my sources and can read the information for yourself.  I never did believe in telling people what to think, so I really hope you do follow the citations and find these things for yourself.  Come to your own conclusions if you don't like mine, but at least do the research and be critical of websites you trust.  An old history teacher of mine once said, "Using a search engine is a little like standing on a busy street corner and yelling, 'Who knows anything about this!'  Most of the people that answer have no clue."


Originally posted on the Yahoo! Contributor Network:  One Nation Under God We Trust ... Maybe

How many of you have seen the rants on Facebook and other social media sites about 'keeping God in the pledge'? How many have seen the inflammatory artwork on both sides of the debate passed around and re-posted within an inch of its life by nearly everyone you ever knew and some you wish you didn't? The debate about including or excluding mention of God or any other deity in the American pledge of allegiance or on American money has gone viral and some days it's everywhere you look, hot, angry, and sometimes misguided. We are force fed a diet of phrases like, 'If it's on our money it should be in the pledge!' or 'I didn't ask your god to be in my government!' But do we really understand where 'One nation under God' or 'In God we Trust' have come from or why they found their way into everyday life?

I've had this debate with several friends in recent years and have argued on both sides of the coin. As I learn more my opinion changes. I am increasingly surprised at how many people don't realize where this all started. I hear a lot of arguments that the 'atheists' should stop the argument because they are such a small minority. While it is correct that the smallest groups usually scream the loudest, it might be important to learn that what they are screaming actually has a point.

The original pledge of allegiance was not even written for the United States and it was not written or adopted at the start of our government in 1776. According to USHistory.org, the pledge was written in 1892 by socialist minister Frances Bellamy. He had hoped the original pledge could be used in any country. Mention of God or a specific country wasn't included. It read only, "I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." ("US History ") United States of America wasn't added until 1923. It wasn't until 1942 that the pledge of allegiance was recited in schools which became the familiar ritual most of us remember growing up. ("ProCon.org") You'll notice we're up to 1942 and 'Under God' still hasn't made its appearance.

In the 1950s the United States was deeply entrenched in the cold war. This was an ugly time for America. The US government began what was later termed 'witch hunts' trying American citizens for their political beliefs. There is no better example than the Rosenburg trials of 1950. Summarized, based only on their Russian ancestry and therefore familial contacts and a few doodles that could have been anything, brother and sister Julius and Ethel Rosenburg were put on trial for being communists and eventually put to death. (Linder) It was 1954 when Eisenhower signed into law a bill adding the words, "Under God," to the pledge of allegiance. At the time he is quoted as saying this was to distance US legislation from the, "Godless communists." ("ProCon.org") Communist Russia did encourage and sometimes enforce atheism, but what does that have to do with putting God into our own government?

The other phrase that has people in uproar is, 'In God we Trust' printed boldly on our money. This has been around much longer than 'Under God,' but again its origins do not go back to the start of our country but rather a time much later.

It was 1831 during the civil war when appeals from Christians around the nation started filtering through secretary of the treasury. The idea was that of course we couldn't win the civil war which had already stolen thousands of lives if we separated ourselves from God. Many different ideas were given but all had to do with adding to our money some reference to God protecting country. In 1864 congress agreed and the phrase was added only to the two-cent coin. Very slowly over 20 years or more the phrase was added to all coin money. However, it wasn't until the 1960's, again very close to the cold war and the induction of 'Under God' to the pledge that we began printing, 'In God we Trust' on paper money. ("UStreasury.gov")

Overall, I have to say 'In God we Trust' bothers me a great deal less than the phrase 'Under God,' because the original idea was to help heal a torn country rather than out of fear like the addition to the pledge clearly was. That being said I still disagree with it. My reason for that is fairly strait forward.

Most of us know about the constitution and a good deal of the bill of rights so I won't bore you with tedious information. At the time the United States government was created the settlers had come from places where the Christian Church controlled everything. It held more power than the government itself. Children were only taught what the church allowed them to. People on trial were found guilty or innocent at the whim of the church. Punishments were at the church's discretion. Arrests were made of people who simply believed differently. People sometimes died for no more reason than having an original thought. Our forefathers ran from that. They saw a nation where citizens would be free to think, speak, and believe as they saw fit.

The United States of America was created specifically so that no faith would have power over the government and that all peoples would be free to believe or not believe as they chose. This is not just an ideal but the founding principle on which our entire nation was formed. Whatever the intentions; allowing phrases about God or deity to infringe upon that most sacred belief chips away at the foundations of our government, eventually rendering it less and less effective.

Some of you will look at my profile and see that I am pagan and think, 'Of course she doesn't want God in the pledge, she doesn't believe in him.' I assure you that couldn't be further from the truth. I believe in a creator, a higher power, I simply choose to define it differently. I put faith into every aspect of my life, but I also believe in the reasons the United States was formed and the original vision for a nation of abiding peace. I worship and follow my faith at home. I walk the walk and talk religion with anyone interested, but even as I strongly as I believe in my faith, it has no business in my government. By keeping my faith and everyone else's out, I truly have the freedom to believe as I believe. This protects us all.

Citations:

"10 Minute Summary on the Pledge of Allegiance." ProCon.org. ProCon.org, 06/08/2009. Web. 21 Sep 2012. .

"Hisory of 'In God We Trust'." UStreasury.gov. United States Department of the Treasury , 03/08/2011. Web. 21 Sep 2012.

Linder, Doug. "Trial of the Rosenburgs an Account." law2.umkc.edu. University Missouri Kansas City, 2011. Web. 21 Sep 2012. .

"Pledge of Allegiance." US History . Independence Hall Association, 1995. Web. 21 Sep 2012. .

Last Haven is Here!

This is new for me.  Instead of writing and playing around with cover art, this is my first sojourn into the illustration world.  I have a few other illustration projects I've been working on, but this is the first one published.

Last Haven is an epic poem where the author sees through the eyes of War, a horseman, and chronicles his arrival at the last sanctuary, the Last Haven.

Originally Jeremy knew this piece was near and dear to his heart, but he had no plans on sharing it with the world...until I got my hands on it.  What are friends for?  I put it together with my own illustrations in a way that gave the story meaning and brought the world closer to eyes of the beholders.  Or at least I hope I did.  I'm always my own worst critic.  He loved it so much that what followed was slide after slide until we had a complete book.

Each plate on each suit of armor was individually rendered and put into place.  Each scene went through many texture and lighting effects, finally fading into the words leaving the viewer feeling as if they have been transported into the fantasy.  On each page the horseman stands out sharply reminding us of the brutal reality the poem mirrors. Here is a sample page, but one is all you get.  If you want to see more you'll have to buy the book!

The poem itself shows the reader a side of the legends no one thinks about. More than bringer of War, more than legendary warrior, more than a vision in a centuries old book. This is a horseman as a solid being with a soul.  What happens to someone that was put on Earth for such a purpose?  What wounds of the heart do they suffer?

Pagans To The Rescue! A Call To Action

This is one of those blogs that I’m unsure how to go about.  I have this political soap box about religious equality in my head, and my feet are stomping on it.  They’re not tightly organized and intricate, tap dancing for rhythm; these are all out, hard core percussionist playground stomps.  I know this stream of thought has to come out, but my organization in it is lacking.  My mother used to tell me I would go on these little journeys in my head, and when I finally spoke I was so far beyond the original idea that got me thinking, that no one knew where I was or how I got there.  I will attempt to take you through the hoops and over the leaps with me.

I have a very dear friend, really he is my brother from another mother, that I’ve spoken about before, just not mentioned names.  Those that know me best typically know who it is.  This man was born to be a first responder.  He eats, sleeps, and lives preparedness and survival, search and rescue.  He’s got the heart of gold that puts others before himself in almost all things, and the calling to help others.  He happens to be Heathen, like me.  We follow the teachings of the Norse/Germanic pantheon best known of from the Vikings.  Before finding Asatru, I was a non-wiccan witch studying the use of magick and pagan ways for most of my adult life.

I’m waiting for someone of a more well known mono-theistic faith to say something akin to, Isn’t it wonderful he is the exception.  This pagan is here to help.  You wouldn’t believe the amount of times in my life that I’ve heard similar things.  I’m not too different from my brother.  I follow a shamanic path as a seidr, a Viking witch/shaman/seer.  I’m here to help.  It’s in my make up. I actually can’t ignore someone in pain (emotional or physical) even if I highly dislike them.  I’m just not good at the whole repelling-into-broken-buildings-to-dig-someone-out or reading-the-doplar-to-know-where-that-storm-is going-to-hit- so-they-can-be-there-first-to-help kind of thing he does (wow those dashes were long).

One thing I’ve learned over the years, every pagan faith has a call to help others.  To give to the community.  To respond when help is needed.  I donate to shelters and volunteer *because* of my faith, not in spite of it.  It is not two separate sides of me, but intricately intertwined. Embedded in the noble nine virtues, the cornerstone of Asatru, are words like bravery, honor, hospitality, perseverance.  By the most basic principles we, as heathens, are called upon by forces that are greater than ourselves to serve the community.  I would say I am hard pressed to find one pagan I have ever met that does *not* give or volunteer in some way.  However very few are open about their faith when they do it.

There are exceptions, like the Hands of the Goddess in Florida, whom a friend of mine does a lot of work with.  They work with local charities and separately with their own, openly, as pagans.  I love seeing this.  I love seeing the non-pagans that drop stuff off at her door because they believe in what they do, but they are still considered something unique.

Another friend of mine, landed a dream job, that centers around service to the community.  They almost lost it because they were openly pagan and the rest of the group was Christian, even though this was a secular organization.  The others felt ooky about working with a pagan.  I don’t know man, they might be a devil worshiper. No one took the time to learn the belief system this person followed or that, that very belief system was the entire reason they were there and so dedicated in the first place.

I was angry when I learned this.  It’s a free country with supposedly freedom of religion.  No one should ever have to hide or modify or step back from their faith to appease the few.  I was also told by this friend that most of the better organizations for community service, everything from search and rescue to soup kitchens, were Christian, Muslim, or Jewish based, as if the myriad of other faiths in this country didn’t exist or were all inherently evil.

Why is that?  Why are faiths so intrinsically dedicated to service to fellow man not making a bigger impression on the scene.  Why is Hands of the Goddess considered unique?  Why are good pagans not being counted for?

You’re not going to like my answer.

This happens because religious intolerance in this country is so deeply ingrained and been going on so long, that it has been accepted by the pagan community.  It is considered normal to hide one’s faith when giving for fear of the gift being refused.

That’s a real fear.  I totally get it.  You just want to make sure help gets to those that need it.   Not only does it feel bad on a personal level when that happens, but it denies those that that need it, the help.  It is still wrong.  Let me say that again.

*It is still wrong.*

Allowing this situation to continue only perpetuates all the stereotypes we fight against every day.  It allows people to remain ignorant and intolerant.  It teaches the public nothing, and our community hides further into the shadows.

Nothing will ever change if we don’t make it change.  I want to live in a world where my friends and loved ones can be proud of being first responders, volunteer coordinators, teachers, *and* pagan.

How do we fix it?

Simple.  In fact it’s alarmingly simple.  It’s so basic, that I bet every single one of you has already thought of it and passed it over as not being enough.

We educate.  When talking to a volunteer coordinator:  I’m here because as a heathen it is my duty to and my honor to serve.  When collecting cans of food:  The Goddess reminds us that we are all equal and to serve those in need.  When pulling wreckage from a downed house:  You and me are equal, and I’m here to help.  My pagan faith teaches that.

That’s a lovely necklace.  It’s my Thor’s hammer.  It reminds me to be strong and act with courage.  Or  It’s my pentacle, it reminds me to stay in balance with all the elements.  It stands for mother and earth and protection.

Believe it or not these sorts of simple statements will cause ripples all around us, and slowly, person by person, our voices will be heard, and the community will understand we belong at the table. 

I have a favorite story.  The Starfish.  This lady walks out onto the beach and it’s covered in starfish.  As far as the eye can see, thousands of starfish, all of them dying when they were washed up by the tide.  She turns around stunned at the sight and finds another woman throwing starfish out into the sea.  The first woman asks, “What are you doing?  You can’t save all these starfish, there are too many.”  The second woman replies, with a starfish in her hand, “No.  But I can save this one,” and she chucks it back out to sea.  She picks up another one, “And this one,” she throws that one out as well.

We need to get over this idea that small actions aren’t enough or don’t have impact.  They have more impact than you or I will ever be able to track.  We cannot allow a society to continue when even our attempts at service are pushed away.

My name is Susan Simone.  I am an author, an artist, and a Heathen; and I proudly serve the community.  Do you serve?

**This blog has been cross posted.**