On a cold winter’s night
A Celtic star burned so bright
An ancient light from days gone by
Shining new in the deep blue sky
In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t believe
That I’d behold such a thing this Solstice Eve
With awe an reverence, I stood amazed
Wondering at the glorious gem upon which I gazed
The past, present and future bled into one
As I looked into the light of a long dead sun
‘Tis the season for miracles and dreams come true
May the wonder of Celtic starlight find its way to you
-written 1 December 2008

Solstice Musings

The light is growing brighter
In it, I can see
All that is, all that was
And all that has yet to be

The old King is dead
Just as the new is born
Drink a health to the Son
Not for the Father to mourn

The snow piled all around
Will melt down into the Earth
And refresh the budding trees
Ushering in the Mother’s rebirth

So sing out the old year
And ring in the new
And accept this Solstice blessing
From my heart to you
-written 21 December 2008
For J.J.M.

Winter Has Come

When icy winds whistle
Through you hair and bare branches
Winter has come
When stars in the deep blue sky
Shine like the noonday sun
Winter has come
When every sound around you
Is muffled by a blanket of new fallen snow
Winter has come
When the dark of night stretches on
And the waning sun gives a feeble warmth
Winter has come
When friends and family gather
Around the hearth and renew old bonds
Winter has come
When people speak of good will
And songs of faith and peace are sung
Winter has come

Part of what has kept me from doing this until now is the fact that a big part of what I have to say has to do with the issue of bullying.  This is a topic that has been all over the news in recent years as it seems that more victims are choosing to end their own lives rather than speak up and fight back to end the abuse. I won’t lie and say that the thought had never crossed my mind, but I knew then as I do now that I have far too many people in my life who love me and would be devastated if I had taken that course of action. I do understand, all too well actually, just how desperate young people can be in these situations to stop the pain.

Until the age of 9, only a handful of people knew what my family believed spiritually. These were deeply loved and trusted friends who knew us and knew who we were. As a result, what we were did not matter to them.  I think of this time as the “good old days”, when I lived in anonymity and could just be a child.

On the 26th of October 1989, while my brother and I were in school and mom was at work, my father gave an unbidden interview to a reported for the local newspaper about our family and our beliefs. None of us knew what was going on until we got home and my father informed us that a photographer would be coming to take some pictures. (Interestingly, these are the only photos that have ever been taken of us as a family.)  Sadly, with the close proximity to Halloween and the lack of more pressing matters to be covered, the article ran on the front page. The title chosen for it was Regular People, Unusual Beliefs.

At the time, having been raised this way, I never saw this my life as unusual. I knew that everybody had some form of religion that they followed, so I was no different from anyone you would run into on the street.  Sadly, the community I live in did not share that mind set.

From the day that article ran, bigotry and the most horrendous abuses followed me.  The most drastic incident occurred shortly after the article was published. One of the older girls at my school, whom I did not know, had heard a rumour from a friend that I had placed a curse on her. (I didn’t know this friend of hers, either.) I was about a 3 minute walk away from home when this girl ran up behind me, grabbed me by the hair and threw down into the middle of the street in  the path of an oncoming car.  At 9 years old, the only person I had ever fought with was my little brother, and yet somehow, I managed to enrage this girl so much that she tried to kill me!

Fortunately, this was the only incident of this nature, but I still got tortured by other children.  Being the brainiac that I was (am), I just chalked it all up to youthful ignorance. That’s not to say that it didn’t hurt, but I figured that they’d know better when they grew up. Well, I though that until I had teachers and other school officials joining in. The school truancy officer actually tried to have be declared legally insane and a public danger because of what I was.  Mind you, I had great grades in every subject but Math, I had a stable, loving, two parent home (biological parents, may I add. No step parent drama), I had fabulous friends and I was the most reliable babysitter in the neighbourhood. I had no criminal record, unlike a vast majority of the kids in my neighbourhood.  None of this mattered in this woman’s mind.  I didn’t fit her ideal of the perfect child because I was not a “good, God fearing Christian”, so that made me an undesirable.  (By the way, I went to a PUBLIC school.)

What I find so infuriating about all of this is that none of my tormentors were what I would consider “good Christians”. My mother’s parents had a lot to do with my upbringing.  They were devout Catholics. My grandfather went to Mass every day. Before he met my grandmother, he was a cook for a Trappist monastery. They knew what my parents were teaching me, but they never judged. They never tried to shove their religious beliefs down my throat because they felt that it was not their place. It was from them that I learned that there is a difference between religious people and spiritual people.  Religious people live by what their church leaders tell them. Spiritual people live by what their God tells them. “God is more tolerant than Man”, my grandfather told. “Listen to what God tells you is right.”  My grandparents were Good Christians.  I have known others,one of whom I love dearly for his faith and I aspire very much to be his Pagan equivalent.  (Love you, Michael!)

Now, have I been 100% vindicated and healed in my adult life? No, absolutely not.  What makes writing about this hard and talking to people outside of my social about this so hard is the fact that, because of my past, I have worked very hard at projecting a much stronger image than who I really am.  I am not okay. I will never be okay.  I accept this fact and have made it a part of me. In its own way, the pain has made me stronger.  I don’t put up with as much as I used to and I refuse to sit idly by and allow others to be victimized.  This is why, though I am no longer on the Board of Directors, I helped to found and am still a member of the Witches Education League here in Salem, Massachusetts.  I don’t know what impact my involvement will have or what writing my story will have, but I feel that, by getting out there and saying to young people who are going through this: “Hey, I’ve been where you are and I am still here”, it will help them find the strength within themselves not to give up or give in.  I’m not perfect, but I am who I am. I am what I am and I am damned proud of it.  In the words of Lady Gaga, “I’m on the right track, baby. I was born this way.”

I was raised Pagan which makes me an odd ball (well…it’s one of the reasons, anyway).  Hereditary Pagans are not all that common here in the United States.  My parents were both raised Roman Catholic (make that Irish Catholic).  Conversion to Paganism from Catholicism is not unheard of.  Most modern Pagans come from some flavour of Christianity or Judaism. Yet, for some reason, that sense of tradition that comes with these religions doesn’t follow the newbies in to their new path.

While I do hate hearing Neo-Pagans bitch about Christianity “stealing” our holidays and symbols, there is a minute grain of truth in that silliness.  Yes, much was adopted from the indigenous Pagan populations by the Catholic Church as a conversion tool (ex: the Goddess Brighid becoming Saint Brigit).  December 25th was chosen as a set date for Christmas in the 5th century because it is close to the Winter Solstice.  (Rebirth of the Sun God-the birth of the Son of God…see?)  The tradition of bringing evergreen trees indoors for the winter came from the Norsemen.  Yes, Vikings invented the Christmas tree.  Pre-Christian Romans began the custom of exchanging gifts.  Don’t even get me started on all of the Celtic traditions that go into modern Christmas celebrations.

All of that being said, yes, Pagans had the holiday first.  So, why can’t we get off our collective backsides and reclaim it?  I’m not saying “overthrow Christmas”.  I just get tired being looked at like I’m from Mars when I say things like “I want to so something like an Advent wreath this year”.  Rather than whine about who stole what from whom, if you know where the tradition came from, reclaim it.  There is more than enough misery in the world right now. Let’s do our part to make the Yuletide merry and bright.

(For the Japanese variety of Holly shrubs)

O the Holly bears a berry
Of deep dark night blue
And I pray to be carried
Home to my love so true

O the Holly bears a berry
As yellow as the Sun
May it shine on my true love
When we two become one

I didn’t say they were good. I just said I had them.  I’m not really into horticulture. I had a LOT of monotonous reading to do last night. Too much information in one sitting.

The Holly Bears The Berry
Music: Traditional
words: C.P.Crowley (Lynn Gleason)

O the Holly bears the berry
As white as the moon
And I pray that my true love
Will come to me soon

(Chorus) I pray for my true love
Will faithful prove to be
And love me in the greenwood
Beside the Holly…Holly…
And love me in the greenwood
Beside the Holly

O the Holly bears the berry
As green as the spring
And I pray that my true love
Will come be my King*

(chorus)

O the Holly bears the berry
As wine it is red
And I pray that my true love
Will soon share my bed

(chorus)

*King can easily be changed to Queen, depending upon your preference. I just happen to love men.

Note: I am considering a fourth verse as I have learned that Japanese Holly bears blue berries! I just need to find something to which I can compare the colour to set my rhyme scheme.

I saw the world with a child’s eyes
Waiting for that big surprise
Of brand new toys or games to play
On a Winter Solstice day

I’m older now and I can see
This day for what it’s meant to be
From the darkness comes the light
As the day is born from night

The days of dolls are now long gone
But those feelings linger on
With winter songs and snow cloaked trees
And brand new Solstice memories

-written 12 October 2011
Inspired by Christmas Memories, written by Michael McGlynn

So, I’m working the booth this past Sunday, which was unseasonably cold (having just had our first snow storm the previous evening).  I’m outside all day and freezing mo thoin off when these two women come to make wands.  One woman is in her late 50s to early 60s. The other, her daughter, is in her early to mid 20s.  After finishing their wands, the mother asks me the following question:

“Can you tell us how to get to the Sanderson house?”

Stunned, I replied: “I’m sorry, did you just say ‘ The Sanderson house’?”

“Yes. You know, the one from the movie Hocus Pocus?” she says with a straight face.

“That would be on a back lot in Hollywood, ma’am.”

“Are you sure? It looks like it’s a real house.” she says to me, looking more than a little confused and dismissing any hope I had that this was a put on. (No one is that great an actor.)

“Well, ma’am, that is one of the great things that I have often admired about the Walt Disney studios. Their designers do a lot of research and are very thorough in the execution of their vision.”

“What about the cemetery where the Witches were buried?” she asks.

“There isn’t one, sadly. All of the accused, who were in fact God fearing Christians, died with the accusation of Witchcraft upon them. As such, they were denied Christian burials. They were simply cut down from the hanging tree, thrown into a ditch with just a little dirt to cover them. Those who were retrieved by family members were buried on their own properties outside of Salem.”

“OH MY GOD! YOU MEAN THAT WHOLE MOVIE WAS FAKE?”

Trying very hard not to laugh at her, I said: “Well, let’s see…the opening sequence was filmed at Pioneer Village which is in Forest River Park near Salem State. The Salem Commons are real, of course and there may have been a few other actual locations that were used, but the rest was all Hollywood back lot stuff.”

I’m telling you all, I wish I had a camera running for that because this was SO YouTube material.  I mean, this grown woman legitimately had no idea that Hocus Pocus was entirely fiction.  Trust me, the only thing that put a smile on the 20 something year old daughter’s face was learning that Sean Murray, the man who currently plays Special Agent Timothy McGee on the CBS series NCIS, was the same actor who played Thackery Binx in Hocus Pocus.  There are no words to say how truly sad that is.

I can say that, by the time the Tweedles got to me, I had answered the cemetery question quite a bit. It would seem that this particular piece of information is getting left out of the Witch Trial tours and lectures that every tourist goes through in Salem. Shouldn’t the museums and townie tour guides be filling them in on all of that stuff? Why does it always come down to the real Witches? I would much rather discuss my own spiritual beliefs than those of the Puritans. (They were SO boring.)

When I was growing up, there was very little available in the way of books or anything else for children in the Pagan community. While my parents’ generation was having children, many of them did not raise their children on the path. Some were just grungy hippies who figured that the children would be freer to discover who they are with religion being stuffed down their throats as their own parents’ religions had been stuffed down theirs. Others were afraid that if the children knew it would get out around town and, knowing how the Protestant majority in this country fears anything that is not bland and easily categorised, the family would victimised.  Still more, I feel, just did not know how to explain it to their children.

My parents’ were all around odd balls which is why I am the way that I am. I was raised knowing what I am and being proud of it. I did get picked on and even physically attacked, but I never backed down. I stayed my course. I found strength and peace in my faith which is more than can be said for many of my tormentors who only thought about religion when they were using it to justify their bigotry.

Because I stayed true to my faith, many of my friends came to the Pagan path seeking that same strength and peace that they saw in me. While I have yet to have children, when I do, I intend to raise them on the Pagan path. I have friends who are already doing that. There really isn’t much out there for these children, though.

The older generation dropped the ball when it came to preparing us for Pagan parenthood. We need to step up for our children. There needs to me more available to Pagan parents to help them teach their children about who we are and what we believe. We need to be writing and recording children’s albums that explain the Sabbats and the mythology in a simple, uncomplicated way. We need to write stories that teach about the ethical principles of modern Paganism. We need to actually become a community. Children are a part of the community.

-written 20 June 2007

A little reminder that the end is just a new beginning.

-written 16 October 2009

For John McGlynn and inspired by his haunting ballad Fragments.