Imbolc 2018

Imbolc snuck up on me faster than I could have guessed this year! But I’m so ready for spring, so not gonna complain. I kept it really simple this year. Again. And while part of me likes that, I really, really want to work on liturgy. For Bealtaine, I may look at the ADF liturgy, see what strikes me and use it as a template if nothin else.

But it was pretty relaxed. It got up to about 65ºF on Thursday, which was so perfect for Imbolc in the South. I was afraid it was gonna rain, but it didn’t. I’d set up the framework for the fire in the old chimney out back a while ago, so I just took some of the junk mail, dryer lint, and and paper bags out to use for fodder. Practical, environmental, and symbolic. I’d also saved the cardboard containers that mushrooms come in, which are perfect for non-liquid offerings cause you can just toss the whole thing in the fire, makin cleanup even easier. I offered butter and cream per tradition, as well as some limes because I love them and for the way they remind me of spring. They were a little older, but still good, which seemed like a good balance, too. I also burned my wreath from the winter, which hung on the front door from just after Samhain until Thursday. It was made from some kind of sweet-smelling evergreen and good lord did it burn! I need to clear out the smaller tress that have grown up around that chimney cause the flames had to blaze up to 8 ft high and I was afraid it was gonna catch the little trees on fire. But it also makes sense as to how Christmas tree fires get outta hand so fast; I’ve never seen anything burn like that. But everything was fine, lesson learned, and I love the idea of burning away the old and a symbol of winter. I wore it on my head for a few minutes, which reminded me that I’ve had some kind of seasonally floral crown the last 2 major fire holidays and I think I wanna keep up that tradition. One of the things I’ve been reflecting on about it is that the green helps with my seasonal depression initially, but at some point transitions to bein a reminder that it’s still winter. Burning it was therapeutic and I think that’s as important as anything.

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My winter wreath

But I didn’t have anything prepared for the liturgy. Instead, I used an Imbolc playlist from YouTube, which turned out to be really good, and sang to Brighid and Na Dé. I was out there for a couple hours, singing, contemplating, and just being. That part was nice and I like the idea of including that, but feel the need (and have for years) to have ritual language to use during the processional and for a formalized offering. I usually speak through what I”m offering and why, but that still doesn’t feel adequate. But I’m just gonna have to actually do somethin about it rather than just continuously complain abut it.

But it was a good day overall. I took Moonie on a walk and saw the daffodils gettin ready to bloom. The Southern snowdrop, if you will. It’s always nice to see them pop up. And I noticed that the Chinese Magnolias are juuussssst startin to bud, so they’ll be flowerin soon, too, which is usually when spring is here to stay.

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The daffodils almost in bloom

Until then, I’ll keep forgin this new extension of my Southern Gaelic path and see what happens. Despite my longings for finer details, I’m truly happy with where I am and where I’m headed.

Featured image from Margherita Pesando 
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A Touch of the Divine

Admittedly, my daily routine has been pretty nonexistent lately. Between the absolute chaos of my summer, moving to a new state, and starting grad school, my life is literally still in some boxes. But I decided last week that I had to stop makin excuses and get back into it. I needed to. So I made some offerings in the outdoor space (that I showed y’all a while back) at the end of last week and have been meaning to start up my daily morning prayers again. Well, I also realized that mornings just don’t go well for me. I should know this by now, but I finally accepted it. So I’ve decided that I’m gonna commit to evening prayers for now because that seems like somethin I can truly commit to.
When prayin to Brighid, I usually add three drops of an oil that smells like “home” to me to scent the candle. I did that tonight, started my prayer, and next thing I know I’m not in my living room anymore. I don’t know that I was anywhere in particular, but had this absolutely overwhelming sense of “elsewhere” as well as calm and…love/acceptance/hospitality/not sure English has a word for the feeling tbh. But it was sooooo intense. And after a prolonged absence, it was also reassuring.
Once I snapped back to this reality, I felt a little drained and woozy, which happens pretty rarely for me like this. But it felt so real and I’m so thankful for that. It’s always nice to have that push, but this is also why I’ve never made any kind of long term, super specific oath: I’ve known I couldn’t reliably keep it. But this makes me hopeful that I can in the future.
Then, I walked toward the bathroom to take a shower and despite the fact that I’ve listened to pretty just podcasts lately, this was what pulled up.
You can even see that I’d already started writing this post and got super caught off guard there in the background, lol. Wild.
So, that’s a quick update from me. I hope y’all are all doin well! I’m finally settling into a pattern in grad school, so I’m hopin to be back around more again.

Another Ancestor Born

I prayed to Jesus for the first time in 16 years this week and it left quite the impression…

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As an ex-Christian, as many of us are, I’ve worked hard to move past and let go of the anger and sheer hatred toward Christianity, Christians, and organized religion that I developed over the years of mistreatment I faced in a Christian church. But those emotions still surface from time to time. This time, however, felt different. 

As I watched my grandfather lay in a hospital bed of the burn unit, I prayed to Brighid for healing. I prayed to Airmid to guide the nurses and let the medicines do their best. I prayed to Miach to restore his body. And I prayed to Jesus, the god of my grandfather, to see his child and heal him. This wasn’t somethin I did lightly or without a great deal of thought, both previously in the abstract and in the moment of need. But then Pap-ah died. 

I knew it was comin. He’d gone from sittin up, talkin, and jokin to gaspin for breath even with an oxygen mask on his face. He was no longer able to understand why he had been restrained. And finally he had to be re-intubated, only to progress to multi-organ failure. I knew. I’ve worked in emergency veterinary medicine too long to not see the parallels. And then we made the decision that we never should’ve had to make to just keep him comfortable until the inevitable happened. Unlike my world, we couldn’t stop the suffering for him, but I’m also not sure I could’ve made it. 

And then I was angry again. Angry st Pah-pa for bein his normal stubborn self and not listenin to anyone when he was told to just let the branches dry out some more before he burned em. Mad that he didn’t have the water hose out there like he normally does. Irritated that people kept blamin his strokes for the behavior and not realizing that he’s always been that way. Angry at myself for not takin it as seriously as I should’ve when we first got the call. And finally, furious that Jesus had failed to do what he should’ve done and saved Pap-ah. But then I had to stop. My gods hadn’t saved him either. 

Havin now been a Polytheist of some sort for 13+ years, I know that my gods don’t intervene every time I ask. I know that this doesn’t mean they don’t care or arent listenin, but when it came to Jesus, that evangelical Protestant upbringin came rushin back. And I’d gone so far as to pray to a god that I still have some issues with! And for someone he supposedly loves. But just as quickly, I began to reconcile that how I viewed Jesus doesn’t line up with how I view any other gods and that I’d just never taken the time to purge that old thought process. 

I don’t for a second buy the line that “it was his time” and frankly find that to be bullshit. No one survives scarlet fever, the Great Depression, more injuries and surgeries than can be recounted, and 4 strokes only to die from secondary complications from a burn. I’ll never believe that. This was all the result of a careless decision and denying that doesn’t make it any less painful or true. 

But none of this changes the outcome. It’s vertically challenged my beliefs and worldview, but ultimately strengthened them as best I can tell. It’s revealed my views on gods in general, already there but non-verbalized. My worldview remains the same, but more concrete in its execution. Though I have no doubts that Pap-ah would’ve disapproved of my beliefs about most everything in life, I truly hope he’s now at peace and able to see me for who I truly am and how I navigate the world. I pray that he’s at peace and will forever keep a protective and loving eye out for me. 

Saturday, we lay my last father-figure to rest. At 31, I’m now the oldest living male in my immediate family line and the seriousness and mortality of that is heavy. In just 4 years, I’ll be as old as my father was when he joined the ancestors; I’d be lyin if I didn’t admit that terrifies me. But I can’t do anything but keep movin forward. All any of us can do is keep movin forward and pray that when we join the ancestors ourselves, we’re ready. 

White dogwood flowers on a blown out green grassy background

The flower of his home state and the name of his eternal resting place…

Pulse: When Hearts Stop Beating

In a crowd of people golding candles, a masculine person's arm with a medium brown skin tone is painted in the colors of the rainbow and is outstretched holding a candle in a plastic cup. There are many more peopl ein the background holding candles and there palm trees and tall buildings with rainbow lights in the far background.

When I decided I wanted to write about death last year, I don’t think I foresaw just how many things relating to death that I’d be writing about, but here we are again. This is about my own experience with this tragedy, faced 650 miles away from the actual events, but one that hit home in a way I was completely unprepared for. This is a pretty long post, but it was incredibly cathartic and hopefully helpful for other folks.

Today marks the 1st anniversary of the Pulse Nightclub Massacre in Orlando, one of the deadliest mass shootings in US history. This time last year, I was takin my final classes of my undergraduate career, Spanish oddly enough, and tryin to survive on a little over $500/month when my rent alone cost that much; I still can’t figure out how I made it. What little I was making came mostly from an employer who is homophobic, transphobic, ableist, full-fledged misogynist, and casually racist. I was also fightin my university for not protecting Queer, POC, disabled, female, or any minority status students; fightin with the state legislature for literally makin it illegal to fund the Office for Diversity & Inclusion (the law has now expired, but no clue what’s actually happenin yet); and tryin to lead a group of student leaders (who had been stabbed in the back days earlier by a now ousted member) in these efforts through “respectable” means while participating in a more radical organization that was willin to do whatever it took. I was at wits end, just tryin to make it to August when I would officially graduate, move home, and pay off some debt. I just had absolutely nothin left to give. And then it happened.

The massacre happened on Saturday night and I was working 12 hour shifts on Sundays, so I’d gone to bed fairly early. Sundays tend to be a pretty busy day in a veterinary ER, but for whatever reason, we were fairly slow that morning. I don’t remember what was on TV, but I got a Facebook alert that a friend had “marked themselves safe,” a feature I’d only seen a time or two before after some major event. I didn’t have a clue what had happened since I’d gone to bed early, so I googled and felt like I’d been slammed in the gut. At that point, no one had any idea what happened and there were *only* 12 victims or so. But over the next couple hours, the count climbed higher and higher until it hit 49. We stayed pretty slow and I later realized my coworkers just let me sit in front of the TV all day. They check on me, sat with me when we didn’t have anything goin on, andnever asked to change the channel. I was just floored. I had to go to the bathroom to cry a couple times, but I absolutely lost it when I got into my car at the end of the day. I sat and collected myself before headin back to an empty house since my roommate was in Norway for an internship to finish up his degree.

When I got home, the first thing I did was pop open my laptop. We’d cut off our cable to save money, so I stayed glued to social media and then news clips I could see online and kept my phone in my hand to look at multiple sites at once. I cried all night long and at 4am, realizing what time it was, I knew there was no way I was gonna be able to function in class, so I emailed my professor. Thank the gods, he understood and didn’t count the absence against me. He even moved the quiz that was supposed to happen that day so that I wouldn’t miss it. Turns out he’d seen several of the interviews I’d done on local news and could probably fathom how hard I was takin all this.

The next little bit was a blur. The recently fired director of our defunded Pride Center organized a vigil with counsellors present for Tuesday and I went to that. Of course, university administrators – some of whom had flat out laughed at student safety concerns –  showed up and attempted to co-op the event in person and on social media as if they’d planned it, which only made it harder. We couldn’t even totally just grieve because we were all just so damn angry that they were there. At one point, through tears, I called out the university’s (now former) chancellor and told him that people like him were directly responsible for so much of the grief in the room; he rolled his eyes at me. Typical for him and the tone he set for pretty well the whole of admin.

All of this has led me to the decision I seem to have made without even realizing it. I think it’s important here to disclose, if you didn’t already know, that I’m a white cis gay man. As all the facts came out, it was obvious that the majority of the victims in this massacre were of Puerto Rican and/or Latinx descent and that the attack happened on Latin Night. Whether this crime was intended to specifically target Queer/LGBTQ+ Latinx PoC or not, they were the majority of the casualties and if this event impacted me so heavily, I can only imagine what people closer to the location or who shared more common identities with the victims felt. But because of the visceral reaction I had, one that I feel pangs of any time one of our siblings is lost, I’ve decided that I want to incorporate a special day of ancestral remembrance. Through honoring those that have preceded us all, many of whom have paid the ultimate price, I hope that we can truly unite the community more. June is already Pride Month (even though both my hometown and the city I’m movin to celebrate in October because of the heat, lol), plus the Pulse anniversary will fall in June every year, so it only makes sense to me. I’m also toying with the idea of a Queer ancestor elevation to help all those lost to violence or who never got to live as their authentic selves because of their Queer/LGBTQ+ identities, but because of everything happening in my own life this year, I’m gonna wait and plan to start that next year. Today, I’ll be honoring the victims of the Pulse Massacre by reading their names and prayin for them. I’ll be prayin that Brighid offers comfort to their families and/or to them as needed (especially the person whose father wouldn’t even claim their remains), that Airmid and Miach continue to heal those still with us, and that Manannán mac Lir casts his mist of protection around Queer/LGBTQ+ people the world over. It’s a small gesture that I hope grows with time, though not in terms of numbers or necessity. I want the ritual to have a feeling of breadth because, while spurred by the Pulse tragedy, they are far from our only siblings lost. Folks Leelah Alcorn, Islan Nettles, Matthew Shepard, and far too many others have been lost far too soon and we can’t forget them, nor the gains we’ve made as a community from the publicity of their deaths. We can’t change what’s happened, but we can honor them as we continue the fight to prevent it from happening again.

A single while taper candle is burning in the center of the fram, held by a hand that is at the bottom of the frame and the edge of the back of someone's head on the right of the frame. In the background, blown out lights in the colors of the rainbow fill most of the image.

But the sad fact is that this isn’t one community, even though I wish it were a more unified one. The reality is that Black SGL folks don’t face the same struggles that Latinx Queer people do, who don’t face the same struggles as White LGBTQ+ folks do, who don’t…you get my drift. We all share elements of common identity, but that hasn’t stopped anti-Black or -Brown sentiment from it’s prevalent place in many Queer circles. To truly move forward, we (White folks) have to do the hard work of fighting racism in our worlds, listening to out PoC siblings, and making those changes despite whatever discomforts we may find in those moments.

May na Dé protect us all and may we grow together, move forward, and forge a new world for those who will call us “ancestor.”

A Prayer for the Soul in my Arms

When Airmid’s herbs and Micah’s tricks
Can’t heal the pain and relieve the sick,
May I and Flidais comfort you
With whisps of pink and streams of blue.

While Brighid’s touch and loving caress
Gathers and holds who loved you best,
To the West, across the sea,
Let Manannán mac Lir carry thee

To Tech Duinn where Donn still dwells
An isle of stone among the swells
To rest yourself and mend your soul
After this life has exacted its toll.

And when it’s time to move again,
For Tír na nÓg to let you in,
Eat the fruit and draw your breath
And never again know pain in death.

This is my own original work. It’s a prayer I’ve been tryin to write for years now and haven’t been able to. However, in the last 48 hours, it seems to have just flowed. I found myself sneakin away to write as I felt it and now that I’ve compiled it, it feels…whole.

This is the 2nd part of my Deathwork series.