Dancing Down the Moon

That's Me in the Corner...That's Me in the Spotlight

Here I am, on the precipice of 2010, looking back at a year gone seriously awry.  Between the disheartening political climate and Death working overtime to make off with people and animals we know and love, and my own personal roller coaster of emotional dysfunction, it's tempting to write off 2009 in its entirety as a 365-day catastrofuck and pretend it never happened.

Strangely, though, I don't want to do that. 

Things have changed.  The last month or so has been an initiation the likes of which I haven't seen since at least 2004.  Now that I'm on the other side of it, I find myself grateful both that 2009 is over with, and that it happened in the first place.

This year marked one of the most significant accomplishments of my life:  I wrote, and sold, a novel.  I discovered lots of new music, read some amazing books, saw some awesome movies, spent time with my friends and family, had some startling realizations, bought a Macbook, and even joined Facebook, which I swore I'd never do. 

I also allowed my health to decline to the point that I'm in near-constant pain and discomfort.  I spent a good 3/4 of the year mired in depression. 

And, essentially, I lost my religion. 

My patron deities are no longer with me.  It might have seemed based on my blogging that this was the case months ago, but apparently I was very, very wrong; Lilith and I had unfinished business, and that unfinished business nearly cost me my sanity.  Drastic measures had to be taken.  There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And now She's gone.  I realize now that Her absence is complete that when I thought She had left before, I was mistaken.  The difference is obvious.  The candles are lit, but nobody's home. 

Jeff is also gone.  We hadn't spoken in a long time, and I finally realized that He isn't coming back. 

The sense of absence in my house, and in my mind, is almost palpable, and while part of me is grieving, part of me is also incredibly relieved. 

I have no idea what happens now.  To tell the truth finding new patron deities is not my #1 concern.  The process of parting the ways was so intense, and the personal upheaval so complete, that my brain is basically running 24/7 trying to defrag itself and, if you were to look into my mind's eye, you see a spinning rainbow ball.  (Or an hourglass, if you're a PC.)  I'm not sure where my spirituality is going to go next, or what changes this will bring in what you read here. 

But even with all the drama, and all the pain, I'm grateful.  For all the turmoil, and the sleepless nights, I'm grateful.  For rediscovering the strength I thought I had lost, I'm grateful.  For having my entire being set on fire, I'm grateful. 

There's beauty in falling, and even more in rising up.

So, 2009, thanks for coming.  You can go now.  No hard feelings, okay?

Welcome, 2010.

_{(The above image is from Brian Froud's Faery Oracle.)}

Hope is the Thing With Branches

I am the Earth these days, baked brown and tired.  The grass is wilting and turning crispy in the Sun's baleful gaze, except for today when the clouds have rolled over and there is just enough rain to crank the humidity up to "Sauna on Mercury."  We've already had record breaking temperatures in June, and there's still a good three months to get through before Autumn meanders into the spotlight, assuming it hits its cue.  You never can tell anymore. 

Heat saps my strength.  I am a child of Fall, and this time of year is always hard for me--I crave early sunsets and dragon-breath frost, long sleeves, trench coats.  The photosensitivity I mentioned in an earlier post, from my antidepressant, only makes this worse; Summer makes me tired. 

I remember, as a child, loving it--it was cooler then, and the prospect of weeks of vacation made me willing to brave the heat.  I ran barefoot over the blacktop and cherished the late evenings.  Barbecues, picnics, swimming lessons, Vacation Bible School, the ice cream man, snow cones...Summer has so much to offer children. 

Twenty years later I am parched and cracked and dizzy from the brightness.  You know that feeling when you walk out of a movie theater and the sun's so bright it hurts?  I feel like that every time I go outside, whether it's dawn or noon.  My head swims, my joints ache.  I want to hide in the cool darkness of my bedroom and hibernate through the Summer like a seasonally-dyslexic bear.

Return to Innocence

This post is a bit of navel-gazing about my childhood, but also about what's going on in my life right now, which as you all know is a bit on the difficult side.  I thought I'd share an insight I had that my readers might find interesting.  Your mileage as always may vary.

~~~

"Don't eat that," she said, gently nudging the little girl's hand away from the box of Krispy Kreme.

A small button nose wrinkled, lips pursed, round face flashing a very adult and very irrational anger.  "But I want it."

"They're not good for you.  And they have eggs in them.  Remember why we don't eat eggs?"

Rolling her eyes, the little girl crossed her arms and recited, "Because animals on farms are treated really badly, and eggs are full of chol...collie..."

"Cholesterol."

"Yeah.  That.  And because they're whatchacallit, um, chicken periods.  And that's gross.  Right?"

"That's right."

A world-weary sigh.  "But donuts taste good.  And they're so soft.  And they're warm!  You know how much we love the warm ones!  I'll just have one, I promise!"

Blue eyes met blue, one pair stormy, the other determined.  "You have to trust me.  There are things you do that make you feel bad, and things that make you feel better, and sometimes it's hard to know which is which.  But if you trust me, I'll help you do the things that feel better later on instead of just right now."

"Who cares about later on?  I want one now!"

"I.  Said.  No."

Adventures of a Diatribal Priestess

Mind-altering substances, even the kind sanctioned by a licensed medical professional, are not to be trifled with.  The power of the chemicals we so cavalierly put in our bodies these days is truly frightening, when you think about it--a single pill taken every day for a month can turn you into a completely different person, keep you alive, keep you out of pain...and taken with the wrong things, even just one or two in combination, can very easily kill you, as the recent loss of Heath Ledger illustrates. 

My heart still breaks over his death--he was truly talented, and just barely beginning his real career after finally choosing to play roles that meant something instead of being just another ruggedly hot face.   Every time I think of the final line of Brokeback Mountain I get tears in my eyes, and despite the eerie undertones that no doubt shadow his last performance, I can't wait to see The Dark Knight.

I wouldn't presume to compare my own experiences with his, but I can say that I know quite intimately how the effects of even something as seemingly benign as an antidepressant can toss the boat of your mind around in a tempest of emotions and leave you functioning, yes, but also weary and raw.

The last few weeks here at Sylvan have been rather hellish.  I won't go on about the details--the short-short version is that adjustments to my meds were required, and the subsequent side effects came dangerously close to the crisis point.  I won't say that all is well now, but I thought it was time I at least gave some form of update, since bloggers tend to vanish from their kingdoms and never return, and I don't want to be one of those once-a-month fair-weather writers.  My intention here has always been to write about my life as a Wiccan for better or worse, and at the moment I think life qualifies as "worse," but I waited until things started looking up at least a little before reporting in so that I wouldn't get three hundred frantic emails telling me to put down the gun.  Don't worry, I'm still here.

Now, onto a bit of business.

I was a bit taken aback by the response to my post on priorities, also known as "Witch, Please."  I had no idea a fit of spiritual pique would resonate with so many people, Pagan and otherwise.  As I've said before, feel free to post links to any post you see here; in most cases I permit short quotes but not full-on reproductions of posts, but this once I'll make an exception.  You are welcome to repost that piece as long as it is credited © 2008 by Dianne Sylvan, and a link back to this site is provided.  You don't have to ask me, nor do you have to ask just to link to any of my work. 

I also thought it was interesting that a number of people thought the post was aimed at "fluff bunnies," which incidentally is a term I hate almost as much as I hate "Neo-Wicca."  (The latter being used mainly as a pejorative, usually used by traditionalists to distinguish themselves from "those people" and almost never used by anyone to describe themselves.  Wicca is less than a century old.  It's all Neo.)  In truth, the post was inspired by my experiences with the online community, especially "longtime" Wiccans who use the anonymity of the internet forum to spew their spite and superiority all over seekers and anyone unfortunate enough to ask a dumb question.  There is far too much posturing and bickering in the Community and not nearly enough actual religion. 

My conclusion:  there is nothing spiritual about an asshole.    The vocabulary words and trappings make no difference.  If your faith has not helped you become a better person and helped you live a more joyful life, you're doing it wrong.

Wicca is not a way to make yourself feel smarter than Christians.  It's not a role-playing game.  It's not a hobby.  It's not an excuse to lord your Phenomenal Cosmic Powers over mere mortals.  Honestly, people.  Stop using our religion as a weapon and a crutch.  Claiming to practice a religion whose essence is a relationship with the natural world and then refusing to grow is not only bad for you, it's an insult to those of us who are here for the work as well as the reward. 

We're human.  We stumble, we fall.  We ask dumb questions and give dumb answers.  We look for the easy way out and find it's not any easier in the long run.  We're fallible.  We get on our high horse (obviously) and trot around town with our willies hanging out.  But most importantly, we grow.  We change.  We pick up the pieces and make something new from them.  We take the tomatoes life throws at us and make bloody marys.  That, to me, is the beauty of the human race, and the only thing that keeps me from giving up on us at times:  we have the capacity to do anything, and we can always, always do better.

This is why I write about the things I write about, and parade my skeletons around for all to see, even though it probably leads a lot of people to think I'm a basket case or hypocrite or whatever.  Meh.  Think what you like.  The important thing is that everyone reading this blog knows that I'm trying.  I have a lot of knowledge, yes, and a lot of experience, but I'm every bit as screwed up as anyone else trying to walk this path, and I can be mule-headed and feather-brained and a bit of an asshole myself.  I have a way with words and a lot of opinions, and I come up with cool ideas I want to share.  I've been a Wiccan for fourteen years, and the fact that my life is not perfect should tell you two things:  one, this path ain't for wusses; and two, for all our faults and foibles, we all have the potential to do something wonderful--author, priestess, accountant, secretary, Witch, ditch digger, president, every single one of us has work to do in this Earthwalk. 

So get off your ass and do it. 

I'll be right beside you.

Pagans and Depression - Life Lessons from Kenny Rogers

I dislike doctors intensely, which is a real shame, as I am a great patient:  informed (my father is a pharmacist), intelligent, and funny (during a pelvic exam I once made my doctor drop his gynosaurus:  he said, "Okay, now spread your legs as far apart as you can," and I asked politely, "Aren't you going to buy me dinner first?").

Nevertheless, it takes an act of Congress to get me to a doctor.  Perhaps it dates back to being told that I had the flu because I'm fat, or that I had an ear infection because I'm fat, or that I wouldn't have sprained my ankle dancing if I weren't fat.  (Holes in the ground, as we all know, open up before dancing fat girls.)  Oddly enough the only doctor I've ever had who didn't try to blame my medical condition on my weight was my cardiologist, who said my heart was very strong, but spastic.  (Truer words have never been spoken.)

You can imagine, then, how bad things have gotten in the last month that this morning I found myself sitting on a crinkly paper-lined exam table, staring at a chart made by some drug company about atherosclerosis and how their drug can help reduce said affliction by 20%, waiting for a doctor to put pen to prescription pad and save my life. 

The Three Catalysts

This post started out as a continuation of the Pagans and Depression series but ended up taking on a life of its own, so please forgive its length and rambling-ness. 

Whether your spiritual path is Wicca, Buddhism, Catholicism, or the First Church of Some Dude Named Leroy, what gives it validity isn’t the name or the vocabulary words, nor is it the tools and trappings. What makes a path valid is its effect on your life. 

Does your spirituality help you cope with the slings and arrows of daily life? Does it encourage you to become a better person? Does it lead you to grow and change? Does it give you tools to transform yourself and your world?

If so, then in my mind it doesn’t matter if you’re an AnarchoFeminist Klingon Pagan or a Semi-Radical Ninja Feri. There are plenty of people in this world who cling to dysfunctional or stagnant ways simply out of habit and tradition, and whether those ways fall under the umbrella of mainstream acceptance or not, religion is not spiritual if it doesn’t change you. 

In my experiences in the Craft I’ve come to the understanding that there are essentially three kinds of transformative experiences on a spiritual path, each with its own blessings and pitfalls. Eventually all three are going to find you; it is through the dynamic interplay of the three that we become mature practitioners. 

The three categories are ecstasy, practice, and breakdown.

Pagans and Depression - Sweat, Tears, and Squirrels

For several days I've been pondering a follow-up entry to "Prozac and Polar Bears," but have been unable to narrow down the topic of Paganism and Depression to anything I could cover in a blog post.  My experience with the subject has been so deeply personal that it's impossible to generalize.

I did happen upon a couple of insights I thought I'd share, but first I feel I should say this:

Pagans and Depression - Prozac and Polar Bears

They say, "Write what you know." 

I think that mostly applies to nonfiction.  For people like me whose fiction is mostly fantasy of the elves-and-vampires-oh-my variety, writing what I know would involve the most boring elves on Earth.

At any rate, I thought I'd devote some time to exploring a subject that I had hoped I wouldn't have to think about for a while, but apparently is a hot topic in the crack-addled theatre of my brain these days.

It says something about both the state of the world and about the sort of people who become Pagan that I hardly know anyone who has not at one time or another battled depression. 

Reader-Inspired Topic #1

I've blogged a bit in the past about crises of faith as an important opportunity for spiritual growth and reaffirmation, but the question still arises:  when you are in the midst of such a crisis, what do you do?  How do you get through it?

I'd like to say I have definitive answers on this, but I’m still working it out myself--my last major crisis was in 2004, and I handled it, er, rather badly.  The wisest thing I did was to take a sabbatical from writing and teaching and focus on my own recovery (this particular crisis started off as a family tragedy and spiraled into what I can only describe as a nervous breakdown complete with medication).  I can't say, based on my behavior, that I am some kind of expert on the subject, although the experience has left me with a few bits of insight.

On crises of faith

Sara Winn over at Pagan Godspell posed an interesting question yesterday about Pagans and crises of faith.

I started to comment on her post, but as usual got so long-winded I decided just to ramble about it here. I suggest reading her post, as well as the comments, so you'll have a better idea what I'm on about.