To Be or Not to Be... A Pagan

When I was five years old, my mother was getting ready to meet my step-father at a Christmas party at his office. Mom put my 2-year old brother to bed and left to go and get the babysitter. She said she’d be gone only 15 minutes or so, and made me look at the clock on the wall and tell her what the hands for 15 minutes would be. Not five minutes after she left, I went into complete melt-down. I was convinced that she had slid off the road into a snowbank and we were all alone. Don’t go calling CPS, this was in 1971.

I looked at the tree standing in the corner of the livingroom and knew, absolutely, that Santa was the spirit of the tree and the tree would protect me. So I pushed the presents out of the way, grabbed a stuffed animal, and crawled under the tree. After what seemed forever, but was actually about half an hour, mom came home with the sitter. Looking back on it, I can see she didn’t understand my fears. I don’t remember if I told her about the tree. I don’t think I did.

When I learned how to read, I would take my books up into a tree in the yard and read all day long. I could sense that the tree, the birds, and even the caterpillars were reading along with me. The breeze would blow, making the leaves of the tree ring in my ears and I would stop reading to listen to the tree and the breeze talking to me. It mesmerized me.

When I was nine, I was forced to have my First Communion. (My family is Catholic, for those of you who are religiously challenged.) I had to go to catechism class every week before I could do this. I look at pictures of me in that miniature white wedding dress and my utter humiliation still stares back at me. I hated that dress. I also didn’t understand why I was being made to go to these classes. I knew there was something wrong with the sun being created on the third day instead of the first, and if we were created in God’s image why wasn’t I a boy? And if God created us in His image, why didn’t boys have babies? All through the next month, I put up such a fuss about going to church that mom finally gave in and told me I didn’t have to go. The weight of the world was released from my shoulders.

Not long after that, we went on a trip up to the lake where the cousins were all camping. On our way home, later in the evening, the radio was talking about the lunar eclipse that was happening that night. I didn’t quite understand all the techno-babble, only that the moon was going to disappear. When we got home, I went into my room and pulled the blinds down; I was afraid of something but I didn’t know what. The blinds were those old ones that you pull and yank to make it stay in place. When I turned around, the blinds snapped and rolled back up. I screamed so loud and in such terror that even the downstairs neighbors came running up the stairs to see who was being murdered. I had been convinced that some monster was going to eat the moon and it would be gone forever.

This particular house was the last house on a dead-end street. Next to us was an open field that people used to bring their unwanted household stuff such as broken tables, chairs and even rugs. This stuff made great material for forts! At the edge of the field was a ditch that sometimes had a small trickle of water running through it. I investigated every inch of the ditch because I just knew that it would lead to a marvelous underworld that was full of magic, fairies, and elves.

We moved to Florida shortly after that, and I don’t remember much happening until I was 18 and living in New York again for the previous four years. I had a lot of depression going on, combined with panic and anxiety attacks that no one diagnosed. I couldn’t imagine life after 18. The lack of imagery convinced me that I was going to die at 18.

When I was 18, I tried to find my way back into the Church. Jesus and God had nothing to do with it –I heard Mary calling to me. I had another anxiety attack because I had learned that divorced people go to hell. Mom was divorced twice. I tried to talk to her about it, my fears, but she didn’t want to discuss it. I went into another melt-down. I ran upstairs, slammed my door, and threw myself on my bed, hysterical and in tears. I don’t know how long it was, but I suddenly heard a voice in my head, clear as a bell. It was a woman’s voice and she said my name. Nothing else, just my name. I knew it was Mary and her voice encompassed the entire universe. Like turning the knob on a faucet, my tears and hysterics were shut off. Instantly. And my soul was calm. I no longer had a need to return to the church because I knew Mary wasn’t there. My search began.

At nineteen, I was sitting in a used book store, pouring over the science fiction shelves, when a small group of friends came in the door, laughing and having fun. I head the word SCA for the first time and learned that it was a group of people who dressed up in medieval clothes and had sword fights. That was cool. Then one of the people said another word. Wicca. Something took hold of my voice and said, “What’s that?” The person went to another book shelf and took down an oversized blue book by someone named Raymond Buckland. She, or he, I don’t remember, handed it to me. I saw that devil sign on the front; a pentacle. But I opened the book anyway and read the introduction. By the time I was done reading it, every hair on my body was standing on end and there was no blood in my face. The introduction described me and everything I had ever felt exactly as though someone had read my soul. I was Pagan. And Mary was the Goddess.

After 23 years of being a practicing Pagan, consciously that is, and my need for continually searching for a reason for everything, I do believe that the worldview of a child is a naturally pagan view. Anything else is taught, therefore not natural.

I don’t understand monotheism. I do but I don’t.

Finding the appropriate verbiage for this is tricky because I’m still working on it. I believe that the universe, life, is alive. I believe it is a sentient, conscious thing. I don’t believe in a creator who deliberately sat down and planned our creation but I do believe that this living energy is a circle, or cycle, that works in concert with all living things. It is the glue that holds our very molecules together and breathes living energy through us.

It isn’t very helpful to me to think of life that way, though, so my mind needs to break it down into individual personalities. The gods. Are the gods One? Mmmmm…. in a way. And then again, They’re not. My body contains the genetic code of two other people, and the codes for four others beyond them, and so on down the line. Does that make me those people? In a way. But I am also myself, a separate individual. We are all part of each other while being individual just as the gods are separate and yet together.

I can sense the creation of us, that energy that makes us alive. It soothes my heart to contemplate creation. I differentiate my own beliefs from other neo-Pagans in this way. I am Pagan, they are neo-Pagan. Most neo-Pagans I’ve met don’t seem to have a sense of creation. Neo-pagan rituals are to the Lord and Lady, and Them to attend, asking for favors, and then telling the Gods that they are free to leave, if they wish. I don’t understand bargaining with the gods, much less attempting to tell Them where and when they’ll attend US. The ancient pagan rites ring true to me in that we are here to serve the gods. We are all in service to someone or something, and I am in service to the gods.

Pagan rites begin with creation. Even the ancient myths begin with creation. It doesn’t matter where the myth goes from there; as long as it begins with creation, the outcome is fated to Be because it began at the beginning. This connection to creation, to life itself, makes sense to me. I don’t bargain with the gods; I serve the gods, and thank them for their blessings. I don’t feel the need for formal rituals because all of life is blessed and therefore the gods are present. Wherever I am, I have conversations with the gods. Chatting like I would with any friend. When I’m having a problem, I let them know about it. If they want me to be someplace, I find myself there. And in receipt of whatever it is that I’m in need of. I serve the gods, and they gift me when they will.

Superstitious nonsense? Perhaps. Then again, according to quantum mechanics, past, present and future are all NOW. Isn’t there a time when you just don’t feel right? That something is wrong? You’re in the wrong place or meeting a wrong person? This is reading the timelines. Or feeling them. Some people are more sensitive to these timelines than others. It is learnable, if a person is open enough to the experience. People who don’t believe in any god, Atheists, are people that I believe are missing that connection in their brain that makes us capable of sensing that living energy of life.

Do I care that everyone isn’t Pagan? No. I believe that the gods, God, the universe, life shares with us in a way that the individual will understand in their heart. If your heart is happy, don’t worry about how others believe. I don’t believe that neo-Pagans are wrong, I simply don’t understand them. I don’t need to; my heart is happy.