MEAGAN AND THE YULE SOLSTICE
by Kathryn Dyer ©1991
Once upon a time there was a little girl named Meagan. She lived in a house that had lots of woods behind it. She lived with her mommy and daddy, her big brother Corwin and her beautiful cat named Starweaver.
Meagan loved to watch Starweaver play with the snow in the winter. He would try to catch the flakes as they came down from the sky. Sometimes he would get mad when the flakes would melt and then his tail would start swishing from side to side. Meagan's parents told her not to mess with Starweaver when his tail was swishing like that.
"When Star swishes his tail back and forth it means that he is mad or frustrated," said her father Michael, "and playing with him would be like someone teasing you when you're mad or don't feel good." Meagan could sure understand that! "What does frustrated mean Daddy?" she asked. "Frustrated is how you feel when you are trying very hard to do something and it won't work right. Like when you were learning how to dress yourself and you couldn't get your head through the neck of a shirt." explained Michael. Meagan knew just how that felt and she promised never to bother the cat when his tail swished.
But today Starweaver wasn't swishing his tail. He was following Meagan and Corwin into the woods and chasing shadows. Meagan and Corwin had gone down the path into the woods to gather green fir branches, mistletoe and holly. It was Christmas time and they were helping to decorate the house. Later they would go with their parents to pick out a live tree to decorate and then plant in the Circle behind the house. Meagan's family were Pagans, but they also celebrated Christmas when Santa Claus came.
Meagan's mother Elizabeth told her that many people would celebrate a God's birthday at the middle of the winter or the Yule Solstice. Meagan knew that the Yule Solstice was the longest night of the year. Of course, many Christians celebrated the birthday of Jesus at Christmas. But before there were Christians some people would celebrate the birthday of Mithras, one of the old Gods, or some of the other Solar Gods. Solar means that the God is in charge of the Sun and Light. Meagan could see how the sun would be very important in the cold of Winter.
Meagan's family celebrated two holidays in the winter. They would celebrate Christmas, which her mother said was Santa Claus's birthday and they would celebrate the beginning of winter which they called the Yule Solstice. Meagan thought that Santa Claus must be a very nice person to give other people presents on his birthday so she and Corwin always left him a piece of cake and some eggnog to drink.
Meagan and Corwin picked lots of branches to decorate the house with. They tried to get fallen branches when they could but when they had to take them off a live plant they would ask the plant first and then thank it when they were done. Meagan had some crystals in her pocket to leave for the plants as a thank-you present. Corwin used the scissors when they had to cut something because he was older and Meagan's safety scissors might hurt the plant more. Corwin was always very careful not to cut more than they needed. They put all their branches into baskets that Elizabeth's mother Nana had made.
"Don't let Starweaver eat anything!" said Corwin, "Many plants can make cats and people sick." Meagan held her basket up higher. She didn't want Star to get sick! Corwin told her that soon she would get to go on walks with their father into the woods to learn about which plants were safe to eat and which were not. "Yes," said Meagan, "and then maybe Cindy's mom will show me how to make medicines!" Cindy was Meagan's best friend and her mother was an herbalist. Cindy's mother Anna made medicine, incense, make-up and lots of other things wit all kinds of plants and flowers. Sometimes Meagan would go with her mother when Elizabeth went to trade herbs with Anna. Then she and Cindy would have fun smelling all the herbs in Anna's workshop.
Soon Meagan's house was full of decorations. They made popcorn and cranberry strings to decorate the tree. Each year Meagan and Corwin would make a special ornament to put on the tree. This year Nana helped them make ornaments out of clay. Nana put the ornaments in her kiln, which is a kind of oven, so that they would get hard. Meagan loved her Nana very much. She always brought Meagan a surprise when she cam to visit. One time she had brought a little black kitten who grew up to be Starweaver!
One time Meagan asked Nana if she was a Pagan too. Nana said, "Oh, I'm half of one and a dozen of the other". Meagan couldn't talk about it to her other grandparents. Her daddy's parents Gramma Lee and Granpa Scott were very Christian and always asked where the children were going to Sunday school. Meagan had been to Sunday school a few times with Cindy because her parents wanted her to know about all religions. But she didn't tell Gramma Lee and Granpa Scott about the time she went to the Jewish temple or talked to her parents' Buddhist friend. She knew that they wouldn't understand and she didn't want to make them feel bad.
It seemed like no time at all before it was the night before Yule Solstice. Meagan's family had found a dead tree in the woods to use for a Yule log. They decorated it with greenery after Michael carved little suns onto it. When it was ready they put it in the fireplace and put the piece of Yule log they had saved from last year on top of it. This year Jeremy, the Coven's High Priest, had to work on the Solstice so the Coven had decided to hold their ritual on the next Saturday. Meagan was excited, they would celebrate three days this year!
That night, Meagan's family had a big dinner and Nana came to stay the night. Elizabeth had talked to Cindy's mother Anna and she let Cindy come to spend the night too! Sonn Elizabeth lit the Yule log and many candles around the room. Cindy and Meagan lay on the rug in front of the fire while Michael played his harp. They sang some songs that people in their Coven had written about the Yule. Cindy didn't know very many of the songs they sang but she tried to sing them anyway. This made Meagan giggle and so Cindy started to tickle her. They had a great tickle fight until Nana said that they were too close to the fire even if it had a screen.
Cindy and Meagan got to stay up past their bedtime and even got to have a cookie before they went to bed. They promised each other to meet after Santa came to play with their new toys. Meagan could hardly wait for Santa to get there! On Christmas Eve she and Corwin left out some coconut cake and eggnog for Santa. They left him a note wishing him a happy birthday and thanking him in advance for anything he might leave for them if he thought that they had been good. Meagan had tried to be good all year but it was very hard for her to go to sleep that night. She kept thinking that she heard raindeer on the roof.
The next morning Meagan got up and brushed her teeth. She could hardly wait to go downstairs but she had to wait until her parents and Nana were ready. Because Corwin was old enough he had gone down to the kitchen to heat water for tea and coffee. Meagan's mother and Nana would only drink herb tea but Michael said he had to jumpstart his mornings which always made Elizabeth laugh and tease him.
Once they got downstairs Corwin and Meagan rushed to see what Santa had left them while their parent's took pictures. After they were done, the whole family exhanged presents. Then it was time to visit Gramma Lee and Granpa Scott. It wasn't until the next day that Meagan had time to play with Cindy.
Since the Coven had chosen to meet on Saturday they decided to have a party all day. People began arriving early in the morning. Some of them had brought gifts for Meagan and her family who also had gifts for them. Meagan had made Jeremy a plate with a pentagram and runes around it spelling out his name with the clay her Nana had brought to make the Christmas decorations with.
"Thank you so much Meagan!" said Jeremy, "I will put this on my altar at home and everytime I see it I will think of you." Meagan felt very happy that Jeremy liked her present. Everyone had a good time. They all played games and sang songs. Michael played his harp. Corwin had gotten a new recorder for Christmas and played it for eveyone. Sometimes people would stop for a little bit and go for a walk in the woods. Not everyone had woods behind their house like Meagan's family did.
It was getting to be time for the Circle to gather. Everyone took turns taking quick showers and baths to purify themselves. Meagan and Corwin helped decorate the Circle with greens and candles before it was their turn. They took their baths and put on their robes. The Coven was starting to gather in the Circle. There was a bonfire ready to light and two unlit candles waiting on the Altar. They would light the bonfire and the candles to help light the Horned Lord's way through the dark months of winter.
Robert blew a Horn and the ceremony started. When it came time for Cakes and Ale they passed out some special cookies that Nana had made for them. "I may not come worship with you," Nana said, "but I respect what you do and I would like to share a little part of it with you."
All too soon the ritual was over. Meagan was going to help clean up the Circle but her mother saw her yawning and sent her to bed. "Don't worry Meagan," said Elizabeth, "the grown-ups are going to stay up until the bonfire goes out and we'll clean up then. Go brush your teeth and get ready for bed and one of us will come tuck you in in a minute, o.k.?" "O.k. momma," yawned Meagan, "it's all been so much fun this week, I just can't stay awake any longer."
When Michael came up to tuck Meagan in she was already sound asleep and dreaming about the wonderful week she had had.
Showing posts with label mixed religion families. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mixed religion families. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 December 2010
Saturday, 4 December 2010
Yule tree anyone?
I was just doing some of my regular blog reading... and found these great ideas over at Confessions of a Pagan Soccer Mom for adding some Yule to your holiday tree. Great ideas there are making a nature themed tree, kitchen witch theme, handmade theme... she has a whole list of ideas! Also see her post on making an outdoor Yule tree to feed the birds over the winter. I really like that one... and I may do it with the kids... although I may have to plant an evergreen tree in my yard for it! LOL!
Hope you are all having fun in the midst of the usually busy holidays!
Hope you are all having fun in the midst of the usually busy holidays!
Monday, 29 November 2010
Santa's Story
Here is a little story for children and adults alike that a blog friend sent to me in response to a post I wrote many moons ago (a post that inspired the creation of this blog!). I warn you that it is a bit long but well worth reading if you haven't seen it before already. It certainly got me to thinking when I read it!
Santa's Wisdom to Pagans
Author unknown
We had a nice, serene kind of Solstice Circle. No jingling bells or faked-out Christmas Carols. Soon after the last coven member left, Jack was ready to pack it in."The baby's nestled all snug in her bed," he said with a yawn, "I think I'll go settle in for a long winter's nap."I heaved a martyred sigh. He grinned unrepentantly, kissed me, called me a grinch, and went to bed.
I stayed up and puttered around the house, trying to unwind. I sifted through the day's mail, ditched the fliers urging us to purchase all the Seasonal Joy we could afford or charge. I opened the card from his parents. Another sermonette: a manger scene and a bible verse, with a handwritten note expressing his mother's fervent hope that God's love and Christmas spirit would fill our hearts in this blessed season. She means well, really. I amused myself by picking out every Pagan element I could find in the card.
When the mail had been sorted, I got up and started turning our ritual room back into a living room. As if the greeting card had carried a virus, I found myself humming Christmas carols. I turned on the classic rock station, but they were playing that Lennon-Ono Christmas song. I switched stations. The weatherman assured me that there was only a twenty percent chance of snow. Then, by Loki, the deejay let Bruce Springsteen insult my ears crooning,
"yah better watch out, yah better not pout."
I tried the Oldies station. Elvis lives, and he do Christmas songs. Okay, fine. We'll do classical ~ no, we won't. They're playing Handel's Messiah. Maybe the community radio station would have something secular humanist.
"Ahora, escucharemos a Jose Feliciano canta `Feliz Navidad'."
I was getting annoyed. The radio doesn't usually get this saturated with holiday mush until the twenty-fourth.
"This is too weird." I said to the radio, "Cut that crap out." The country station had some Kenny Rogers Christmas tune, the first rock station had gone from John and Yoko's Christmas song to Simon and Garfunkel's "Silent Night," and the other rock station still had Springsteen reliving his childhood.
"--I'm tellin' you why. Santa Claus is comin' to town!"
I was about to pick out a nice secular CD when there was a knock at the door. Now, it could have been a coven member who'd forgotten something. It could have been someone with car trouble. It could have been any number of things, but it certainly couldn't have been a stout guy in a red suit--snowy beard, rosy cheeks, and all--backed by eight reindeer and a sleigh. I blinked, wondered crazily where Rudolph was, and blinked again. There were nine reindeer. Our twenty-percent chance of snow had frosted the dead grass and was continuing to float down in fat flakes.
"Hi, Frannie." he said warmly, "I've missed you."
"I'm stone cold sober, and you don't exist."
He looked at me with a mixture of sorrow and compassion and sighed heavily.
"That's why I miss you, Frannie. Can I come in? We need to talk." I couldn't quite bring myself to slam the door on this vision, hallucination, or whatever. So I let him in, because that made more sense than letting all the cold air in while I argued with someone who wasn't there.
As he stepped in, a thought crossed my mind about various entities needing an invitation to get in houses. He flashed me a smile that would melt the polar caps.
"Don't you miss Christmas, Frannie?"
"No." I said flatly, "Apparently you don't see me when I'm sleeping and waking these days. I haven't been Christian for years."
"Oh, now don't let that stop you. We both know this holiday's older than that. Yule trees and Saturnalia and here-comes-the- sun, doodoodendoodoo. "
I raised an eyebrow at the Beatles reference, and then gave him my standard sermonette on the appropriation and adulteration that made Christmas no longer a Pagan holiday. I had done my homework. I listed centuries; I named names--St.Nicholas among them.
"In the twentieth century version," I assured him, "Christmas is two parts crass commercialism mixed with one part blind faith in a religion I rejected years ago." I gave him my best lines, the ones that had convinced my coven to abstain from Christmassy clichés. My hallucination sat in Jack's favorite chair, nodding patiently at me.
"And you," I added nastily, “come here talking about ancient customs when you--in your current form--were invented in the nineteenth century by, um...Clement C. Moore.
"He laughed a rolling, belly-deep chuckle unlike any department- store Santa I'd ever heard.
"Of course I change my form now and then to suit fashion. Don't you? And does that stop you from being yourself?" He said, and asked me if I remembered Real Magic, by Isaac Bonewits. I gaped at him for a moment, and then caught myself.
"This is like `Labyrinth', right? I'm having a dream that pretends to be real, but is only made from pieces of things in my memory. You don't look a thing like David Bowie."
"Bonewits has this Switchboard Theory." Santa went on amiably, "The energy you put into your beliefs influences the real existence of the archetypal-- oh, let me put it simpler: "in the beginning, Man created God'. Ian Anderson."
He lit a long-stemmed pipe. The tobacco had a mild and somehow Christmassy smell, and every puff sent up a wreath of smoke. "I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than Bonewits tells it, but that's close enough for mortals. Are you with me so far?"
"Oh, sure," I lied as unconvincingly as possible.
Santa sighed heavily."When's the last time you left out hot tea and cookies for me?"
"When I figured out my parents were eating them."
"Frannie, Frannie. Remember pinda balls, from Hinduism?"
"Rice balls left as offerings for ancestors and gods."
"Do Hindus really believe that the ancestors and gods eat pinda balls?"
"All right, y'got me there. They say that spirits consume the spiritual essence, and then mortals can have what's left."
"Mm-hm." Santa smiled at me compassionately through his snowy beard.
I rallied quickly. "What about the toys? I know for a fact they aren't made by you and a bunch of non-union Elves."
"Oh, that's quite true. Manufacturing physical objects out of magical energy is terribly expensive and breaks several laws of Nature--She only allows us to do that on special occasions. It certainly couldn't be done globally and annually. Now, the missus and the Elves and I really do have a shop at the North Pole. Not the sort of thing the Air Force would ever find. What we make up there is what makes this time a holiday, no matter what religion it's called."
"Don't tell me," I said, rolling my eyes, "you make the sun come back."
"Oh my, no. The solar cycle stuff, the Reason For The Season, isn't my department. My part is making it a holiday. We make a mild, non-addictive psychedelic thing called Christmas spirit. Try some."
He dipped his fingers in a pocket and tossed red-gold-green- silver glitter at me. I could have ducked. I don't know why I didn't.
It smelled like snow and pine needles, and cedar chips in the fireplace.
It smelled like fruitcake, cornbread savory herbal stuffing, like that foamy white stuff you spray on the window with stencils.
It felt like a crisp wind, Grandma's hugs, fuzzy new mittens, pine needles scrunching under my slippers.
I saw twinkle lights, mistletoe in the doorway, and smiling faces from years gone by.
Several Christmas carols played almost simultaneously in a kind of medley.
I fought my way back to my living room and glared sternly at the hallucination in Jack's chair. "Fun stuff. Does the DEA know about this?"
"Oh, Frannie. Why are you such a hard case? I told you that it's non-addictive and has no harmful side effects. Would Santa Claus lie to you?"
I opened my mouth and closed it again. We looked at each other a while.
"Can I have some more of that glittery stuff?"
"Mmmm. I think you need something stronger. Try a sugarplum."
I tasted rum ball.
Peppermint.
Those hard candies with the picture all the way through.
Mama's favorite fudge. A chorus line of Christmas candies danced through my mouth.
The Swedish Angel Chimes, run on candle power, say tingatingatingating .
Mama, with a funny smile, promised to give Santa my letter.
Greeting cards taped on the refrigerator door.
We rode through the tree farm on a straw-filled trailer pulled by a red and green tractor, looking for a perfect pine. It was so big, Daddy had to cut a bit off so the star wouldn't scrape the ceiling.
Lights, ornaments, tinsel.
Daddy lifted me up to the mantle to hang my stocking.
My dolls stayed up to see Santa Claus, and in the morning they all had new clothes.
Grandma carried in platters with the world's biggest Christmas dinner.
Joey's Christmas puppy chased my Christmas kitten up the tree and it would have fallen over but Daddy held it while Mama got the kitten out. Daddy said every bad word there was but he kept laughing anyway.
I sneaked my favorite plastic horse into the nativity scene, between the camels and the donkey.
I came back to reality slowly, with a silly smile on my face and a tickly feeling behind my eyes like they wanted to cry. The phrase "visions of sugarplums" took on a whole new meaning."
How long has it been," Santa asked, "since you played with a nativity set?-"
"But it symbolizes-- "
"The winter-born king. The sacred Mother and her sun-child. Got a problem with that? You could redecorate it with pentagrams if you like, they'll look fine. As for the Christianization, I've heard who you invoke at Imbolc."
"But Bridgid was a Goddess for centuries before the Catholic Church-oh." I crossed my arms and tried to glare at him, but failed.
"You're a sneaky old Elf, y'know?"
"The term is `jolly old Elf.' Care for another sugarplum?"
I did.
I tasted gingerbread.
My first nip of soy eggnog the way the grown-ups drink it.
Fresh sugar cookies shaped like trees and decked with colored frosting.
Dad had been laid off, but we managed a lot of cheer. They told us Christmas would be "slim pickings." Joey and I smiled bravely when Mama brought home that spindly spruce. We loaded down our "Charlie Brown Christmas Tree" with every light and ornament it could hold. Popcorn and cranberry strings for the outdoor trees. Mistletoe in the hall: plastic mistletoe, real kisses. Joey and I snipped and glued and stitched and painted treasures to give as presents. We agonized over our "Santa" letters...by now we knew where the goodies came from, and we tried to compromise between what we longed for and they thought they could afford. Every day we hoped the factory would reopen. When Joey's dog ate my mitten, I wasn't brave. I knew that meant I'd get mittens for Christmas, and one less toy. I cried. On December twenty-fifth we opened our presents ve-ery slo-wly, drawing out the experience. We made a show of cheer over our socks and shirts and meager haul of toys. I got red mittens. We could tell Mama and Daddy were proud of us for being so brave, because they were grinning like crazy.
"Go out to the garage for apples." Mama told us, "We'll have apple pancakes."
I don't remember having the pancakes. There was a dollhouse in the garage. No mass-produced aluminum thing but a homemade plywood dollhouse with wall-papered walls and real curtains and thread-spool chairs. My dolls were inside, with newly sewn clothes. Joey was on his knees in front of a plywood barn with hay in the loft. His old farm implements had new paint. Our plastic animals were corralled in Popsicle stick fences. The garage smelled like apples and hay, the cement was bone-chilling under my slippers, and I was crying.
My knees were drawn up to my chest, arms wrapped around them. My chest felt tight, like ice cracking in sunshine. Santa offered me a huge white handkerchief. When all the ice in my chest had melted, he cleared his throat. He was pretty misty-eyed, too.
"Want to come sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas?"
"You've already given it to me." But I sat on his lap anyway, and kissed his rosy cheek until he did his famous laugh.
"I'd better go now, Frannie. I have other stops to make, and you have work to do."
"Right. I'd better pop the corn tonight; it strings best when it's stale.
"I let him out the door. The reindeer were pawing impatiently at the moon-kissed new-fallen snow. I'd swear Rudolph winked at me.
"Don't forget the hot tea and cookies."
"Right. Uh, December twenty-fourth, or Solstice, or what?"
He shrugged. "Whatever night you expect me, I'll be there. Eh, don't wait up. Visits like this are tightly rationed. Laws of Nature, y'know, and She's strict with them."
"Gotcha. Thanks, Santa." I kissed his cheek again. "Happy Holidays." The phrase had a nice, non-denominational ring to it. I thought I'd call my parents and in-laws soon and try it out on them. Santa laid his finger aside of his nose and nodded.
"Blessed be, Frannie."The sleigh soared up, and Santa really did exclaim something. It sounded like old German. Smart-aleck Elf. When I closed the door, the radio was playing Jethro Tull's "Solstice Bells."
Santa's Wisdom to Pagans
Author unknown
We had a nice, serene kind of Solstice Circle. No jingling bells or faked-out Christmas Carols. Soon after the last coven member left, Jack was ready to pack it in."The baby's nestled all snug in her bed," he said with a yawn, "I think I'll go settle in for a long winter's nap."I heaved a martyred sigh. He grinned unrepentantly, kissed me, called me a grinch, and went to bed.
I stayed up and puttered around the house, trying to unwind. I sifted through the day's mail, ditched the fliers urging us to purchase all the Seasonal Joy we could afford or charge. I opened the card from his parents. Another sermonette: a manger scene and a bible verse, with a handwritten note expressing his mother's fervent hope that God's love and Christmas spirit would fill our hearts in this blessed season. She means well, really. I amused myself by picking out every Pagan element I could find in the card.
When the mail had been sorted, I got up and started turning our ritual room back into a living room. As if the greeting card had carried a virus, I found myself humming Christmas carols. I turned on the classic rock station, but they were playing that Lennon-Ono Christmas song. I switched stations. The weatherman assured me that there was only a twenty percent chance of snow. Then, by Loki, the deejay let Bruce Springsteen insult my ears crooning,
"yah better watch out, yah better not pout."
I tried the Oldies station. Elvis lives, and he do Christmas songs. Okay, fine. We'll do classical ~ no, we won't. They're playing Handel's Messiah. Maybe the community radio station would have something secular humanist.
"Ahora, escucharemos a Jose Feliciano canta `Feliz Navidad'."
I was getting annoyed. The radio doesn't usually get this saturated with holiday mush until the twenty-fourth.
"This is too weird." I said to the radio, "Cut that crap out." The country station had some Kenny Rogers Christmas tune, the first rock station had gone from John and Yoko's Christmas song to Simon and Garfunkel's "Silent Night," and the other rock station still had Springsteen reliving his childhood.
"--I'm tellin' you why. Santa Claus is comin' to town!"
I was about to pick out a nice secular CD when there was a knock at the door. Now, it could have been a coven member who'd forgotten something. It could have been someone with car trouble. It could have been any number of things, but it certainly couldn't have been a stout guy in a red suit--snowy beard, rosy cheeks, and all--backed by eight reindeer and a sleigh. I blinked, wondered crazily where Rudolph was, and blinked again. There were nine reindeer. Our twenty-percent chance of snow had frosted the dead grass and was continuing to float down in fat flakes.
"Hi, Frannie." he said warmly, "I've missed you."
"I'm stone cold sober, and you don't exist."
He looked at me with a mixture of sorrow and compassion and sighed heavily.
"That's why I miss you, Frannie. Can I come in? We need to talk." I couldn't quite bring myself to slam the door on this vision, hallucination, or whatever. So I let him in, because that made more sense than letting all the cold air in while I argued with someone who wasn't there.
As he stepped in, a thought crossed my mind about various entities needing an invitation to get in houses. He flashed me a smile that would melt the polar caps.
"Don't you miss Christmas, Frannie?"
"No." I said flatly, "Apparently you don't see me when I'm sleeping and waking these days. I haven't been Christian for years."
"Oh, now don't let that stop you. We both know this holiday's older than that. Yule trees and Saturnalia and here-comes-the- sun, doodoodendoodoo. "
I raised an eyebrow at the Beatles reference, and then gave him my standard sermonette on the appropriation and adulteration that made Christmas no longer a Pagan holiday. I had done my homework. I listed centuries; I named names--St.Nicholas among them.
"In the twentieth century version," I assured him, "Christmas is two parts crass commercialism mixed with one part blind faith in a religion I rejected years ago." I gave him my best lines, the ones that had convinced my coven to abstain from Christmassy clichés. My hallucination sat in Jack's favorite chair, nodding patiently at me.
"And you," I added nastily, “come here talking about ancient customs when you--in your current form--were invented in the nineteenth century by, um...Clement C. Moore.
"He laughed a rolling, belly-deep chuckle unlike any department- store Santa I'd ever heard.
"Of course I change my form now and then to suit fashion. Don't you? And does that stop you from being yourself?" He said, and asked me if I remembered Real Magic, by Isaac Bonewits. I gaped at him for a moment, and then caught myself.
"This is like `Labyrinth', right? I'm having a dream that pretends to be real, but is only made from pieces of things in my memory. You don't look a thing like David Bowie."
"Bonewits has this Switchboard Theory." Santa went on amiably, "The energy you put into your beliefs influences the real existence of the archetypal-- oh, let me put it simpler: "in the beginning, Man created God'. Ian Anderson."
He lit a long-stemmed pipe. The tobacco had a mild and somehow Christmassy smell, and every puff sent up a wreath of smoke. "I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than Bonewits tells it, but that's close enough for mortals. Are you with me so far?"
"Oh, sure," I lied as unconvincingly as possible.
Santa sighed heavily."When's the last time you left out hot tea and cookies for me?"
"When I figured out my parents were eating them."
"Frannie, Frannie. Remember pinda balls, from Hinduism?"
"Rice balls left as offerings for ancestors and gods."
"Do Hindus really believe that the ancestors and gods eat pinda balls?"
"All right, y'got me there. They say that spirits consume the spiritual essence, and then mortals can have what's left."
"Mm-hm." Santa smiled at me compassionately through his snowy beard.
I rallied quickly. "What about the toys? I know for a fact they aren't made by you and a bunch of non-union Elves."
"Oh, that's quite true. Manufacturing physical objects out of magical energy is terribly expensive and breaks several laws of Nature--She only allows us to do that on special occasions. It certainly couldn't be done globally and annually. Now, the missus and the Elves and I really do have a shop at the North Pole. Not the sort of thing the Air Force would ever find. What we make up there is what makes this time a holiday, no matter what religion it's called."
"Don't tell me," I said, rolling my eyes, "you make the sun come back."
"Oh my, no. The solar cycle stuff, the Reason For The Season, isn't my department. My part is making it a holiday. We make a mild, non-addictive psychedelic thing called Christmas spirit. Try some."
He dipped his fingers in a pocket and tossed red-gold-green- silver glitter at me. I could have ducked. I don't know why I didn't.
It smelled like snow and pine needles, and cedar chips in the fireplace.
It smelled like fruitcake, cornbread savory herbal stuffing, like that foamy white stuff you spray on the window with stencils.
It felt like a crisp wind, Grandma's hugs, fuzzy new mittens, pine needles scrunching under my slippers.
I saw twinkle lights, mistletoe in the doorway, and smiling faces from years gone by.
Several Christmas carols played almost simultaneously in a kind of medley.
I fought my way back to my living room and glared sternly at the hallucination in Jack's chair. "Fun stuff. Does the DEA know about this?"
"Oh, Frannie. Why are you such a hard case? I told you that it's non-addictive and has no harmful side effects. Would Santa Claus lie to you?"
I opened my mouth and closed it again. We looked at each other a while.
"Can I have some more of that glittery stuff?"
"Mmmm. I think you need something stronger. Try a sugarplum."
I tasted rum ball.
Peppermint.
Those hard candies with the picture all the way through.
Mama's favorite fudge. A chorus line of Christmas candies danced through my mouth.
The Swedish Angel Chimes, run on candle power, say tingatingatingating .
Mama, with a funny smile, promised to give Santa my letter.
Greeting cards taped on the refrigerator door.
We rode through the tree farm on a straw-filled trailer pulled by a red and green tractor, looking for a perfect pine. It was so big, Daddy had to cut a bit off so the star wouldn't scrape the ceiling.
Lights, ornaments, tinsel.
Daddy lifted me up to the mantle to hang my stocking.
My dolls stayed up to see Santa Claus, and in the morning they all had new clothes.
Grandma carried in platters with the world's biggest Christmas dinner.
Joey's Christmas puppy chased my Christmas kitten up the tree and it would have fallen over but Daddy held it while Mama got the kitten out. Daddy said every bad word there was but he kept laughing anyway.
I sneaked my favorite plastic horse into the nativity scene, between the camels and the donkey.
I came back to reality slowly, with a silly smile on my face and a tickly feeling behind my eyes like they wanted to cry. The phrase "visions of sugarplums" took on a whole new meaning."
How long has it been," Santa asked, "since you played with a nativity set?-"
"But it symbolizes-- "
"The winter-born king. The sacred Mother and her sun-child. Got a problem with that? You could redecorate it with pentagrams if you like, they'll look fine. As for the Christianization, I've heard who you invoke at Imbolc."
"But Bridgid was a Goddess for centuries before the Catholic Church-oh." I crossed my arms and tried to glare at him, but failed.
"You're a sneaky old Elf, y'know?"
"The term is `jolly old Elf.' Care for another sugarplum?"
I did.
I tasted gingerbread.
My first nip of soy eggnog the way the grown-ups drink it.
Fresh sugar cookies shaped like trees and decked with colored frosting.
Dad had been laid off, but we managed a lot of cheer. They told us Christmas would be "slim pickings." Joey and I smiled bravely when Mama brought home that spindly spruce. We loaded down our "Charlie Brown Christmas Tree" with every light and ornament it could hold. Popcorn and cranberry strings for the outdoor trees. Mistletoe in the hall: plastic mistletoe, real kisses. Joey and I snipped and glued and stitched and painted treasures to give as presents. We agonized over our "Santa" letters...by now we knew where the goodies came from, and we tried to compromise between what we longed for and they thought they could afford. Every day we hoped the factory would reopen. When Joey's dog ate my mitten, I wasn't brave. I knew that meant I'd get mittens for Christmas, and one less toy. I cried. On December twenty-fifth we opened our presents ve-ery slo-wly, drawing out the experience. We made a show of cheer over our socks and shirts and meager haul of toys. I got red mittens. We could tell Mama and Daddy were proud of us for being so brave, because they were grinning like crazy.
"Go out to the garage for apples." Mama told us, "We'll have apple pancakes."
I don't remember having the pancakes. There was a dollhouse in the garage. No mass-produced aluminum thing but a homemade plywood dollhouse with wall-papered walls and real curtains and thread-spool chairs. My dolls were inside, with newly sewn clothes. Joey was on his knees in front of a plywood barn with hay in the loft. His old farm implements had new paint. Our plastic animals were corralled in Popsicle stick fences. The garage smelled like apples and hay, the cement was bone-chilling under my slippers, and I was crying.
My knees were drawn up to my chest, arms wrapped around them. My chest felt tight, like ice cracking in sunshine. Santa offered me a huge white handkerchief. When all the ice in my chest had melted, he cleared his throat. He was pretty misty-eyed, too.
"Want to come sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas?"
"You've already given it to me." But I sat on his lap anyway, and kissed his rosy cheek until he did his famous laugh.
"I'd better go now, Frannie. I have other stops to make, and you have work to do."
"Right. I'd better pop the corn tonight; it strings best when it's stale.
"I let him out the door. The reindeer were pawing impatiently at the moon-kissed new-fallen snow. I'd swear Rudolph winked at me.
"Don't forget the hot tea and cookies."
"Right. Uh, December twenty-fourth, or Solstice, or what?"
He shrugged. "Whatever night you expect me, I'll be there. Eh, don't wait up. Visits like this are tightly rationed. Laws of Nature, y'know, and She's strict with them."
"Gotcha. Thanks, Santa." I kissed his cheek again. "Happy Holidays." The phrase had a nice, non-denominational ring to it. I thought I'd call my parents and in-laws soon and try it out on them. Santa laid his finger aside of his nose and nodded.
"Blessed be, Frannie."The sleigh soared up, and Santa really did exclaim something. It sounded like old German. Smart-aleck Elf. When I closed the door, the radio was playing Jethro Tull's "Solstice Bells."
Friday, 24 September 2010
Personal Bias
I have the kind permission of our contributor Shannon - aka the kickbuttmama - to repost this article that she originally posted at associatedcontent.com as she is a very busy lady at the moment! Here is her article 'Lesson Focus: Personal Bias'.
Introducing Broader Ideas to Young Children
Yule has passed, as well as Christmas; Imbolc and Valentines Day, coming soon will be Ostara and Easter. This past was the first ever my children were singled out for being different....it was disturbing.
I've always been "out of the broom closet", I'm just no good at hiding who I am. When I became a mom and decided to home-school, I thought long and hard on what I would teach my children about my faith. I finally
decided that I would guide them along my path, gently. Not forcing them to believe what I believe, just instructing them, teaching them what being a Celtic Pagan is all about. I also decided to introduce overviews of many of the worlds religions, trying my best to make each lesson as unbiased as possible. Just because it isn't a faith I follow, doesn't mean it doesn't deserve my respect.
No matter how broad my view of the world, I also didn't want my children to be ignorant of the beliefs of their fellow man. To counter this, each month I find lists and lists of holy days...not just for my faith, but for as many of the worlds faiths as I can. I try to keep my homeschooling wall calendar updated with all these days. When the day comes I have a printout, or at least a general overview of what that day means to the people of that belief system...
Now, I usually even include Christian holidays. Many Pagans are biased against Christianity, pointing the finger of blame at them for all the persecution Pagans have suffered through the ages. If I were to give my boys an overview of all religions then I couldn't very well ignore one of the most popular now could I. While trying very hard to not give opinions on any religion when teaching their tenets to my children is not easy, I feel it is very important. So sad that people won't give our family the same respect.
I've always faced people's fear with a certain amount of calm. When snidely accused of being a devil worshiper I've calmly explained we have no such being in our lexicon. When overhearing whispers of being involved in
large orgies and animal sacrifices, I've joked that I can't even get my husband to light a candle let alone be an active participant in any religious practice (and the animal sacrifice thing is just stupid, as we're all about the respect of our Mother Nature). Even my boy's daycare gently told me the boys continually mis-spelled Easter, writing Ostara instead. I laughed so hard I had a stitch in my side. I've kept my sarcastic sense of humor, letting the believe what they will while gently trying to correct their misconceptions. That is until this past holiday season, when my Christian extended family had a large gathering to which we weren't invited.
I was fuming mad. My family argued that we aren't Christian and therefore, don't need to gather for Christmas...I tried explaining most Christian holidays and traditions coincide (and were derived from) pagan traditions...so no matter what they do to celebrate, we probably do similar...furthermore, my family does nothing 'Christian' on Christmas....they have the tree and Yule Log, they eat the feast and exchange gifts (all of which are Pagan ways of celebrating Yule). I've tried to explain that even though I'm Pagan, my children aren't. They can't yet decide what their favorite toy is, so how can I expect them to decide what they believe about the after life?
My family also knows we decorate our home with an evergreen tree, and tell stories of the Holly King distributing gifts to the children. But, alas, my children were left out this year. I was sad for them, they knew all their cousins and grandparents were gathering without them.
So, I had to introduce bias to my young children - only 6 and 3 years old. The undertone from my family was, if I would just fall in line, and attend the family church, then my children would be invited to everything. When we are invited, I have to constantly steer the conversation away from momma burning in hell. Even though it's frustrating to know my family thinks I'm crazy (or worse, in need of 'saving'), even though I sometimes have to bite holes in my cheeks to keep from putting down their faith (as that would make me no better than they), they are still the only family I have and I don't want my children to be alienated because of me.
So, I sat down and told the children this:
"Everyone is different. You know how everyone looks different? Different height, different hair or eye color? Well, everyone also has their own beliefs of what is right or wrong, and what happens to us when we die. This
is very personal and important to everyone, to understand what they believe. I personally believe that as long as no harm come to others, that everyone is right. You have to find the right fit for you. Sadly, not everyone feels the way I do. They think their way is the Only Right Way, and spend lots of time and energy trying to convince everyone to fall in line with them. Some people even resort to fear and violence to convince others to follow their faith. The best way to counter them, is to understand where they are coming from. If you know what it is they fear in our beliefs, you might be able to set their minds at ease.
Try not to judge them too harshly. Finding a belief system is a very personal decision. Many people fear death and latch onto the comforting explanations of their religious beliefs for what happens when they pass away. When you can appreciate the source of someones fear, their outwardly mean and angry actions seem less offensive. Should they be forcing their beliefs on others? No, but at least you can understand where they are coming from."
When finished discussing this with my boys I realized understanding really is a balm to the soul. My hurt and anger faded in the face of my families terror. I know they fear for us because they love us, and their particular brand of Christianity is all about trying to convince everyone of the right path. It's a vicious cycle. But, I took the lesson I gave the boys and used it in my own life.
You can love someone who is different. Just because you don't agree doesn't mean you love them any less. Imagine how boring our world would be if everyone was exactly the same. That would be Stepford Scary...
Introducing Broader Ideas to Young Children
Yule has passed, as well as Christmas; Imbolc and Valentines Day, coming soon will be Ostara and Easter. This past was the first ever my children were singled out for being different....it was disturbing.
I've always been "out of the broom closet", I'm just no good at hiding who I am. When I became a mom and decided to home-school, I thought long and hard on what I would teach my children about my faith. I finally
decided that I would guide them along my path, gently. Not forcing them to believe what I believe, just instructing them, teaching them what being a Celtic Pagan is all about. I also decided to introduce overviews of many of the worlds religions, trying my best to make each lesson as unbiased as possible. Just because it isn't a faith I follow, doesn't mean it doesn't deserve my respect.
No matter how broad my view of the world, I also didn't want my children to be ignorant of the beliefs of their fellow man. To counter this, each month I find lists and lists of holy days...not just for my faith, but for as many of the worlds faiths as I can. I try to keep my homeschooling wall calendar updated with all these days. When the day comes I have a printout, or at least a general overview of what that day means to the people of that belief system...
Now, I usually even include Christian holidays. Many Pagans are biased against Christianity, pointing the finger of blame at them for all the persecution Pagans have suffered through the ages. If I were to give my boys an overview of all religions then I couldn't very well ignore one of the most popular now could I. While trying very hard to not give opinions on any religion when teaching their tenets to my children is not easy, I feel it is very important. So sad that people won't give our family the same respect.
I've always faced people's fear with a certain amount of calm. When snidely accused of being a devil worshiper I've calmly explained we have no such being in our lexicon. When overhearing whispers of being involved in
large orgies and animal sacrifices, I've joked that I can't even get my husband to light a candle let alone be an active participant in any religious practice (and the animal sacrifice thing is just stupid, as we're all about the respect of our Mother Nature). Even my boy's daycare gently told me the boys continually mis-spelled Easter, writing Ostara instead. I laughed so hard I had a stitch in my side. I've kept my sarcastic sense of humor, letting the believe what they will while gently trying to correct their misconceptions. That is until this past holiday season, when my Christian extended family had a large gathering to which we weren't invited.
I was fuming mad. My family argued that we aren't Christian and therefore, don't need to gather for Christmas...I tried explaining most Christian holidays and traditions coincide (and were derived from) pagan traditions...so no matter what they do to celebrate, we probably do similar...furthermore, my family does nothing 'Christian' on Christmas....they have the tree and Yule Log, they eat the feast and exchange gifts (all of which are Pagan ways of celebrating Yule). I've tried to explain that even though I'm Pagan, my children aren't. They can't yet decide what their favorite toy is, so how can I expect them to decide what they believe about the after life?
My family also knows we decorate our home with an evergreen tree, and tell stories of the Holly King distributing gifts to the children. But, alas, my children were left out this year. I was sad for them, they knew all their cousins and grandparents were gathering without them.
So, I had to introduce bias to my young children - only 6 and 3 years old. The undertone from my family was, if I would just fall in line, and attend the family church, then my children would be invited to everything. When we are invited, I have to constantly steer the conversation away from momma burning in hell. Even though it's frustrating to know my family thinks I'm crazy (or worse, in need of 'saving'), even though I sometimes have to bite holes in my cheeks to keep from putting down their faith (as that would make me no better than they), they are still the only family I have and I don't want my children to be alienated because of me.
So, I sat down and told the children this:
"Everyone is different. You know how everyone looks different? Different height, different hair or eye color? Well, everyone also has their own beliefs of what is right or wrong, and what happens to us when we die. This
is very personal and important to everyone, to understand what they believe. I personally believe that as long as no harm come to others, that everyone is right. You have to find the right fit for you. Sadly, not everyone feels the way I do. They think their way is the Only Right Way, and spend lots of time and energy trying to convince everyone to fall in line with them. Some people even resort to fear and violence to convince others to follow their faith. The best way to counter them, is to understand where they are coming from. If you know what it is they fear in our beliefs, you might be able to set their minds at ease.
Try not to judge them too harshly. Finding a belief system is a very personal decision. Many people fear death and latch onto the comforting explanations of their religious beliefs for what happens when they pass away. When you can appreciate the source of someones fear, their outwardly mean and angry actions seem less offensive. Should they be forcing their beliefs on others? No, but at least you can understand where they are coming from."
When finished discussing this with my boys I realized understanding really is a balm to the soul. My hurt and anger faded in the face of my families terror. I know they fear for us because they love us, and their particular brand of Christianity is all about trying to convince everyone of the right path. It's a vicious cycle. But, I took the lesson I gave the boys and used it in my own life.
You can love someone who is different. Just because you don't agree doesn't mean you love them any less. Imagine how boring our world would be if everyone was exactly the same. That would be Stepford Scary...
Saturday, 18 September 2010
A Big Question Indeed
Raising your child to follow the pagan path and have a sense of spirituality is indeed a big question. I agree that for most religions the question does not arise as it is expected that most will bring up their child with the same beliefs.
As for our family, I bring my children up following my beliefs in a way that does not dictate any religions view points. We talk about the changing of the seasons and how important it is to take care of the earth. My boys have loved space and nature since wee little ones. We read books related to things I would like them to know. We experience nature together as a family and talk about the importance of various things in nature. We even talk about how we do some things differently than others.
For example: We redo our nature table on the night of All Hallows Eve. We adorn it with scrapbooks, photos and objects of the ones we love that have passed. My boys think of the dead as spirits that look out for them and protect them. We talk to the person and invite them to spend the evening with us. We tell stories of special times and just relish in the memories.
My boys know that some people think Halloween is bad and do not participate in it at all and that others just dress up to get candy. We remember those we have loved and dress up to get candy. Plus, for us.
My eight year old began asking questions about God and heaven when his grandfather passed and again when he would have conversations with the children at school. I did not accept or negate anything he discussed. I simply listened to what he shared and asked him what he thought.
I will often give him multiple points of view and then, simply ask him to tell me what he thinks. Come to find out that most of the time even though he wants to agree with friends his thoughts are more in line with my own than would be expected.
As for more overtly pagan practice sure as tarot or pendulums used for divination, I explain it simply. Most people do not sue these things or might think it is weird. I use them to help me make decisions. I "read" the cards or take the answer the pendulum gives and ponder the outcome and if it is the right one for me. I think about how to change things to make my life happy, healthy, and fun. This really seems to be enough.
Now, I will say these are things I try not to do in front of them all the time. I want them to understand and see me using pagan things, but as much as necessary.
When my boys are of an age that they can truly choose a beliefs system of their own, I will explain the many things we have done and why we do them. In all honesty, I feel like my boys will take their pagan beliefs into their own family while following a more mainstream religion of their wives at the same time. I think that when the time comes they will automatically gravitate toward what is in their hearts. I will know that I have given them all the tools needed to make a wise decision whatever that may be.
As for our family, I bring my children up following my beliefs in a way that does not dictate any religions view points. We talk about the changing of the seasons and how important it is to take care of the earth. My boys have loved space and nature since wee little ones. We read books related to things I would like them to know. We experience nature together as a family and talk about the importance of various things in nature. We even talk about how we do some things differently than others.
For example: We redo our nature table on the night of All Hallows Eve. We adorn it with scrapbooks, photos and objects of the ones we love that have passed. My boys think of the dead as spirits that look out for them and protect them. We talk to the person and invite them to spend the evening with us. We tell stories of special times and just relish in the memories.
My boys know that some people think Halloween is bad and do not participate in it at all and that others just dress up to get candy. We remember those we have loved and dress up to get candy. Plus, for us.
My eight year old began asking questions about God and heaven when his grandfather passed and again when he would have conversations with the children at school. I did not accept or negate anything he discussed. I simply listened to what he shared and asked him what he thought.
I will often give him multiple points of view and then, simply ask him to tell me what he thinks. Come to find out that most of the time even though he wants to agree with friends his thoughts are more in line with my own than would be expected.
As for more overtly pagan practice sure as tarot or pendulums used for divination, I explain it simply. Most people do not sue these things or might think it is weird. I use them to help me make decisions. I "read" the cards or take the answer the pendulum gives and ponder the outcome and if it is the right one for me. I think about how to change things to make my life happy, healthy, and fun. This really seems to be enough.
Now, I will say these are things I try not to do in front of them all the time. I want them to understand and see me using pagan things, but as much as necessary.
When my boys are of an age that they can truly choose a beliefs system of their own, I will explain the many things we have done and why we do them. In all honesty, I feel like my boys will take their pagan beliefs into their own family while following a more mainstream religion of their wives at the same time. I think that when the time comes they will automatically gravitate toward what is in their hearts. I will know that I have given them all the tools needed to make a wise decision whatever that may be.
The Big Question
Now if you are a follower of most of the mainstream religions/spiritualities then the question of whether or not you will raise your children with your religion doesn't even come up - being part of most religions you would see it as your duty to raise your children into your religion. But with paganism things are a little bit different. For one thing there is no doctrine that tells you that you SHOULD raise your children to worship as you do. But more importantly pagans as a general rule tend to be very much more open to other religions and tend to be very much more inclined to embrace the wide scope of spiritual choices out there. So it is that many pagan parents (myself included!) struggle with the question of whether or not it is right to bring their children up in their religion, or how to include their children in their own spiritual practise without 'giving' their children a religion that the child has not chosen.
I have been thinking about this an awful lot of late because my eldest has started showing moments of spiritual interest. My very first thought was that under no circumstance did I want to give my children a religion; whatever religion that might be. I have always hated the way that many religions say that they give children the choice to join their religions but the children always have to make this choice at what I have always thought to be an inappropriately young age to be making such decisions.
But having friends that have grown up in religious communities I have seen first hand how those bonds of faith have helped them in their lives; have seen their faith guide them to be better people than they would have been without it. In short, although I have been uncomfortable with how early in their lives my friends were asked to make these spiritual decisions, I have seen how much it has benefited their lives as a whole.
But in my mind this 'big question' remained and so I began to read as many opinions as I could lay my hands on. It seems to me that most pagan parents initially had the very same thought that I had myself - that they would not raise their children in their pagan religion. But then I read a handful of opinions that had moved past this knee-jerk response to think about the bigger picture. The question of what happens if you give your children no spiritual guidance from fear of swaying their choice? This point of view really got me to thinking. Our western culture at large seems to be really losing the plot. Is this because we have lost the spiritual, the sacred? Well, erm, yes. Most pagans would agree with that and agree that we need to reconnect with the Earth and with spirit to heal our fractured societies and the Earth itself. Would we have so much willful neglect of the planet and her resources, so much violent crime, so much bigotry if we raised our children in spiritual conditions? It's a fairly big question I know, but I suspect that the answer is 'probably not'.
Another point that I saw raised in all of my reading was that if you don't give your child a spiritual foundation, a spiritual spring board as it were, how are they then as adults going to be able to make wise decisions about their own spirituality,be it paganism or not? This is another question that I don't have an answer to yet, but it strikes me as a very valid point. I am finding that at the age of 6 (though of a developmental age of maybe 4-5) my son has started enquiring about this aspect of my life, and it seems that he finds it as natural as eating or drinking.
The thing about being a pagan is that there is so much choice in how to follow your path. I am starting to wonder if raising pagan children really does rob them of a personal choice. To give them a sense of awe, a sense of the sacred, a foundation of tolerance and reverence and equality can be no bad thing. When there are so many Gods and Goddesses, traditions and techniques out there that all full under the broad pagan umbrella, I start to wonder how a pagan upbringing can be restrictive. You can be a pagan Jew can you not? Or a pagan Quaker? Even a pagan Buddhist? I know that there are people who happily merge these paths in a way that works for them.
There are of course other considerations that worry us as parents when we consider the question of whether or not to raise pagan children. I know that in some areas a pagan would be distinctly unwelcome. As parents we ask whether we want to set our children up for a life of misunderstanding or even outright hostility. I am fortunate that for me and my children this is not going to be a huge issue or the deciding factor on my children's spiritual upbringing. I will be completely honest with you. If I lived in a very Christian fundamentalist area then I would probably not overtly raise my children with my pagan spirituality because I would be afraid of the difficulties it might bring them. I am massively grateful that this isn't a consideration for my family but I'm very aware that other pagans are not so lucky.
So while I started off firmly against raising little pagans I find that more and more my views are starting to mellow and mutate. The issue is not so clear cut as it might initially seem.
I have been thinking about this an awful lot of late because my eldest has started showing moments of spiritual interest. My very first thought was that under no circumstance did I want to give my children a religion; whatever religion that might be. I have always hated the way that many religions say that they give children the choice to join their religions but the children always have to make this choice at what I have always thought to be an inappropriately young age to be making such decisions.
But having friends that have grown up in religious communities I have seen first hand how those bonds of faith have helped them in their lives; have seen their faith guide them to be better people than they would have been without it. In short, although I have been uncomfortable with how early in their lives my friends were asked to make these spiritual decisions, I have seen how much it has benefited their lives as a whole.
But in my mind this 'big question' remained and so I began to read as many opinions as I could lay my hands on. It seems to me that most pagan parents initially had the very same thought that I had myself - that they would not raise their children in their pagan religion. But then I read a handful of opinions that had moved past this knee-jerk response to think about the bigger picture. The question of what happens if you give your children no spiritual guidance from fear of swaying their choice? This point of view really got me to thinking. Our western culture at large seems to be really losing the plot. Is this because we have lost the spiritual, the sacred? Well, erm, yes. Most pagans would agree with that and agree that we need to reconnect with the Earth and with spirit to heal our fractured societies and the Earth itself. Would we have so much willful neglect of the planet and her resources, so much violent crime, so much bigotry if we raised our children in spiritual conditions? It's a fairly big question I know, but I suspect that the answer is 'probably not'.
Another point that I saw raised in all of my reading was that if you don't give your child a spiritual foundation, a spiritual spring board as it were, how are they then as adults going to be able to make wise decisions about their own spirituality,be it paganism or not? This is another question that I don't have an answer to yet, but it strikes me as a very valid point. I am finding that at the age of 6 (though of a developmental age of maybe 4-5) my son has started enquiring about this aspect of my life, and it seems that he finds it as natural as eating or drinking.
The thing about being a pagan is that there is so much choice in how to follow your path. I am starting to wonder if raising pagan children really does rob them of a personal choice. To give them a sense of awe, a sense of the sacred, a foundation of tolerance and reverence and equality can be no bad thing. When there are so many Gods and Goddesses, traditions and techniques out there that all full under the broad pagan umbrella, I start to wonder how a pagan upbringing can be restrictive. You can be a pagan Jew can you not? Or a pagan Quaker? Even a pagan Buddhist? I know that there are people who happily merge these paths in a way that works for them.
There are of course other considerations that worry us as parents when we consider the question of whether or not to raise pagan children. I know that in some areas a pagan would be distinctly unwelcome. As parents we ask whether we want to set our children up for a life of misunderstanding or even outright hostility. I am fortunate that for me and my children this is not going to be a huge issue or the deciding factor on my children's spiritual upbringing. I will be completely honest with you. If I lived in a very Christian fundamentalist area then I would probably not overtly raise my children with my pagan spirituality because I would be afraid of the difficulties it might bring them. I am massively grateful that this isn't a consideration for my family but I'm very aware that other pagans are not so lucky.
So while I started off firmly against raising little pagans I find that more and more my views are starting to mellow and mutate. The issue is not so clear cut as it might initially seem.
Thursday, 16 September 2010
The Tree of Thanks
This is something I found in a book on family crafts at my local library - unfortunately I can't remember then name of the book any more. It is particularly seasonal for Mabon as not only is Mabon about thanksgiving for the harvest, it was also sometimes a time to honour tree spirits.
Find, (or ask a tree nicely for) a branch that you can bring inside the house. A good place to site it is in the entrance hall if you have one, or in the family living room - somewhere that eveybody passes by. Beside the branch place a bowl and make (get the kiddies to help too!) yourself a pile of autumn coloured leaves to put inside the bowl.
As each family member and any friends and extended family that come to visit pass by they can take a leaf, write on it the things that they are thankful for and place it on the branch that you have brought inside. You could use sticky tack for this, or if you have time you could hole-punch each of the leaves and thread it through with ribbon or string so that people can hang their leaves on the tree.
The more the merrier! If your family is of mixed religions this is a nice little family ritual that can appeal to everyone.
Find, (or ask a tree nicely for) a branch that you can bring inside the house. A good place to site it is in the entrance hall if you have one, or in the family living room - somewhere that eveybody passes by. Beside the branch place a bowl and make (get the kiddies to help too!) yourself a pile of autumn coloured leaves to put inside the bowl.
As each family member and any friends and extended family that come to visit pass by they can take a leaf, write on it the things that they are thankful for and place it on the branch that you have brought inside. You could use sticky tack for this, or if you have time you could hole-punch each of the leaves and thread it through with ribbon or string so that people can hang their leaves on the tree.
The more the merrier! If your family is of mixed religions this is a nice little family ritual that can appeal to everyone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)