There are things I have wanted to say to you for a long time. I was waiting until I could approach you without anger, without accusation. But poetry is truth and the truth is: I’m angry. And how do I speak of what’s been done, wrongly, without accusation being the underpinning?
I tell of three times that I witnessed your communities claim to speak for the sacred.
Time 1: A cold night, a warm fire. We were told the sacred asked us to brave the cold go into the trees and listen for their voices. I did. After some time my legs felt needles and I struggled to hear the voice of the sacred beyond pain. When I heard the drumbeat that called me back, I saw the young ones, the dancing ones, had remained sitting by the warmth of the fire all along.
Time 2: A dark night in October: clouds, no moon, and the smell of coming rain. The ritual space is down a dark path, with piles of deadfall, and the ritual planners, noticing the needs of an aging community, switch the ritual space to be indoors and are met with fury from the organizers that the sacred is being so insulted. (from ten years ahead, I send this blessing: Thank you, ritual planners)
Time 3: I am being led down a path toward the drumming circle. I have just begun my relationship with the Fae. The kind person leading me is telling me to hurry and no, I can’t turn on my flashlight to see where I’m going because the Fae don’t like the light.
Years gone by now, I don’t come to your communities any more. You ask more of me than I’m able to give in so many ways. But more than that – I’m no longer willing to have you define the sacred in ways that mirror your ableist shit. I have pulled away from the human. In my work now the Fae tell me “We need you among the living for a while longer, sisal. Shine the light if you need to. And if you need to, rest. We will hold the portal. You are always with us in spirit.”
I believe my communities need me too but their actions, their choices tell me they believe otherwise. So for my own sustainability I’ve left you like so many of us have left you because your claims of “inclusivity” don’t include us. And because When you ritualize ableism, you are not my priestess. When you ritualize ableism, you are not my community. You do not speak for the ancestors. You do not speak for the Fae. When you ritualize ableism You mirror who you are. It is not who they are. It is not who they are. It is not who they are.
Ten years ago I made the choice to end a relationship, knowing if I did it would break my heart and if I didn’t I’d lose my sanity. I chose sanity. For years afterward, I dreamed about that relationship. In the first year after I ended it there were times I had to pull my car over to the side of the road because I was hurting too much to drive.
A few months after that ending I was invited to teach a weekend course at a metaphysical bookstore in Chicago. The work I was teaching was related to the work I’d done in the relationship, in partnership, and teaching it on my own for the first time was both painful and freeing. On breaks from the class a handmade rattle on a shelf kept calling to me. There was no reason for me to buy it. It was expensive, and it had nothing to do with my own spiritual path. But something about the rattle reaching out to me said “turn the corner now,” so I bought it, and, not knowing what to do with it, left it to linger on a shelf in my office.
fast forward nine years … to me moving into a house that had a front gate opening from the waking world and a back gate into the other world, and a cobbled path between the two gates that let the energies flow right through. I felt those energies when I first stepped up to the house, and it, too, called me right away as a place where I could easily pass between, daily.
Some months later in a trance in a Reclaiming ritual, it came to me that the energies moving through those gates weren’t just my energies; other energies seeking movement from one side to the other were moving out and through. I realized I felt called to priestex that movement, and help keep the portal open for whoever and whatever needed passage. A few days after that, I noticed the rattle on my shelf and realized my purchase in the metaphysical store ten years before had been about opening the way. It had been about this time, this portal, this work. It had been waiting, as I had.
It is one of the gifts of being a witch that all my peculiar passions do, in time, click into place with each other and I get it. I finally get what the spirits have been trying to show me.
So now, when I go to the gates and open them, sing to them and shake the bones – when I call to those who need portal and passage, and call on those who will help me hold the portal open – when I feel spirits stepping in to move things across the veil and back again, for reasons I don’t even know – I remember what led me here. That relationship, for example. Had I stayed in it, I’d never have gotten to this place, and I like this place very much. I remember buying that rattle in Chicago, and the feeling that something wished me well and wished me comfort, and would reveal its own plans in time, as it has. I remember walking into this house and thinking it was a passage for me from one side of the veil to the other. I remember realizing in that Reclaiming trance that this portal wasn’t just for me.
balance, trust, and love And I know, finally, that I was right in choosing sanity over love, and right to say: yes, I have expectations around my relationships. They have to be balanced, and grounded in trust and love. If, for you, those expectations are too high, that’s a reliable indication that this relationship won’t bring either of us happiness. Balance, trust, and love – those requirements are still true of the few close relationships I engage with on this side of the veil, and the many I engage with on the other.
Sometimes a wild god comes to the table …. And he brings a relationship I never knew I wanted or needed. A way to do my work in the world. An offer, late in my life, for a new mentor and guide. And a gentleness that I did not expect at all. Hail and welcome, wild god. The wildness in you calls to the wildness in me, and both are welcome.
Many thanks to Yarrow for the trance. Information about Reclaiming can be found at https://reclaimingcollective.wordpress.com/.
Acknowledgement to Tom Hirons, author of the poem “Sometimes a Wild God” Sometimes a wild god comes to the table. He is awkward and does not know the ways Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver. His voice makes vinegar from wine. When the wild god arrives at the door, You will probably fear him. He reminds you of something dark That you might have dreamt, Or the secret you do not wish to be shared. He will not ring the doorbell; Instead he scrapes with his fingers Leaving blood on the paintwork, Though primroses grow In circles round his feet. You do not want to let him in. You are very busy. It is late, or early, and besides… You cannot look at him straight Because he makes you want to cry. The dog barks. The wild god smiles, Holds out his hand. The dog licks his wounds And leads him inside. The wild god stands in your kitchen. Ivy is taking over your sideboard; Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades And wrens have begun to sing An old song in the mouth of your kettle. ‘I haven’t much,’ you say And give him the worst of your food. He sits at the table, bleeding. He coughs up foxes. There are otters in his eyes. When your wife calls down, You close the door and Tell her it’s fine. You will not let her see The strange guest at your table. The wild god asks for whiskey And you pour a glass for him, Then a glass for yourself. Three snakes are beginning to nest In your voicebox. You cough. Oh, limitless space. Oh, eternal mystery. Oh, endless cycles of death and birth. Oh, miracle of life. Oh, the wondrous dance of it all. You cough again, Expectorate the snakes and Water down the whiskey, Wondering how you got so old And where your passion went. The wild god reaches into a bag Made of moles and nightingale-skin. He pulls out a two-reeded pipe, Raises an eyebrow And all the birds begin to sing. The fox leaps into your eyes. Otters rush from the darkness. The snakes pour through your body. Your dog howls and upstairs Your wife both exults and weeps at once. The wild god dances with your dog. You dance with the sparrows. A white stag pulls up a stool And bellows hymns to enchantments. A pelican leaps from chair to chair. In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs. Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields. Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs. The hills echo and the grey stones ring With laughter and madness and pain. In the middle of the dance, The house takes off from the ground. Clouds climb through the windows; Lightning pounds its fists on the table. The moon leans in through the window. The wild god points to your side. You are bleeding heavily. You have been bleeding for a long time, Possibly since you were born. There is a bear in the wound. ‘Why did you leave me to die?’ Asks the wild god and you say: ‘I was busy surviving. The shops were all closed; I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’ Listen to them: The fox in your neck and The snakes in your arms and The wren and the sparrow and the deer… The great un-nameable beasts In your liver and your kidneys and your heart… There is a symphony of howling. A cacophony of dissent. The wild god nods his head and You wake on the floor holding a knife, A bottle and a handful of black fur. Your dog is asleep on the table. Your wife is stirring, far above. Your cheeks are wet with tears; Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting. A black bear is sitting by the fire. Sometimes a wild god comes to the table. He is awkward and does not know the ways Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver. His voice makes vinegar from wine And brings the dead to life.
Tom’s book, Sometimes a Wild God, which contains this and many other examples of his work, is available at http://shop.hedgespoken.org/products/sometimes-a-wild-god
Last year I stepped away from community and leadership. The reasons are many – some are of this world and some are of the other. I’ve done community work for so long that I really couldn’t envision who I would be without it. An assignment in a Rites of Passage class asked that I write my life story as a myth, and in doing that I found what sustains me in this new phase of my life and my work.
The Shapeshifter’s Daughter by sisal
Once upon a time, in the land of the living, there was a blacksmith and his wife who had three daughters and a son. The family’s oldest daughter was clever; she could see into people’s hearts and shift her shape to become what they most desired.
But she resented her brother and sisters terribly. Her jealousy took her to dark places, and she became a shaper of shadows. One night her resentment overcame her and she killed her sisters and her brother, and ate them to hide what she’d done. Afterward she threw their bones into the fire of her father’s forge to turn the bones into ash.
The couple mourned, and searched for their children in vain. And the grandmother came to the shapeshifting girl and said, “I know what you’ve done, and there’s no undoing it. But you have pulled the world out of balance with your shadows and your lies, and that balance must be restored. So you will give birth to a child of fire, with a tongue that cannot lie. And mind you – if she dies, your life will be forfeit.”
In time a daughter was born to the shapeshifter, and the grandmother came to tend her, and she named the child El.
Most believe what hides in the shadows is there for a reason, and best left unseen. But El was always shining light into the shadows in spite of her best intentions, and speaking truth to what she found there. “It makes my mother angry,” she told her grandmother, and the old woman nodded.
“It’s who you are,” the grandmother said, “and there’s no help for it. Asking you to hide what you are would be like asking the fire to wear a scarf.”
So El took to wandering to escape her mother’s wrath, for she knew well what her mother was capable of. But she was lonely, until one day as she walked through the woods she found herself joined by three companions – two girls, and a boy.
“Help us, El,” the oldest girl said, “for we cannot rest.”
El knew she should be afraid, but somehow she was not. And she was so lonely, and found herself glad of their company. The three gathered around her, and held out their hands to her as though to warm them. “What is it you need of me?” El asked.
“Remember me,” said the oldest girl.
“Forgive me,” said the boy.
“Love me,” said the youngest girl.
And so El did. After that, the children joined her often, and El did not feel so alone.
One day El angered her mother terribly, and her mother drew her hand back to strike El. But El had grown old enough to know anger herself, and before her mother could strike her, El’s anger flamed and lit up the room, corner to corner. There in one corner were the shadows of her mother’s brother and sisters, and El recognized them as the children in the woods.
Her mother shrieked in fury and El ran, ran into the woods, but she knew she wasn’t fast enough, and she felt her mother’s breath on her neck, cold and musty. Suddenly the ground opened at El’s feet, and without a thought she threw herself into the darkness. She tumbled, but then regained her feet and began running, down and down, until she could no longer feel her mother behind her. Down into the earth she walked for hours or days, until she came to the fields of the dead. Then the three children walked toward her, and as they did, a thousand spirits materialized around them.
“Warm us, El,” said her Aunt.
So El built a fire big enough to chase the shadows away and warm all who came. She set out tea, and cakes that were stamped with the rune of fire. And the dead came and found comfort, and they said: Remember us. Forgive us. Love us.
About two years ago I realized I was losing my enthusiasm for ritual. I’ve been a ritualist for 25 years – I told myself it was probably burnout, both with my work and with struggles within my communities. But what I began noticing was that the Reclaiming rituals I attended felt disconnected from the work the communities were doing, and from the reality of the world around me. In songs that celebrated us and empowered us, and in the energy raising, in particular, I began to feel the rituals were working against the community’s focus on offsetting oppressive structures.
A few weeks ago, I was working with Juniper Lauren and Sayre to brainstorm an offering on ritual arc, and I had a dream in which I kept hearing the words: “Joseph Campbell was wrong.” In the dream, I understood that statement was in reference to the Path of the Hero (POTH), and I was intrigued (very), but it was 1:00 in the morning. I went back to sleep, and the seeds of that statement kept unfolding as I slept, and I kept waking up with more and more of the meaning and the pattern until I finally just got up and started writing it down.
An Overview Let me say at this point – the Hero’s Journey can take many forms, and I don’t believe the traditional Path of the Hero is always necessarily the wrong pattern for ritual. But for rituals working with dismantling oppressive structures versus those rituals that focus on personal growth, I think the traditional Path of the Hero – which, in my experience, is generally the path Reclaiming rituals have followed – works against the intent to “heal the wounds of the earth and her peoples,” as the Reclaiming Principles of Unity (POU) puts it.
When, in ritual, we descend to meet the monster, the POTH challenge is to believe in our power, our strength; while with the work dismantling oppressive structures, our challenge is to be willing to face our own shortcomings and be accountable for them.
I think the dissonance I’ve been experiencing is because the POTH ritual pattern affirms the very structures we’re seeking to dismantle. What we’re putting at the center of the ritual – generally ourselves – doesn’t reflect our values.
If you’re still reading, here’s a breakdown.
The Path of the Hero The Path of the Hero, or Hero’s Journey, is one of departure, fulfillment and return, according to Campbell. Here’s how Campbell describes it, in his interviews with Bill Moyer:
“The first stage in the hero adventure, when he starts off on adventure, is leaving the realm of light, which he controls and knows about. and moving toward the threshold. And it’s at the threshold that the monster of the abyss comes to meet him. And then there are two or three results: one, the hero is cut to pieces and descends into the abyss in fragments, to be resurrected; or he may kill the dragon power, as Siegfried does when he kills the dragon. But then he tastes the dragon blood, that is to say, he has to assimilate that power. And when Siegfried has killed the dragon and tasted the blood, he hears the song of nature; he has transcended his humanity, you know, and reassociated himself with the powers of nature, which are the powers of our life, from which our mind removes us.”
In the pattern, the Hero usually has to overcome the fear that his best will not be enough – the challenge is self-doubt. Once he has faced his fears and defeated the monster, he has “transcended his humanity” and returns to the tribe with the gifts he’s earned. In many myths and stories, he’s celebrated, given the woman of his choice, and becomes King.
Ritual with the Intent to Heal the Wounds of the Earth and her Peoples
In work that, as the POU puts it, intends to work to “heal the wounds of the earth and her peoples” – and that acknowledges our own responsibility for those wounds – I’ve found this ritual pattern sets up a dissonance. For me, there are two places where the traditional Path of the Hero needs to be re-visioned to support work around dismantling patriarchy, white supremacy, harm done to the earth, and other structures of oppression, when there is acknowledgement that those attending the ritual bear some responsibility for that harm.
Once the Hero (and I’m deliberately choosing to use “Hero” rather than “Heroine” here) answers the call to adventure and leaves the known world, he reaches the edge of the abyss – the unknown – and is filled with fear of what lies beneath. In almost every story, if the hero faces the fear and descends, he will conquer the monster; the real fear is generally fear of failure, fear he won’t be enough and will fail; or fear of fear itself.
In the work the communities I’m in are doing to dismantle oppression, that fear is not something to be overcome; it’s useful. It’s often the whole fucking point. The common belief systems we’ve gotten from the overculture have led us to continue to wound the earth and her peoples. In rituals around dismantling oppression, we don’t need confidence in our ability to overcome; we need willingness to face where we have fallen and are falling short, both as individuals and as members of our families, our communities, and our countries.
The second major disconnect occurs for me when the hero returns to his community. In the POTH approach, the hero has now – as Campbell put it – “transcended his humanity”. He has risen above the common human and is now “more than” – a superior being, generally above criticism.
In the work I’m doing with Reclaiming and other communities, the work to dismantle oppression starts with me. It starts with an acknowledgement that I am human. And with that acknowledgement comes the willingness to say – I’ve made mistakes, I’m conditioned by structures of power that mean I continue and will continue to harm the earth and its peoples, and I can’t even see it. It is more appropriate, in this work, for me to return to community, not bringing the gifts of my journey and as one greater than those in the community – but because I need community to do my own work around dismantling oppressive structures of power. Community holds me accountable for my impact. And community lets me know that I’ve erred, I’ll continue to err, and yet I still belong.
In this approach, we become more human – not less. Instead of returning to become a King held above the commoners, I’ve returned less empowered than when I set out on this journey – because the whole purpose of the journey has been to show me that, consciously or unconsciously, I’ve misused power.
The Implications for Ritual How might our rituals change, with this approach? 1. There will be a greater emphasis on community, as a source of accountability, and to reflect back to us what we can’t see. The journey we each take is individual, yes; but it begins and ends in community. (In appreciation for conversations around this that I’ve had with Sayre, that community might be other humans, or might be the eco-system, nature, ancestors, non-human beings such as spirits, or other communities of choice.) 2. The descent does not end with empowerment and ecstatic energy raising. It ends with accountability. That’s a lot heavier, and it doesn’t seem to me an ecstatic energy raising fits the pattern. 3. This is value-centered ritual. This was an approach I first experienced as a member of the Tejas Hecate Camp teaching team in 2017. A question to keep asking is: what have we put at the center – of our lives, our communities, and our rituals? What SHOULD we be putting at the center? Most likely, what we have been putting at the center of our rituals is ourselves. What we should be putting at the center of our rituals should instead reflect – in every way – our values. For example: We might put the earth spirits at the center – while humans are less centered. We might put accountability for the choices of our ancestors and our own choices at the center – while the living humans in the ritual are less centered. 4. In Reclaiming, our rituals call the elements, the guides, the spirits. We welcome them. Then we generally go on about our ritual business – it feels to me like we invite them, often, to witness what we do. What would change if we invited them and, as part of that invitation, said: “We hold ourselves accountable to you, for what we have done and what we will do”? 5. The myths and stories we tell are usually reflective of oppressive structures as well, and they generally feature a hero. A better pattern might be: rather than tell stories of ourselves as superhuman, shut up. Listen. How did Demeter’s choices impact the earth spirits? What do our ancestors tell us about the choices they felt they had to make? What happens when we un-center ourselves as living humans and heroes from myths and stories – and look at the story from another point of view? 6. The final endpiece of the ritual will not be an energy raising to empower our magic. It will be stepping back out into the world to do our work. Reclaiming rituals I’ve attended or facilitated always said taking the work out into the world was important, but I felt, and often heard it said, that it was hard when our rituals felt so removed from the world. For myself – when the point of the ritual is my own values and my accountability, it’s a given that the final work is to step back out into the mundane world with that as my work. Work that begins, not with a magical spell, but with me.
My sense is that this approach – working with the ways the traditional path of the Hero supports what I don’t value, and shifting that pattern to reflect what I do value – is useful, but what it means, how it manifests, and how it should shift is still unfolding for me. I’d welcome the comments and observations of others.
I’d also acknowledge the passage in the quote from Campbell that notes the hero “hears the song of nature; he has transcended his humanity, you know, and reassociated himself with the powers of nature, which are the powers of our life, from which our mind removes us.” I think that observation and other nuances of the Path of the Hero – particularly sacrifice – deserve consideration in how they do, indeed, support rituals and story that are value-centered. My main intent, in writing this blog post, was to say: I can’t attend another camp in which Path works with social justice work and dismantling oppression, and the night’s ritual focuses on empowering the human, gathers us at the center and celebrates us. For that kind of work, another approach to ritual seems essential.
Many thanks to Suzanne McAnna and Irisanya Moon for sharing their time and their insight with me on earlier drafts of this blog post.
