Archive | December 7, 2012

Bonus Who


Where there is magic…

It’s easy to be a Christian if you have no imagination and no creativity. Most church services don’t demand anything of you other than stand up for a few hymns and the rest of the time you can sit like a lump and not even engage if you don’t want to do it. Pagans don’t have that option. If you go to a pagan circle of almost any kind something will be demanded of you. You must engage. You must as we say, “BE HERE NOW!”

In the twenty years or so from birth to when I left the church I was only truly engaged during 2 services in the church calendar, they were the only two magical occasions, Christmas Eve and Good Friday. Not even Easter is as magical as Good Friday. Easter is just mostly loud and long.

But almost every pagan circle has engagement even when they colossally flop they have some magic, some time when they are between the worlds. Sometimes when we are taken out of ourselves and our mundane lives. The times when we are no longer Muggles but magical.

The only reason I stayed as long as I did was music. Music makes magic when you sing with others especially in a well trained choir. Then you do leave yourself behind and join with the rest of the singers in a magical space but in the end it was never enough. Church never felt as holy a place as a forest or a lake or any other natural place that holds its own magic just by existing. If you have any imagination at all the wild will call you and make a place for you. Trees know your name. The wild things know you are kin to them. When you can look in a stag’s eyes you are looking at your wild self and joining with every other wild thing that runs, walks or crawls upon the Mother. And you know the Mother is more than just a saying.

Robert Burns said, :

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer –

A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;

My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North
The birth place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover’d with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forrests and wild-hanging woods;
Farwell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;
My heart’s in the Highlands, whereever I go.

He knew. Any pagan knows that it’s not Highlands of Scotland necessarily but the wild places that call, entice and beguile a pagan’s heart. That is some place between four walls cannot contain those of us with wild hearts. Some are called by the forests. Some are called by rivers and oceans. Some hear the deserts call in their blood and if we are listening we follow.

This Solstice night the cold night, even in the middle of the city, will call me out under the trees in the yard. To look up to the stars. To see that which is bigger than my small self and join on the shortest night of the year with others looking up at the stars and awaiting the Sun’s return. I’ll go back inside and light my candle against the bigger darkness and listen to the world hush and breathe and feel the magic of being.