Being a Conscious Consumer- Herbs, Resin, and Oil

There have been a few posts going around lately about the effect new age religions have had on wild sage numbers and that irresponsible consumption of these goods can have a very real impact on the environment. Here are a few easy changes you can make to your own crafting to improve your footprint. This post is long and uses a lot of scientific plant names, so if you want a short and condensed version of this post then check out my tumblr post on the same subject.

Herbs/Woods

Sage- Smoke cleansing has become extremely popular among people with a wide range of beliefs, and has seriously impacted the natural growth of white sage, driving it into near extinction in the wild. If you insist on using sage then you might consider growing your own. Many nurseries offer seedlings only in the spring, but this evergreen can grow all year. Seeds can be purchased easily online, or you can stop by a local community garden center to see if they will give you some for free (many will.) If you have a less than green thumb then you can simply switch sage out for a less destructive herb, like lavender or rosemary.

And, as always, unless you are a Native American or are an active participant in Native American rituals, then these are herb bundles or cleansing sticks, not smudge sticks.

Sandalwood- What differentiates sandalwood from other woods is it’s ability to remain fragrant for years long after being harvested. It has a long and complicated history with many species within the family Santalum that produce “true sandalwood.” Some species are so rare that each individual tree is numbered and tracked by their relative governments in Nepal, Pakistan, and India. S. spicatum, harvested and grown in western Australia, is a good alternative to the endangered S. album and S. ellipticum.  

If using true sandalwood doesn’t matter to you then similar woods can be used as substitutes. Camwood and false sandalwood/sandalbox are similar enough to sandalwood in appearance and aroma to be good replacements. Easy replacements for sandalwood are also orris root and thyme. Due to the status of endangerment in various sandalwood species, any sandwalwood you purchase, whether it’s the wood itself of the essential oil, should come with a species name, if not country of origin as well.

Slippery Elm- The bark of this tree has gained popularity for use in digestive teas and in crafting. However, this tree has started to appear on “at-risk” and “special concern” lists for North America due to increased rarity. Instead of buying bark, opt for collected twigs if possible. Or, if you live in the Eastern US and Canada, try locating a few trees you can harvest from yourself (do check local laws about transportation of wood due to endangerment or spreading of wood boring beetles. This is a very serious issue that’s spreading fast across North America so do be careful if transporting wood over long distances.) If you want an easy replacement for your craft, try using cypress or parsley.

Resin

Frankincense- This resin generally comes from four different tree species in the Boswellia family. Due to over-tapping (to collect the sap for resin), deforestation for agriculture, and beetle infestation, Boswellia numbers are slowly dropping. Ten trees from within the Boswellia family are on the Red List of Threatened Species, and it’s important to remember that this resin is used by almost every major faith, including the big three Abrahamic religions. If, like me, your practice and offerings rely on frankincense then the country and species you get yours from is important. B. sacra is currently the least threatened species that still produces quality aromatherapy grade resin, and comes from Oman and Somalia. Any good seller should know exactly where their frankincense is coming from and what quality it is. Instead of frankincense you can also opt for myrrh, whose fragrance is different but their properties are almost the same. Benzoin is another good replacement.

Copal- Real, true copal is the middle stage between sap and highly valued amber from a variety of trees within the legume family. Due to it’s rarity, real copal is expensive and difficult to find. Though there are many varieties of copal trees, copal from Central America comes from trees in the Bursera family, which grow on neotropical land now considered endangered due to agricultural deforestation. While genuine copal is considered a subfossil, new resin from these trees is still sold on the market under the name “copal,” and still puts a strain on the trees as they lose their habitat. Not only that, but copal should look similar to amber, so any copal that doesn’t meet that description can’t be guaranteed to come from a copal producing tree. Price and appearance are usually good indicators of the resin’s authenticity, but I would skip purchasing copal all together. Pine resin makes an easy and cheap replacement.

Dragons Blood- The sources of this resin, trees from the Dracaena family, appears on the Red List of Threatened Species as vulnerable, and the habitat is considered endangered enough that there are current and active conservation efforts in place to keep it safe. D. cinnabari is one of these species, and is often used for dragons blood resin (as it’s other name is the dragons blood tree.) Instead of using resin from D. cinnabari, try using resin from a less risky source tree, like D. draco, whose numbers are abundant and not on protected lands. If you’re unsure or want to skip using dragons blood, try using myrrh: it has a similar appearance and fragrance.

Benzoin/Styrax- Most sources of this resin are totally safe to use. However if you see a resin listed that is collected from the large leaf snowbell in Indiana, or the bigleaf snowbell in Illinois and Ohio then avoid these resins completely: these species are considered endangered or extirpated in those areas. This resin is used in everything from food to plastic, so it’s widely available from non-endangered sources and quite inexpensive.

Instead of burning these resins, you may opt for similar ones from unendangered species, like myrrh or pine resin. Or, if you’re feeling particularly adventurous, you can go out and collect dried sap from wounded trees. This will not produce the buttery aroma of frankincense, the woodiness of dragons blood, or the warmth of copal, but it will make a good substitution in blends and rituals. You can even mix one of the resins listed above with a simple pine resin to stretch out the quantity so you use less and need to purchase it less often. Styrax/Benzoin resin is also a good substitution, as long as the above information is taken into consideration. If you wanted and had the means, you could also use crystallized maple syrup as a resin (shout out to all you kitchen witches.)

For all of the items listed above this information applies to both the herb/resin as well as their respective essential oils. Any respectable seller should have species name listed with the product on their website, and you should be able to choose which species and origin you get yours from. I hope this information was useful, and if you have anything you’d like to see added to this list then please comment and provide a source that I can use for that information. If you find something that says information conflicting what I’ve written here then please also let me know and give a source as well. I’d like to be able to provide useful and correct information so any assistance would be appreciated.

All substitutions were determined by following similar herb/resin properties in Incense, Oils, and Brews by Scott Cunnhingham. If you disagree with the substitutions listed or think of one that’s more appropriate, please comment as well so others can see and use your ideas. Thank you for reading.

The Banshee

When I was a child, my father used to warn me not to go outside at night, or the banshee that sat upon the street light outside our house might see me. When we moved to the country the concern was witches swooping down from the sky to take me away. For years these were legitimate fears of mine, that one day I’d step out at the wrong time, just to be met with the wailing of a banshee or the silhouette of a witch in the sky moments before my death. As time went by I realized that these were just tricks to try and keep me from wandering the streets or woods at night. Still, those images stayed.

Even now, during casual evening strolls, I look up at lamp posts and the sky. Those images were meant to scare me, but now they comfort me.

Much like the witches and banshees, my father read me stories from Edgar Allen Poe in an attempt to frighten me. Instead I learned to love that sense of fear because it made me feel alive. In those moments, the difference between fear and anxiety was real. Fear was legitimate and often the fault of the person who felt it. Fear was someone doing something wrong and being punished for it by a vengeful spirit, or banshee, or God himself. For both my father and me, fear was what made us Christians. We were good, God fearing people who were afraid that someone was always there, always watching. It wore away at me till there were days I was afraid to bathe because I though God might see me as impure for having removed my clothing.

Coming to terms with that fear took me years. I wondered if everyone heard the scream of a banshee before their death, if everyone felt the burn of God’s words as he cast his final judgement upon them. I feared for the souls of everyone around me, and I feared for my own.

It was that fear, the fear of God, the fear that rules the lives of Catholics, that drove me away. Somehow it felt more real to fear a banshee, for she is just doing what she does. A banshee cannot help her nature. But God can. God. The all-knowing all-powerful singularity that ruled my life, could do anything he wanted. So, why did I need to fear him? I couldn’t accept that the one individual, other than myself, who had control over my life was someone I needed to fear.

Maybe I projected my growing fear of my father onto God? Maybe it was the other way around. In the end, however, my feelings towards both God and my father were the same- I cannot allow myself to be at the mercy of a man whom I fear. So I removed myself from both of them.

I feel the same way I did back then; I shouldn’t fear the people or spirits whom I allow to rule my life. If anyone tries to use fear to control me then I pity them, because how sad it must be to rely only on the fear of others. How pathetic one must be to use fear to manipulate the people around them.

So now, I do not fear the banshee that waits for my dying moment. Instead I will take comfort in her, for she is doing what she is meant to do. Neither will I dread the witch who circles the full moon, because instead of fearing her, I became her.

The downside of godphone

There are days when I feel like I’m suffocating, being crushed under the responsibilities laid down upon me by the deities I worship. Rhea presses me forward, urging me to love and care for a young trans* teen who both she and I have become very fond of. Pan pulls me outside, calling for me to run through the trees under the light of the moon and stars. Then there is Re, my great Lord Father. He’s the only omnipresent force I’ve felt for every moment I’ve been alive, and it’s both a blessing and a misfortune for me that my godphone is strongest with Him.

The hardest part of daily devotionals is that I rarely have the Energy to do them. Refilling the water bowl at my altar is easy enough, but actually sitting down and doing a ritual is hard enough. With Re I have a pretty strong godphone, and where my end is always open, His is almost always closed. Keeping an open godphone is draining, especially when I’m the kind of person who maintains specific and hard barriers. But, it’s not an option. I can’t even imagine how He would react were He to, one day, try and speak to me, only to find that I wasn’t open to His voice.

It’s not a two-way street like it is with Rhea and Pan. I can speak to both of them and they each answer in their own little ways, through warm breezes and flickering candles on most days. With my Lord Father Re, however, it’s silence. He’s only spoken to me a handful of times, and the first time He spoke His voice was so strong it literally knocked me unconscious for hours, though that was an act of desperation on His part.

While I can understand that some people are “envious” of those of us with a “godphone,” I wish there were more people who understood that it’s not always easy. Some of us don’t like being open for contact, and for some of us it is extremely taxing to maintain those open lines.

Living with Death

When I was three years old my Uncle Jack introduced a new girlfriend of his to the family. Because of my age I was never around to see the way she treated my family, or the way they treated her. She was prone to outbursts that ended with her or someone else injured, and more often than not, resulted in the destruction of my Grandmother’s belongings.  This was before I learned to fear people, and I was very fond of her. I remember there was this green satin shirt she wore often, and I loved it. My anxiety disorder started when I was very small, and as a coping mechanism I rubbed soft things on my mouth and sucked my thumb (I’m sure there’s some subconscious maternal comfort in there somewhere.) I’d walk around, stuck to her hip, with her shirt and my thumb buried between my lips. She never complained, never pushed me away, even though her visits always ended with a damp spot from where the fabric touched my mouth. One day she came over and there was something different about her. Suddenly her disposition changed. At that point I was living with my grandmother, and she came to visit along with my Uncle, wearing that glorious satin shirt. Most of the day was spent with me clinging to her before she brought me to the bathroom and told me to wait outside while she stepped in. When she came out she was wearing a different blouse. The green shirt was in her hand, and once she turned off the light she knelt and gave me the shirt, saying that I liked it more than she did. It was the first meaningful gift I’d ever been given, one that was sentimental and from someone whom I wasn’t related to.

Three days later she died from a brain tumor, and my father threw the shirt away.

My family never sugar-coated life for me. My pets never went to farms and my parents weren’t always going to be there. The man I saw get struck by lightning wasn’t going to get up again. One day, I was going to die. I’m sure someone out there thinks this is a little strange, or a little harsh, but it was a lesson I needed to learn early, because from that moment on, a year where I only went to one funeral was a very good year.

When talking to my friends about this it’s strange to know that this isn’t normal for people. When I meet someone who says they’ve never been to a funeral or never lost a family member I can hardly grasp what that means. I can’t imagine a life where death isn’t right there, breathing down my neck. How is it to see death as some foreign, distant thing? Perhaps my closeness to death is why I don’t fear it? Sure, the way I embrace death often blurs the line between a desire to live and a desire to die, but I see that as more realistic than thinking that it will never come.

There are times when I am suddenly conscious of how serious death is to some people. When my friend Shane passed away my father didn’t let me go to his funeral because we’d lost 9 family members that year. One of the priests at our family church actually denied my father the right to be a pall bearer for a few funerals because he was concerned for my father’s mental health. When someone stops and says “no, there’s too much death around here, I can’t let you do this,” it’s very jarring, especially as someone who sees death as completely natural.

I think it’s because of the way I was raised, knowing and feeling the inevitable at every step, that death isn’t a part of my spiritual and religious life. Sure I want to have this life settled down before I die, but it’s not a huge fear of mine to stop before my life is complete. If anything I look forward to death, again not necessarily in a suicidal manner, but in an adventurous way. I want to find out what lives lie ahead of me. Will I return to Egypt, or will the pattern of rebirth continue the way it has? What people will I meet? What will I be good at or bad at? Will I remember this life, and if I do, will I have compassion for the person I am now? These thoughts don’t scare me, they intrigue me. Yes, there are times I pray for a good life after this one. I beg and plead to feel the sands of the desert between my toes, but I am not afraid of how I get there.

My Relationships with Animals: A Blessing and a Curse

I’ve always been an animal person. I prefer the company of cats to people, and a day at a good zoo is heaven. This love and admiration stems from being raised with animals, including multiple cats, dogs, and rodents. One of the strangest experiences I ever had with a pet, however, was with a friend’s cat.

My friend had two adult female cats who were pregnant together, gave birth to large litters together and, apparently, abandoned their kittens. It wasn’t until I visited three weeks later that we learned they were wrong. I was standing in their garage as my friend was inside getting us some drinks when one of her cats walked out from under the house and into the garage carrying a tiny orange kitten in her mouth. Without any hesitation she brought the kitten over to me and set it at my feet. Thus a very long night started, as I slowly made my way into their house the mother cat continued to bring me her brood. Eventually, the other cat joined in, bringing out her large litter as well. In the end I was laying on my friends floor, surrounded by almost 15 kittens and two cats. They wouldn’t let their owners near the kittens, so I had to check them all to make sure they were all relatively healthy before we went to bed. I remember the first kitten so vividly, and how the mother looked at me with a very matter-of-fact gaze, like she was irritated that it had taken me so long to visit.

Then there was the butterfly. About a decade ago my brothers found an injured monarch butterfly by the street, so they brought him to me to see if I could help him. I tended to him, fed him, and helped him get the use back of his wings, and within a week he was able to fly around with no difficulty, but this was where things got strange. 

More than once I tried to release him, and each time he’d go explore before coming right back to me. Once, out of curiosity, I let him sit in my hair when I went to the grocery store, which was a two mile bike ride from my house. He stayed, much to the awe of the people at the shop, and when I got back home over an hour later he was still there, happily flapping his wings and playing with my hair. I want to say I felt enchanted, but who wouldn’t feel enchanted if a butterfly did this to them?

When I came home from school one day my mother told me that my cat broke into my bedroom and killed the butterfly. I was devastated, but when I got to my room my cat was sitting right in the doorway to my room, staring at me with a look of supreme disapproval. He’d left the butterfly sitting right in the middle of my room, completely unscathed, like he was just resting. When I went to bury him I had the sudden, overpowering desire to make sure he was dead, and the force behind it told me to cut his head off, so I did. 

Do I count these experiences as spiritual or religious in nature? Yes, I do. It’s difficult not to, when cats are so important to the kemetic pantheon, and butterflies are creatures of flight, an ability for which I would trade in my arms to have.

I’ve struggled with putting these experiences into words because there was so much emotional and spiritual buzzing in my head, that I felt like I was floating when around these animals. It doesn’t help that I’m really good at reading body language, especially in cats. The last time I saw my mother’s cat Pharoah he was resting on a pillow on the floor, and for some reason it struck me as really out of character for him. I coddled him before I left for the week, and could feel death on him. A few days later my mother called me and told me he had a blood clot in his heart and needed to be put down. I regretted not voicing my concern over him, so now when I think something is wrong with one of my cats I do something, even if it’s something as small as letting a gassy cat with an upset stomach sleep under the covers with me.

My Sacred Spaces, Death, and Personal Change

The first sacred space I ever created was the back porch of the house I grew up in. From there I could see everything, from my neighbor’s cherry tree, to the swing-set in my friend’s yard two blocks off. I’d stand there in the summer and watch the thunderstorms that swept through upstate New York, the blizzards in the winter, and the changing leaves in the fall. I was Christian then, and when I stood there, watching the world around me change, I felt close to God. It was different from being in church, where I felt I was being told how to love God. For me, loving God was loving everything, from destruction to creation.

My next two were the roof of our lean-to and a tree that was about an acre into our land. We’d moved so my Father could raise us in the country, to be closer to God and Mother nature, which didn’t make any sense to me, but I adapted and found new ways to pray and appreciate the world. Here, in the countryside, I could see the stars, so once I was big enough to get on the roof I’d lie up there for hours and just stare at the sky. Eventually my Father realized what I was doing, and he’d join me, telling me stories about the constellations. I didn’t mind sharing that space with him, because it helped deepen my relationship with both him and the divine. The tree was a project my brothers, my good friend Shane, and I worked to build. We’d fastened a permanent tent, by connecting two different trees together with a length of living wood, so that all we needed to do was cover that with a tarp and we’d have a tent in the woods all to ourselves. When I was alone I’d stand on that length of wood, lean against the taller of the two trees, and bask in nature, in God.

When Shane died suddenly a lot changed for me. I no longer saw God in the thunderstorms, the stars, or the warm light that broke through to illuminate the Tree. It wasn’t until Ra pulled me to my feet, dusted me off, and pushed me forward for the second time that I started to understand, and started to see again. The stars stopped being God, but became Gods, Demi-Gods, powerful spirits both young and old. Wherever I sat to watch the rising sun became a Sacred Space. Wherever I stood to watch thunderstorms became Sacred once more. I built my first altar.

I had to adapt again when I moved to Massachusetts. Here I was given the chance to start fresh, to find my own spaces with no one else there to judge me. My spaces became the hill at the top of a cemetery where I could watch the sunset, the bit of wood between my apartment and the main road, the open window in our kitchen. When I moved to my current apartment, however, a lot more changed.

With my new Fiancee’s support I built my second altar, poured my soul into it, but it wasn’t enough. I needed that connection with nature, for Ra, and my two new deities, Pan and Rhea, so I went searching for the perfect place. It became a natural park near by, close enough to walk to but far enough away that I can’t reach it without planning my day around it (which is pretty easy in northwestern Mass.) When I’m there I can hear Pan’s pipes in the breeze, I can feel Rhea’s comfort in the dirt between my toes, and I can see Ra’s warmth and light in the shimmer of the marble that lines the cliff-side. In many ways, I don’t need my altar, not really, not when the world around me is so ripe with the support I need to keep going.

Why “Pagan?”

One of the great things about Paganism is that if you identify as Pagan, then you are, and if you don’t, then you aren’t, and this can frustrate as many people as it liberates. So, when faced with umbrella terms like “Pagan” or “trans” or “intelligence” there is just as much confusion as there is acceptance.

Let me show you this idea with a simple example: Intelligence. We all have our own basic ideas of what intelligence is, and I can guarantee that everyone has a definition that is slightly different. Some people take on the “intelligence is not repeating the same action while expecting a different result,” while others get specific with “intelligence is being able to use mathematics effectively and efficiently to understand the universe” or “intelligence is knowing that when you’re speaking about people you use who/whom, not that.” No one here is wrong, but by our understandings of intelligence we can quickly alienate others who, though they may also value intelligence, may not see it in the same way that you do. Similarly, there are a lot of Pagans who follow the Wiccan Rede, and consider it a pillar of their faith, but there are just as many (and probably more) Pagans who do not follow the Wiccan Rede because they are not Wiccan. The problem arises when Pagans who are Wiccan argue with Pagans who are not Wiccan over the value of the Wiccan rede. The trouble comes when people don’t realize that it is possible for two people who agree on one thing, might have completely different views about that one thing. When you understand that, when you see people as complex and interesting, it’s easier to navigate in the world around us.

Look at the way many Americans view Muslims. To many Americans, a Muslim is automatically a terrorist (even though less than 0.003% of Muslims are terrorists.) Equally, there are a lot of Pagans who consider Christians to be the enemy. Both sets of people forget that there are Muslim Americans and there are Christian Pagans. To quote John Green quoting someone else, “the truth resists simplicity.” When you try to make terms that, by their very nature are umbrella terms, into specifically defined words, then you alienate yourself and those around you.

Now, I’ve grown a lot since I first joined the tumblr Pagans and Polytheists. However, for the first few months, I kept my mouth shut, because I knew I had a lot to learn. I had to learn to accept both Satanists and Christians as Pagans when they identified as such. I had to learn that certain practices I considered available were not, and that by using those practices I was perpetuating stereotypes and the rape of cultures. In order to learn these things, though, I had to remember that nothing is simple. Nothing is easy. Nothing will fit into the tiny little boxes we try to put ideas and people into, especially when those people are ourselves. It’s why some of us end up using long-winded terms to identify ourselves. Saying I’m Pagan implies nothing about my practice, my Gods, or my beliefs. It implies that I might practice witchcraft or that I might believe in a deity or deities, but that’s it. Nothing is concrete. Just like you might meet someone who identifies as Trans* but, from where you’re standing there may be nothing Trans about them. It doesn’t invalidate their transness and it doesn’t invalidate your view of gender expression, but you need to know that if they identify as such then you have to respect it. I respect Wiccans, but I’m not Wiccan, even though we both operate under the term Pagan. Again, the issue arises when Wiccans quote the Wiccan Rede at non-Wiccans as though it applies to them, and those non-Wiccans try to invalidate the Rede all-together (replace Wiccans with Christians and the Rede with the Bible and you Wiccans will understand our frustration.) You can, also, have someone who practices the stereotypical Pagan things, like they practice witchcraft and believe in multiple Gods, but they don’t identify as Pagan for religious, cultural, or ethical reasons. (Those ethical reasons being the rampant racism, cissexism, cultural  appropriation, animal abuse, etc. that blemishes the term “Pagan.”)

I feel like, for the most part, the term Pagan has become a word meant to unite those of us who take on a non-“traditionally modern” path of religion, yet it has also become a way of abandoning and othering people. It’s this “I am Pagan and you are not” mentality that disrupts what I think it means to be Pagan. For the most part, a lot of us identify outside the religious norm, and that is what makes us Pagan. Not the witchcraft, the Rede, the Gods or the altar or the divination, but us.

It’s in the Music

An elderly Japanese man sits before an audience of eager Americans, answering a series of questions about him and the music he writes. The audience, ranging from small children to older adults, hangs on his every word. Someone asks him what it means to him to have an audience in America who feels emotion through his music alone. He answers, saying that music is universal, and that he is continually astonished by how powerful of a response there his to his compositions here in America. That even though he doesn’t speak English and even though we don’t speak Japanese, he is able to convey feelings through music that we are able to quickly and easily translate. Later, after the session is over, he gives a small but powerful speech about how our generation, through art, is bridging the gap between Japan and America, and that he is grateful that his music has played a part in this. He then leaves the stage.

Even now it’s hard to believe that it was me who asked my favorite composer, Nobuo Uematsu, the question that confirmed my view of music, and gave me a way to explain how I feel about music as a whole.

From a religious standpoint, this is a very powerful notion. Music can transport us, change us, and it can alter our perceptions of ourselves and the people around us. It influences us on a very profound level that can be measured through both religion and science. Music is a basic form of communication, from the war beats of a drum, to the seductive hum of a harp, to the cowboy’s lament on a harmonica. It only seems natural that music, and associated actions like dancing and singing, can and should be used for religious purposes. Part of the hard part, however, is finding the right music.

A lot of what you get out of this depends on the purpose you are seeking. Whether you’re looking to Travel, to connect with your spirits or Gods, or you’re just trying to reach a higher plane of existence depends on the types of music you listen to. Words can sometimes be distracting if you’re trying to reach a certain state, or they can be the force that draws you closer to your goal. This all comes down to personal taste, and sometimes the taste in music that your deities have.

Music was what drew me to Pan. I’ve always loved and adored him, but the Hymn to Pan had a profound effect on me and our entire relationship from the very first time I heard it. From that moment I knew I’d never be able to escape him.

If music has the power to bring us closer to our Gods, and closer to ourselves, then why is it not widely celebrated within most pagan and polytheistic circles? I rarely see posts about it on tumblr, and when they do pop up it’s about how fantastic and useful music is for the participant.

From the posts I’ve seen, partially, you run the risk of appropriating and bastardizing another culture’s music and dance if you’re not careful with the way you use it, so be smart and respectful.

Another risk, is that you will expose yourself to not only other people, spirits, and Gods, but also yourself. Just the instrumental from Stravinski’s Rite of Spring scares me to the very core of who I am, and it brings me to emotional places I never want to be. This is probably how Pan and I found each other as well, from my guard being down as I listened to the Hymn to Pan.

Because of the way I react to foreign languages, I tend to listen to a lot of Pagan Folk Metal, especially from bands who sing in multiple languages. My favorite (for ritual purposes) is Faun, but Arkona and Blind Guardian also bring forth emotions and memories that I forget about. Also I just love the way they sound. (I’ll say now, I don’t use Arkona for religious expression because I don’t relate my practice to anything that resonates within their music.)

So, what songs do you guys use for religious and spiritual reasons?  Are they religious by nature, or do they serve that purpose uniquely for you? What musical artists do you like? Is there a specific genre you tend to turn to? What music do you like for non-religious purposes?

Finding Motivation, or the Lack of It

It has to be said now: this is a thing I really struggle with. I loathe contentment yet it’s what I like best about my current lifestyle. I’m content to just sit around as the dishes and laundry piles up, to skip my daily rituals and offerings. Even though I know it would improve the quality of my life to do these things, I just can’t find it in me to get up and do them.

On one hand I know that my depression causes a lot of this; it makes me not want to do anything, even the things I like to do. I even told myself to do one post on this blog a day and yet, here I am, already having skipped two full days, even though I genuinely enjoy writing these posts. On the other hand I feel like I’m just using my depression as an excuse to be a bad witch and a useless fiancee.

I know I’m not alone. I know there are others who want to start doing daily rituals, who want to follow the path they believe they should be on, yet this THING that can’t even be called laziness is stopping them. Then we end up feeling guilty and thinking “well, I skipped yesterday’s offering, there’s really no point in doing it today.” or “I worked out every day last week, I can skip today,” and then we end up back in the same damn rut.

In an ideal world the fact that we have religious responsibilities should be motivation enough to complete whatever we’re trying to achieve, but it often isn’t. When you’re unmotivated there’s a lot that feels impossible, whether it’s flossing your teeth at night or keeping your altar clean. It’s tough when religion is a part of your life, but your life somehow can’t make room for religion.

After thinking all day about this, here is what I’ve come up with.

1. Set reasonable goals. Don’t expect yourself to be able to complete everything you want in the beginning. Don’t tell yourself that you’re going to clean your entire house, top to bottom if you know it’s not really possible for you.
2. Make Lists. Lists are wonderful. That way you can write down basic things and cross them off as you complete them so you know you’re actually getting stuff done. You’d be surprised how satisfying it is to see a list of things that are crossed off.
3. Don’t stress. If you don’t have the time to complete something, then don’t freak out and punish yourself. Just do what you can and move on. This can really backfire and lead you to not even trying.

This is by no means a complete post, so if you have any input then definitely leave some in comments because I’m curious about what other people think.

To Recon or not to Recon?

It’s 1612 London. You’re at the Globe, watching a performance of Cardenio, and while you nay not enjoy the smell, you still enjoy the show along with everyone else crammed into the floor of the Globe. It’s now 1613 London. You are standing before the burnt remains of the Globe Theatre, alongside many others. You know that the Globe will be rebuilt, and no one was injured, so life moves on. The following year the Globe is rebuilt, but only stands for another 30 years before the Puritans of London tear it down once more. Then, jump to 1997 London. The Globe has been rebuilt after many years of research, and historians, Anglophiles, literature nuts, actors, performers, musicians, artists, everyone from top to bottom wants to go see “Shakespeare’s Globe.” There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that this is a recreation, a guess at what the Globe used to look like based off hard data, written accounts, sketches, and anything else that gave a glimpse into what the Globe used to look like. You, a person who has seen both the Globe and Globe 2.0, come to see Shakespeare’s Globe. You see the places where they were wrong but made a good guess. You see things that are so accurate it brings you back to the days of the Globe’s original glory. You see the people who were never able to experience the Globe firsthand, and they are now able to see plays, go on informational tours, and see some of the original signs and props that survived. You see how excited they are to be visiting Shakespeare’s Globe, and you’re both excited and happy for them and for yourself.

In a way, that is what us recons (reconstructionists) do. We’ll never be able to visit Ancient Greece, Rome, Egypt, Scandinavia, or anywhere else our deities come from. We may never be able to smell the real Kyphi that burned in Egyptian temples or drink the wine at Bacchus festivals, but here and now we are able to find ways to make it work for us. We don’t have any illusions that what we are doing isn’t exact to the way things were, but sometimes we find ways to get around our modern shackles. And, for many of us, it’s better to try than to not give any effort at all. Yes, it takes loads of research and hours spent trying to figure out what translation to use, but that’s part of the pleasure. If you don’t care about literature or Shakespeare then you might not understand why people are so eager to visit the new Globe, but that doesn’t mean that the people who want to see it are wrong, it just means they have a different set of values. Alternatively, just because you may think that the Globe is one of the greatest recreations to ever grace the planet doesn’t mean you have a right to say that the people who don’t care are uneducated, stupid, or bad people. Then, there are some people who are stuck in the middle. They think it’s interesting and cool, but just wish that they could visit the “real” Globe, so they go visit the Rose theatre instead (I see this as people who take the information that is currently available in the culture that relate or have roots to the original practices and integrate them partially into their practice.)

The interesting thing about the whole “to recon or not to recon” question is that it’s completely down to the individual. Are you willing to take the time to not only do the research and struggle through interpreting modern information about the past, but are you willing to try and perform some of these practices yourself? Do you want to try bits and pieces of it first before doing all the needed research? Are you not interested at all in trying to recreate things, but like to know the way it was? All of this should be okay and acceptable, so why do we argue about it? Why do some recons get hate for trying to build their own Globe, and why do some recons get mad at the people who don’t care about trying to build a new Globe? Both people on both sides make the individual who is trying their hand at reconstructing the past in a modern setting feel like failure is imminent when it isn’t.

So, to recon or not to recon? It’s up to you.