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.

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.