Racial & Cultural Boundaries

On the surface, I appear to be a late teens to mid twenties, black female. In reality, I am a multi-cultural female knocking on the door of 30.

The fact remains, though, that I was raised black. What that means, in my particular experience, is that I wore black girl hair styles. My family was stereotypically black (hair, mannerisms, music preferences, slang and vocabulary use, etc.).

But from a young age, I didn’t identify with the “typical” traits of “blackness”. I didn’t reject anyone that did. But I didn’t.

Beginning with my extended family, I heard from a young age that I was “the least black” of all of them. Or that I was “white-washed”. All I knew at that time was that it meant I didn’t fit in; I was out of place in my family. I spoke clearly and didn’t use much slang. When I did it was words like “dude” and “cool”. I enjoyed reading and had a large vocabulary for my age. I was quiet and polite. Gentle, considerate, and compassionate. I was emotionally sensitive and didn’t take well to ribbing, teasing, or bullying.

I heard it again and consistently when I got to school. White friends would tell me how much more black they were than me because I didn’t know of this or that rapper. Or because I didn’t know anything about gang signs or colors. I came to take pride in being the token black friend in the group. I made jokes before anyone else about the lack of people of color at social gatherings. I wore jeans and screen tees. I read comics. I enjoyed pop music. I excelled in school and had no rhythm when it came to dancing. The only notches I could punch on my “black card” were my inescapable hair texture and my inability to swim.

Somehow these things could quantify how much I belonged – or didn’t belong – to my race.

Only just this year with the current climate of American society and what our present “leadership” represents, I’ve begun to really look at how that’s shaped me. I realized that I had allowed myself to be isolated from my own racial heritage.

I had a moment of crying out. This overwhelming grief overtook me and I felt the need to grieve for everything I had denied myself. I made a conscious decision to embrace those parts of me. I shaved my head to remove the processed and heat treated hair that I had clung to. I listened to music that I realized I had been refusing to listen to in fear of seeming “too black”.

And that’s where it stopped. What else could I do to “be more black”? 

I began looking at my beliefs. The magic I do, the Gods I worship – all of them are, pointedly, not black. While people of Greece and the rest of the Mediterranean are arguably people of color, it wasn’t what I was striving for. I was searching for my blackness and coming up a bit too pale.

I began researching African Deities, Haitian Voodoo and Folk Magick. Nothing pulled me. Nothing drew me in or made to embrace me.

The Greek Gods had called to me from childhood. Years before I ever heard the word Pagan I knew they were real and True. I simply assumed them long gone or otherwise inaccessible.

So why not the Gods of my ancestors?

Fast forward to a few months later when I discover that my maternal grandmother is half white. German from her mother’s blood. Something we don’t currently know from her father’s blood. She’s a quarter Cherokee. Again from her mother’s blood. And from her father, she gets blackness.  My maternal grandfather and my father’s blood seem to carry the rest of my blackness (my father’s blood may hold more secrets).

If magic is genetic, I get it from my mother’s blood. She told me stories of my grandma’s Voodoo when she was growing up. My aunt worked her craft in her own way. And here I am.

So, after all this, I find myself wondering. To what roots is my magic tied? Which of my ancestors calls me to Work?

I’ve accepted, at long last, that I’m black no matter how I speak, think, dance, dress, or wear my hair (though I’m determined to discover how the hell my natural hair actually works).

But I find myself frustrated. I look to the Pagan community for a reflection of myself somewhere and I dont see it. I find the same judgements from the Hoodoo sisters saying I’m disgracing my black blood by worshipping blue eyed Gods. The white women I know shout at me to embrace Osha in place of Persephone and Poseidon, to get to know Her. But does she want to know me? Is the power of my Gods lessened by O/our lack of physical similarity?

And now, I’m being drawn to answer the shamanic call that I keep putting off and I find yet again that it’s not born of African roots. Not even Native American roots like so very many others. It’s those far removed, Northern roots calling to me to pick up and finish the stang I made 3 years ago.

But my skin is dark. My hair is kinky and coarse. By all obvious judgements, I’m black. What place do I have in Northern Tradition Shamanism? And if there is a place for me, am I afforded the right to adapt the tradition to my own path? Or is my place so privileged that to make changes would be disrespectful?

I find myself in a position where I can’t accept the call without more clarification. But not accepting the call has it’s own consequences.

If this is the first dilemma I face in this, I might come to dread the ones that follow.

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Beltane

Beltane is one of those Sabbats that I’ve never really connected with. 

In my earlier days as a Pagan, and as an 18 to 22 year old, I scorned all things relating to fertility for cursing me with a week or more of excruciating pain every month and aside from that and the Sacred Union, I never really understood much about it.

Now as I set out on a journey of solidifying my religion and spiritual practice, I find myself looking toward identifying my own sacred days. It just so happens that the first Sabbat to occur after making this decision is, of course, Beltane.

So I sat down while my daughter napped and did some research on the symbolism, significance, and modern celebration.

What I found is that, for me, Beltane is somewhat of a mid-way observance. I’ve lived in Southern California my entire life and still can’t handle the heat of summer.

Beltane seems to have influence from the contrasting energies of fire and water. Combined, these two make steam, which is exactly what I run out of when the heat picks up.

Beltane symbolizes the increase in the sun’s power leading up to the next equinox. By harnessing this energy, I can use it to fuel my forward momentum to overcome my summer slump and maintain energy to make it through to the cooler weather. During this time, I’ll also be embracing the watery aspects to cleanse and purify myself, my home and my goals.

Recovering from a Spiritual Fall

Since about September I’ve been on a journey that I always seem to find myself on. Like I’ve taken the fork in the road back around to where I just was.

The best way I can describe a Spiritual Fall is when you let Ego, in one way or another, blind you from the direction you had set your intention to go. A lot of times you hear or read about people whose egos became inflated; they get full of themselves or ahead of themselves and find that life has put a pin right where they couldn’t see they needed it.

In my case, my ego has a tendency to deflate before it ever reaches its ideal capacity. Unfortunately for me, this latest deflation happened somewhere along my path to Priestesshood. The fall has been something like falling down a dark, sound proof shaft and every once in a while gurgled voices and static come through.

Recently I visited an old blog that I desperately wish I could somehow merge with this one. I was reminded of my first experiences on my Priestess walk and my invitation into Persephone’s chamber. I reached a level of awareness and appreciation that I didn’t know could be reached.

Recovering from my spiritual fall is proving to be difficult and awakening, as you might expect. Persephone is encouraging me with Her patience but still keeping me on my toes with Her silence.

Poseidon still appears to be contemplating where He would like to fit in in this particular scenario, as He was when it first began. I get the impression that the formality of Priestesshood isn’t something He had considered before Persephone entered O/our life. Though I imagine W/we will find unity in the end.

Currently I feel like I’m making my way back through the paces of my early studies in Paganism. I’m back to Tarot basics and reconnecting with my sacred tools and symbols. I’m thinking heavily on my beliefs and my views of the Gods.

The true challenge of this recovery isn’t so much getting back on track, but learning to stay there and continue moving forward.

Paganbloggers.com

I’ve been fortunate enough to be listed as an author on the new Pagan blog site Paganbloggers.com under the name Millennialwitch. I’ll be working towards posting 3 articles a month of new content.

Sue to the nature of the author agreement, these new materials will be posted there first with a holding time before I can cross post. If I find the time and have the material, I will still post original material here. If not I will cross post when I can.

Paganbloggers.com is a WordPress hosted site, so I hope any of my readers here will migrate there to find more of my articles/entries and those of other pagan writers.

Healing Others

I’ve been practicing Reiki at the master level for a few years now. I’ve only ever found myself in situations where I performed a Reiki session on a consenting adult or on myself.

Now I find myself in a position where I desperately want to soothe my 18 month old daughter and help her to heal herself through this difficult, confusing, uncomfortable, and painful time. And I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.

She’s having some intestinal issues that are, as expected, disrupting the rest of her system. She already has eczema and it’s been alarmingly worse. On top of that, she’s developed thrush and isn’t sleeping well.

My mind tells me that I should do what I do; that I should allow Reiki to help her. But my heart tells me that I should use caution. Ego can sometimes take the form of the qualities we trust and speak on the place of Truth. I don’t want my Ego to tell me this is the right thing would Truth would counsel me otherwise. 

That’s why I don’t trust myself to reach out to my daughter’s True Self and her guides and find out if Reiki is right in this situation. My Mother’s ego is too dominant of a voice right now telling me that all that matters is for her to get better.

As for Truth, I can’t see clearly enough to know what that answer might be.

Every Bit Counts

One of the major aspects of my Work over the years has been self improvement. A lot of the struggles I’ve faced in life have stemmed from a long time of self loathing. Part of repairing that is giving myself the opportunity to build confidence.

Once I got into journaling in travelers notebooks, a great opportunity presented itself by way of art journaling and I’m so pleased and proud to have kept it up for the last couple of months.

I constantly find myself thinking “well, I can’t journal today. I don’t have this or that item that would be perfect”.

Each time I impress myself by responding to those thoughts with “otherness would be perfect if you got your thoughts and feelings on paper. It would be divine if you attempted to be artistic in spite of what you fear you lack”.

I completed my first insert recently and I was so moved when I flipped through and saw 2 and half months of progress. My first attempts at adding watercolors to a page. The first collage I did (and the first one I actually thought looked good).

I treated myself to a leather travelers notebook at Christmas time and will be starting a brand new insert. I’m anxious and excited to dive into a new blank canvas and see what other new things I can try. In the meantime, here’s a flip of my first completed book.

The Lotus Eater

I read the story of the Lotus Eaters many times when I was in junior high and high school. It’s been almost 2 decades since I first read it and I’ve found myself drawn to it again.

I’ve been living with insomnia for a couple of years now. It’s not unusual for me to be awake at 3am, occupying my mind with something or other until sleep finds me. Tonight I watched over my sleeping girl who sometimes fussed in her sleep. I’m not entirely sure why but I felt the need to focus on protection and white light.

It occurred to me, when I called on Reiki to aid me, that the lotus flower grows from the mud. My connection with Persephone focuses quite a bit on this substance of earth and water so, of course, my mind flew away and began researching connections.

Silly me for not realizing that a quick connection would be made.

In Greek mythology, Persephone created the lotus flower of Her own hands for Morpheus. Purple and black petals for the death like sleep and one streaked with red for our dreams.

I’ve stored that symbolism away for when I can focus on tackling my sleep issues. For now, I’m turning to the symbolism for pink and white flowers as they symbolize devotion.

I’ve searched for some time for a symbol for my Goddess and I’m pleased to have found one suitable enough in its beauty and it’s purity for my Palest Flower.