article
John Palmer
My journey to Wicca started as I began to question Christianity. My question was never over the message; there's a lot of good stuff in the teachings of Jesus. My questions were over what Christianity was. "Belief" was required for salvation, I was told, but I knew there was something wrong there, because many people equate "professing" with "believing." I stuck with Christianity for a while anyway because I felt that this mistaken idea was part of Paul's writing, not part of the gospels. Then I discovered that, yes, in fact, the gospels, as currently accepted and translated, do claim that belief and salvation are equivalent. I came to understand that the message of Christianity -- to treat people well, to care about the state of the world and to be more concerned with people than with material possessions -- was infinitely more important than a particular story, such as the story of Jesus. But this created an impenetrable wall between me and the human institution of Christianity. So I left. It was time.
When I walked away from Christianity, I walked into Wicca. Please, don't think this was a rebound relationship; I had long admired Wicca and had nearly made steps in this direction many times before. What made this time different was my absolute, dead-level certainty that too much of modern Christianity was based in words, not in substance. I began to walk the path I was meant for. Maybe it was a path I should have taken earlier, or maybe the universe had kept me from it until I was ready
Nearly ten years ago, someone said to me, "Witch is not synonymous with Wiccan. A Witch is someone who has... well, who has done certain things. Whether a person is or isn't a Witch is a testable thing." Getting that lecture was an important moment for me because until that time, I'd heard just enough about paganism to know that followers of Wicca were called Witches, and now I was being told that it wasn't true by someone with more experience than I. This notion, that "Witch" wasn't like "Christian," that being a Witch meant more than simply assuming a set of beliefs, might have been the most important part of my journey.
I set out to learn more about Wicca. I learned about God and Goddess, the holidays and Full Moons. I worked to appreciate nature and mediate, and I did a bit of image working. Then I was ready to confront the word "magick."
When I was a child, I loved superheroes, and, if the world was fair, I would have been bitten by some radioactive animal or insect or been a mutant, a strange visitor from another planet or whatever. But the world isn't fair, and maybe it's just as well. I'm afraid that if there were superheroes on this world, I'd probably end up like the ones in the movie Mystery Men. For those who've never seen it, it's about a bunch of complete losers who are trying to become superheroes. If you rent the film, be warned: The characters' would-be heroics can be painful to watch for those of us with leftover superhero fantasies. Reality is a harsh mistress.
Delving into magick was scary, like I might be tapping into those childhood fantasies, and trying to make them real. This was made worse because-- and I apologize to any who feel this is directed at them, but I'm sure you have, or will, meet someone who qualifies -- some of my first experiences with people speaking about magick reminded me of people who didn't quite realize that live-action role-playing games were fictional. Could a willingness to believe in magick combined with a few old superhero fantasies turn me into some loser off in a pure-fantasy land? More important, would a belief in magick have me casting spells rather than doing real, honest-to-goodness concrete things that would make a difference?
Thankfully, in addition to being a philosopher, I'm also a pragmatist. I finally found my question: Given everything I know about magick, what would I do differently if I believed wholeheartedly in magick?
The key was this: Magick is mostly in the will.
And will, well, that's kind of like belief. If you truly bend your will to doing something, your actions will change, just as a true change in belief will cause your actions to change. No matter how you implore the Goddess and the earth to bring forth the bounty of your garden, if you don't weed and water the garden, how much of your will have you focused? When given a choice between acting as if magick is real and acting as if it is just a game, I choose to act as if it is real.
I had decided that I would not seek initiation into a tradition. I would be my own person, and, well, if someone chose to look down on me for not being an Officially-Designated-Witch, so be it. I was who I was, and that wouldn't change. I knew I had something to offer.
I decided to undergo my own self-initiation on the day of my birth, September 11. This day, which has had too much death obsession heaped on it, would become the marker for life for me once again. Then the universe decided to show me it had other things for me to do.
My brother Chuck had been battling HIV and Hepatitis C for years, but he'd finally turned the corner and started losing the battle. My brother, ever the outsider, ever the troublesome one, was dying, and I was probably the family member he was closest to. He had maybe two months left. How can I express it? I hated it with a passion. But at the same time...
I have a friend who is a retired Marine, and an honorable warrior. I imagine that if he had to lead a group of men through a mission of war, he would. I think he'd hate having to fight in a war, but at the same time, he knows warfare, and when someone has to fight, he can't help but feel a pull toward wanting to be part of it. It's a terrible thing to have to do, but if someone has to do it, he's willing to be the one. I imagine there's just a bit of excitement there, too.
I felt the same way. I felt ready, and I felt that
there was a job to do, and I felt that I was going to do some good work in this
horrible situation. I flew out to
The Dead (formerly The Grateful Dead) were playing in Camden the next night, and he wanted to go. My family was scared. He was very sick and not in good condition. There were a lot of issues to consider: he was in hospice care, and a medical emergency had to be handled properly, for a variety of reasons. But I realized that we could make it, and I knew it was going to be okay.
If you had told me my first, and one of my mightiest, feats of magick would be transforming a dying man and his brother into two ordinary people going to The Dead concert in Camden, I would have probably laughed. But that night I did exactly that. I kept watch over him. I broke the crowd when we had to walk through it. I made sure he knew I was always aware of what was going on nearby so he didn't have to be afraid. I even made the mad dash out to get the car before the concert let out (beating the crowd by maybe five minutes). But even through all of the things medical necessities dictated, we were just two brothers who loved each other, going to see a band we both enjoyed.
We talked a lot that weekend, about everything. We didn't ignore his condition, but there was a sense that there was something more important to deal with, and that something would be called "living," I suppose.
Because his mind had been failing, I gave him a raven's feather; ravens are creatures of the air, the element of the intellect. I think the ravens called me to this feather so I could give it to him. Earlier I had called on them to be his guide. I took this as their answer.
We talked, and lived and made up, just a little, for a lot of missing brotherhood that we should have had years earlier, and then I flew back home. One week later, my brother was dead, and I had one last feat of magick to perform for him, perhaps the most painful of all. I had to give his eulogy.
My brother was gay, and an addict, and my family's life was tumultuous at the best of times. There was a lot of grief during his life, and I knew I had to break through that for his death.
So I did. I showed the side of Chuck we all knew, and the side that we didn't all know. I talked of the pain, without blame, without guilt, because it's part of all families. I laid my own pain out there, raw and quivering, so they knew we shared a terrible burden. And I laid my own frustrations with him out there, so they knew we both felt that same sorrow over what could have been and what was.
If I had to point to a transition, to a time when I would say "Here I knew that I could never deny that I had seized control of my corner of the universe, that I had bent all my powers and energies to making things better; at this moment in time, I could never deny that I was a Witch," I suppose it would be that final moment, as I finished my eulogy, my voice cracking, with the simple words: "He was my brother. He was beautiful. And I loved him."
I suppose everything else leading up to my ritual was anticlimactic after that.
The circle was cast with the calling of the four cardinal directions. I linked my four spirit guides and four qualities that have been life-defining for me to them as well. For the north, I chose the bear and strength. The east held the raven and vision. The south held the red wolf and compassion. The west held the dolphin and joy.
I chose to start my casting in the north, because the bear was my first spirit guide. I suppose I feel about bear the way one might feel about a first love; things might change some day, but there will always be this special, sweet connection toward the first.
My lover and I purified the circle with fire and air (incense) and earth and water (salt water, from the ocean), and I built a fire in the fire pit, taking my time getting it going so I wouldn't feel rushed.
Because Chuck had asked about visiting me one last time, I placed his picture and the raven's feather I had given him on my trip in the east, and called on the ravens to guide his spirit, if he chose to be there. It was enough, but only because it had to be; I'd have shared this most personal time with him gladly, if only he'd been there.
I cast the circle with an invocation I wrote. Even now, with my new appreciation for magick and the energies we work with, I suppose I had been rather glib in talking about "emotional energy" up until then. But, despite the relatively simplistic ritual, once I started speaking, I was gripped by intense emotional energy that was nearly impossible to describe. It wasn't joy, or anger, or grief, or pain, or anything. It was just energy, and it was flooding all of my emotional pathways.
My lover and I haven't talked too much about it, except she tells me there were more tears running down my face than I remember. But I said later that it seemed that this was a potent demonstration that this emotional intensity was part of me, and could not, and should not, be denied.
After I'd cast the circle, I ran into a crazy problem; my notes on my ritual had been used as tinder for the fire, and I hadn't hand-copied my invocation of the God and Goddess! Nevertheless, after a few moments, I was able to continue.
I went to each of the four corners, introducing myself to the bear, and asking for strength, the raven, and asking for help with vision, the red wolf, and asking for understanding of compassion, and the dolphin, and asking for help finding and spreading joy. I spoke to Kokopelli and Athena in turn, asking for their guidance and friendship.
When I was done, I sat, and tended the fire for a while. After a bit of quiet contemplation, it was getting dark, so we opened the circle, extinguished the fire and cleaned up behind us, and retired to our cottage for post-ritual feasting and celebration.
I have said that if I had to do it over, I might decide to do more, but as I'm writing this, I have my doubts. You see, when I have friends over, we often just hang out, and don't necessarily do anything. We sit, we talk, we bask in each other's company. Well, I had just introduced myself to some new friends, and it seems appropriate for me to sit and hang out and do the spiritual equivalent of a little idle chit-chat. And since this was a personal ritual, why wouldn't it be patterned after my life?
Copyright © 2006 by the article's author