As the sun began its descent behind the western horizon, filling the sky with shades of pink, purple and orange that reflected off the deep waters of Puget Sound, a group of people gathered in a small stone circle. They were holding candles, and some of them were holding on to each other for support. Many of them were openly weeping, while some were too shocked and dazed to react at all. A woman knelt with both of her hands on the center stone, and with tears streaming down her face, cried to the heavens and into the cauldron before her, "Why? Damn it, why?" Another woman gently told her children not to let their candles go out, "because a lot of people got hurt today and we're remembering them." A man stepped forward and spoke of his family's tradition of honor in battle and then called on the Morrigane to deal swift and fierce justice to those who attack the innocent without honor. Another man held out his hands and asked the cauldron of transformation to take away his pain, while yet another standing behind him was silently reliving memories too painful to put into words. A woman stepped up to the cauldron to tell the group how she hoped her child would never have to worry about world war and weapons of mass destruction as she did when she grew up during the Cold War, while yet another stepped forward to plead for peace and an end to the hatred. One by one, those who were able released the horror and pain as best they could.
These people and I, and dozens more, gathered together on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, to hold a candlelight vigil at Fireman's Park in Tacoma to honor those who lost their lives in the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the planes that were used as weapons on that same fateful day. As I observed the energy of the group and the workings, I watched the reactions of each person as others took their turn releasing their fear, anguish and hatred into the cauldron so that it could be transformed before raising and sending healing energy to the victims and their loved ones. Some followed the words of others with "Blessed be" or "So mote it be," some stood silently, too numb to react, while others walked away, unable to deal with the emotions being purged and the calls for justice and, in some cases, military action.
Once the releasing of the negative energy was complete and the cauldron set aflame, we raised healing energy from the earth, gods, elements and nature spirits. Energy began to swirl around the circle, coming in from the sky, sound, earth and some sources that not everyone could identify. As we raised the energy and combined it with that of others in the circle, we could feel it grow in power and intensity. We could feel the cone of power peak, and then we sent it across the continent to wrap the victims and their families in cloaks of golden light. When all was said and done, the group quietly sang, "Goddess Bless America."
I couldn't sing that song. I couldn't identify with a country or political alliance. I could only hear the screams of the victims; I could smell the unmistakable stench of burning flesh, which is never forgotten by a person who's worked with burn victims. I could feel the crushing injuries of those who were still alive. I relived the helpless, defeated feeling of telling victims' families, "I'm sorry, we did everything that we could; the injuries were just too severe." I felt the pain of the survivors who berated themselves for not having done more to help those that didn't make it, and I felt the grief of the families and loved ones who knew that there was no hope. I imagined the sheer terror felt by the victims in the planes in the moments before impact. I also remembered the dreams I had been having weeks before the incident of flying with a spirit guide and seeing hundreds of people fleeing something unknown, yet terrifying. This was not about a country; this was about a crime against life, against the Goddess and all of her children. Life was never going to be the same again.
Pagans in our community felt a strong need to be together to share their grief and take some sort of immediate magickal action in response to an event that up until that morning we had been unable to comprehend. Nothing in our lifetime had prepared us to deal with the events of that morning. The sheer power and magnitude of the event, and what it could potentially mean for this planet, overpowered us all and in many cases left us unable to rationally relate to each other, ourselves and in some cases our deities for a considerable period of time. Those of us who do a lot of work in other realms or are empaths were particularly hard hit. We were being inundated with so much energy, pain and vision that it was difficult for many of us to function at all during the first few days after the attack. Many people felt rage as they have never felt before and were lost as to how to direct it. I distinctly remember hearing one woman say, "I've never truly felt hate before. Today, I learned how to hate." Sadly, as is human nature, many people lashed out at those they loved the most because they just didn't know what else to do. Soon pacifists and peace advocates were arguing with those who follow a warrior path. After a time, since no real "enemy" had been identified, those who shared different philosophies, even though they were beloved friends and family, became the targets of hurt, frustration and rage that needed to be released.
The range of emotions and reactions was overwhelming, and in some cases, surprising. Several people dedicated to warrior deities, including myself, could not bear the thought of bombing innocent children in another country in retaliation, and many people, whom I know to be pacifists, were crying for vengeance. I watched close friends verbally attack each other over their reactions, spoken words and what they thought should be done (or not done) in retaliation for the attack. I was called a "fluffy bunny" for making the statement that we should not succumb to blind hatred and then a "hateful war-monger" over the contents of the same ritual. Not realizing that I was dealing with a fairly severe case of post-traumatic stress syndrome (as were many other local pagans) from my years working as a paramedic and in law enforcement, I took a lot of these things personally. In some cases, I considered these reactions to be failure on my part as a co-organizer of the event, rather than feeling good about the fact that a fellow priestess and I were able to organize a very well-attended event on such short notice under such overwhelming circumstances.
The real fact of the matter is that our pagan community is incredibly diverse, and no one (or two or three) rituals or actions were going to meet everyone's needs when emotions were running as high as they were only hours after the attack.
For a time, I wondered if it was wise to do such an intense public ritual so soon after the incident. Perhaps we should have just stood there together in silence with our candles, as a few people had suggested after the fact. I asked myself, "Could we have done this differently?"
The answer I came up with time and time again was, "No." None of us could have sent clean healing energy without first recognizing, working with and then releasing the darker emotions we were feeling. Anger is a normal, healthy emotion that we must all learn to deal with. If we don't recognize and work with the parts of our emotional makeup that we are uncomfortable with, we will never grow spiritually or be effective magickally. That anger needed to be released, and it needed to be done in a setting where people felt safe in doing so. I doubt that a silent vigil is what most of the group needed or that it would have done any good. The people that gathered at the park that night needed to actively do something to help in addition to giving blood and donating to the Red Cross. No matter how much pain and chaos we were feeling, we needed to take magickal action rather than sit by and wait. More importantly, we needed to be together. We also needed to be free to express what we were feeling, which in many cases made people feel better and in a few cases added to people's pain and confusion. One thing was certain: not everyone needed nor expected the same thing.
Two nights later, a group of us gathered at the Unitarian Universalist Association of Tacoma (UUAT) for a scheduled drum circle, which we dedicated to healing the victims and ourselves. The rage was gone; everyone was too exhausted to feel rage. Many people whom we haven't seen for several months due to work or school schedules made special arrangements to be there, and new people we'd never met showed up for the first time. The theme was consistent, "I needed to be here tonight," and "I needed to be with people who understand my beliefs." We took time for each person in turn to talk about what they were feeling, if they knew anyone who was missing and how the event was affecting them and their loved ones. For a moment, it seemed as if I was facilitating a group therapy session rather than a drum circle. In two days, I witnessed several of my close friends, earth-centered spirituality group members and coveners transition through the "five stages of grief." Those who were experiencing denial and anger only two days earlier had moved right on to depression, although many had not given themselves time or permission to cry until that night. The drumming we experienced when we were ready to heal was more powerful and inspired than we had ever felt before.
Pagans, like any other group of people, need to work through the stages of grief. After witnessing the differences in the two circles held at different stages in the grieving process, I asked myself, "Would it have been better to hold off on rituals and sending healing energy until the anger phase had subsided?" No matter how long I argued with myself, I came to the same conclusion, "No." The pagan community needed to take action, not feel helpless and victimized or isolated from the mainstream religions, which were holding their own vigils, also hastily put together the same day.
A little over two weeks after the first ritual, a woman who had been there with her children and appeared to have been unprepared for the intensity of the emotions on display that night approached me. She said that after they got home that night, her 7-year-old daughter had told her, "Mommy, I felt the energy swirling around, just like Lisa said." She was so excited about her daughter feeling the cone of power for the first time that she completely forgot any discomfort she may have felt during the ritual.
I realized then that we must take risks in order to take action. Not everyone's needs were met in that first ritual the night of the attack, and a few people became even more upset. Some people were ready to deal with their own darker side, and others weren't. I don't think it's possible for any group of people to be in complete agreement as to how to handle such an emotionally and spiritually painful situation. I finally had to cut myself some slack and come to grips with the fact that I'm not perfect. No one is perfect. For every person who was upset, or whose needs were not met by that first ritual, there were many more for whom it was a great help and comfort. What is important is that we have a community to reach out to in times of pain, and that we are able to provide a place for those people who "need to be here tonight with people who understand my beliefs."
As I am sitting at my desk, with "Bad Kitty" supervising the creation of my final draft, I am looking out my window to the woods behind my house for peace and comfort from the nature spirits whose home I protect. I can't find it right now, because the United States is bombing Afghanistan. Earth and all her children are crying. We are at war. There will be many more to grieve for before this is all said and done. Myself and other group leaders will be there to provide ritual, release and a place for pagans to gather and grieve, even if it's not always easy.