Greeting the Goddess

Earth power

Photo courtesy of Google images

Perhaps for those who live in California or around the Pacific, where seismic activity is a normal occurrence, the reaction to yesterday's earthquake in Virginia is a little on the ridiculous side. Several friends from that side of the continent scoffed at the level of news coverage from national media outlets, and I found myself rolling my eyes a bit when I realized that an unusual quake in Colorado at a similar magnitude received barely any coverage at all. Since it was the first earthquake that I could feel in any measurable way, however, I wouldn't be truthful if I didn't admit that I was jumpy and excitable after feeling the earth move beneath my feet. Once I learned that damage was minimal, I was ready to celebrate with an earthquake party, but it seems that other East Coasters were more ready to hunker down and await the Second Coming. ~sigh~

I'll be respectful of the views of others and not mock believers the way the West Coast has mocked all of us on this side of the country. Instead, I am meditating on the power that I felt rippling through the ground beneath me, shaking the house to a rattling, causing people to stop in their tracks or run outside to confer with the neighbors. My own neighbor told me of an earthquake she experienced on her grandparents' farm many years ago, when the main indicator that something wasn't right from her place in the field was the swaying of a power line when there wasn't a breath of breeze. The sense of something greater at work gave me cold chills.

Whether we take it for granted or not, the power of the earth that builds up and releases in a shudder across the land is an amazing thing. Our earth is an amazing structure that allows us to live on its surface. We shouldn't take for granted how tenuous our lives could be if that system should become unbalanced.

I find myself unbalanced by yesterday's excitement. The shock of the unusual shook me out of my complacency, but now I feel the need to develop a new equilibrium, at least until the next event ripples through me again.

"Spiritual but not Religious"

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When I took a comparative religions class, our professor outlined the religions we would be covering. He was quick to tell us that we would not be studying "spiritualism" or Neo-Paganism, "that New Age stuff people are into these days." His reasoning was that no one could give him a strong answer when he asked what it meant to be "spiritual," thus he didn't believe it could be categorized as a religion.

I suppose in his way he was right. Spiritualism isn't exactly a "religion," as we think of organized religions. There are no defined authorities, no rites or rituals, not even a community of agreement much of the time. Neo-Paganism, of course, offers these things in one form or another, but my professor discounted this branch of belief and practice as a fad. It seems that young religions never get the respect they earn with age.

I consider myself spiritual, but not religious at this point. I believe there is a power out there, whatever form it may take, or it may be formless. I have no religion, no rites to practice. I dabble at the rites and rituals of some, but more out of curiosity than true belief or practice. Nothing has felt completely like "home" yet, and so I continue searching. I'm still disturbed at times by the implications of not having a religion, not having a "strong argument" for what I feel and why. But maybe that's part of the journey, finding those things, or letting them find me.

Moonlighting

Image courtesy astrobob.areavoices.com, via Google Images.

I've been feeling out of sorts of late. I decided to try Flora Peterson's lunar challenge, observing the moon every night possible for a month. Some nights have been cloudy, others the moon hasn't been visible until early morning, rather than night. I missed the full moon, my favorite time, due to storms. But I have found that there is something calming and restorative, as well as energizing, about standing and taking in the moon. I can certainly understand why drawing down the moon has such a draw...who wouldn't want to take in the feelings the moon engenders and draw its source near?

Make a Note of It

I've been doing a lot of reading lately, as always, but this morning was the first time I felt the urge to write something down. Although I've read and heard a lot about people keeping a Book of Shadows, I haven't felt a pull toward keeping one for myself. I just haven't been at the point of a commitment yet, and keeping a book sounds very much like a commitment to me.

However, as I was reading about Celtic traditions this morning, I came across a listing for the names of the full moons. I have a strong connection with the moon and night, and as I was reading the list I felt a desire to write these names down. Even as the thought passed through my mind that I could simply look them up online or enter these into a word document or notepad, the need for a book to write them in pressed more firmly on my mind. Thus my own book has been born...not necessarily a Book of Shadows, but a book of notes that may one day lead to that. Or it may remain a book of notes on nature or history that I keep with me. Either way, I feel even more firmly that I have begun.

Loving the Questions

"Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."
— Rainer Maria Rilke

Sometimes it's very difficult to be a seeker, rather than a knower. I have been seeking for nearly a decade, at once a long time and an instant. There are times when I think that it is time to grow up, that being an adult means knowing. There are other times when I allow myself to revel in the not-knowing, the wonder of experiencing something without truly understanding the minutia involved. Part of my attraction to religions other than the one in which I grew up is their newness, the adventure of living them for the first time.

I worry that I am only looking for the newness, and not the understanding or longevity.I worry about the example I set for my children, and the time when my family and friends will lose patience with my journey. I worry about reaching the journey's end before I feel finished and settled. I worry that I won't be taken seriously, and that I'm not taking myself or any faith path seriously enough, either. 

And so I start down this new twist in the road tentatively, almost fearfully, and very inquisitively. I want to know, to understand, to feel, to see, to experience all there is to experience, but mostly just to know. And yet, I need to love the questions first. Perhaps this time of questioning will only end when I'm ready for it not to end yet.

Finding Peace

This morning I sat on my porch repotting flowers and listening to the pitter-patter of a soft rain. It was mostly quiet, with the exception of some cars driving by and a few bird calls. Blue jays remind me of spending time at my grandmother's, who had an amazing yard that attracted all sorts of birds. They continue to lighten my heart whenever I hear them.

Isn't rain an amazing thing? Just the sound is cleansing to the soul. The scent refreshes me, and the feel of the drops falling on my skin washes away any worries I have for a moment. It is a gift to the earth, soaking into the ground and renewing the plants after wilting summer afternoons. It can be powerful or gentle, angry or calm, cold or warm. Sometimes I feel the rain responding to my own experience, other times it lifts me up out of myself and into the greater experience around me. As much as I love the sun, I also love the rain.