‘Juju’, Creepy Crawlies and Bad Omens

‘Juju’, Creepy Crawlies and Bad Omens:

 the Realities of Feelings

Black Salt, Good for Banishing Spirits & Protecting a Home

 
     A friend and former coworker tagged me in a comment on Facebook sometime during the night. I rolled over and checked my email as I wake up, the way I do every morning. (Hey, some people drink coffee, I read my email to get my brain in gear.) He had encountered an animal on his way home from work late and it left him with a feeling of foreboding. The discussion progressed to supernatural reasons for seeing such a thing. Without something to add, I moved about my morning.

     Once I’m at my office and settled in, I pulled up Facebook. Right now, my job involves a lot of hurry up and wait. So they allow me to occupy my brain, as long as I make sure the customers are taken care of. So, back to Facebook, I’m looking through my feed when I see an update from the same friend.

     “So update to last night's story- I had a flat tire this morning and I'm just waiting for something bad to happen. Creepy, eh?”

     I told this friend I’d be writing a blog post about our interaction because this is something I’ve seen more than once and it’s something I wanted to discuss.

     Amy Blackthorn: Fuck that waiting around shit. Don't allow it into your space. Do something. Dump a McDonald’s packet of salt into a cup of water and anoint yourself. Say a prayer. Say, "Fuck off!" Light a birthday candle. Cast a circle. Cast a Square. Don't just sit and wait for bad shit to happen. Well protected is good. Just remember what they say in martial arts, "No matter how good you are, somewhere there's someone better." We have those senses for a reason. Any time I've had that sense and didn't do something about it,

BAD SHIT happened.

(Hello Tractor trailer, 27 broken bones, 72 pins and years in a wheelchair).

     I’m trying to figure out where we are in our personal evolutions. Go to a gathering of Pagans or Witchy folk and you’ll likely hear a mention at some point about feelings, ‘juju’, or the like. Most people are quick to jump in with their experience, but that’s usually where it ends. People want to talk and share their experiences and occasionally they’ll ask for opinions, personal revelations or simply validation of their feelings on the subject.

     I’ve noticed this outside of our little world in one place in particular, “Reality” ghost hunting television shows. People hear something go bump in the night, and the next thing you know, you’ve got a bunch of yahoos in fatigues running around your house with night vision cameras strapped to their heads. Viewers see people attempting to antagonize the dead, using dramatic pauses and fervent “Did you hear that?” questioning. One of the issues I have with shows of this ilk is If they find something they feel is compelling evidence, they show the owner of the property, and then pack up and go home. “Yup, it’s haunted. Bye!” Wait. What just happened?

     Why do we stop there? Why acknowledge the fact that you feel something bad is going to happen, only to sit around and wait for the other shoe to drop? Magic is supposed to be a last resort, after all of the ‘real world’ things have been ruled out. That doesn’t mean we have to sit idly by and wonder at our fate. If it really is fate, that the other shoe drops, it will. However, if taking a step out of the way saves your bacon, I’d take that step. Wouldn’t you?

     If we accept that we have developed these feelings for a purpose, then it stands to reason that we were meant to DO something with them. So do it. Rearrange the furniture so that energy doesn’t have a place to lie. Smudge the house. Open the windows and let the fresh air in. Get rid of your clutter. Just do Something.

The Broom Closet In and Out and Back In Again?

IPCOD Pt 3:

In and Out and Back In Again—a Career in Law Enforcement

For those of you who have been with me since the first of the series you’ll remember this:

Two years ago, I made the decision to go back to school. My goal: to kick ass and take names in school such that the FBI will welcome me with open arms when I graduate with Honors. I’m doing very well on that end, if I do say so myself. But let’s face it, you didn’t stop by to listen to me toot my own horn, did you?

I discussed it with a friend when I made the choice. She’s been working with Law Enforcement Officers of all stripes (Pun intended) for all of her adult life. She warned me that LEOs were a conservative lot. I assured her that I knew because I come from a LEO extended family. The words ‘Conservative’ and ‘Liberal’ both give me hives, but that’s a topic for another day. We’re talking about being out of the broom closet.

As I got closer and closer to the first week of school I got more and more nervous. My inner monologue was replaying the above conversation and worrying about how my faith might affect my career advancement. It’s pretty sad that I felt I had to agonize over it this much, but I try to be honest with myself about such things.

So when school rolled around I decided it was a non-issue. I don’t introduce myself to people as “I’m Amy and I’m Pagan.” So why should it be an issue. I wear my pentacle every day, just like I always have. It’s not really that noticeable, I’m told. The chain also carries a single cabochon in a plain setting. This blue stone looks somewhat unremarkable to the uninitiated (pun completely intended!). This blend of Dolomite, Rhyolite and Slate is found in one place in the world, and my necklace is the same stone that Stonehenge is built from. As they hang from the same chain, the blue stone usually covers the pentacle to some degree.

Two good friends from school wound up earning my trust to the point where I answered questions about my faith with them, but I don’t advertise. I stopped putting my magnetic bumper stickers with witchy slogans on them. (Honestly, part of that was school, and part of that was a crazy person trying to run me off the road while screaming obscenities.)

Now at my job I still wear my necklace daily, but as it’s under a security uniform, no one knows it is there, at least until last week. One of the relief guys noticed the chain for the first time since I started working here almost a year ago. When he asked what was on it, I merely pulled the Stonehenge piece out of my shirt and left the pentacle hanging inside my shirt, because honestly, he hasn’t earned it. My coworkers know I’m a minister, because my last partner was president of the Jesus wagon. So we had great discussions about religion and when asked I state I’m ‘non-denominational’.

For a time I worried that this meant I was denying who I was. I had flashbacks to Sunday school in the second grade when they were telling us about Peter denying God three times in the Book of John. I wondered if I was doing a disservice to my community by not shouting my faith to the rooftops. Then I had a deep breath and got over myself. /grin

I still have a runic license plate frame that reads, “If you can read this, you’re my kind of Witch” but it’s almost an in-joke. I can display my faith to those who would understand it, and those that don’t, have no bearing on the subject anyway.

So instead of panicking that I’ve somehow put myself back in the closet, I’ve stopped worrying about it. My family and friends all know. Anyone I’m friends with on (my personal) Facebook knows. It’s okay to consider yourself when discussing your faith with others. I’m not ashamed. I still do my outreach work and occasionally have my photo out there. For pity’s sake, I appeared on TLC and the AP News Wire in ritual. It’s just that I don’t feel I need a flag to wave anymore. I’m more secure than that. And honestly, me being secure in who I am will land me my dream job, or the job I’m meant to have, more than any flag waving in my faith. I’m happy with that.

Blessed Be.

Int'l Pagan Coming Out Day Part 2: A Price above Rubies

     I intended for this to go live last night.  Instead, I spent my evening counseling a student with a crisis, and then meeting a friend for dinner.  We were meeting discussing her non-profit women’s group she’s launching and wants help with. During part of my evening my Superego was screaming, “International Pagan Coming Out Day is rapidly coming to an end! Cut this short and go WRITE!” and sometime during my evening the Ego said, “Look. This is Important. Your history took almost 22 years to write. Don’t limit your experience to one day.” So here we are, part two.

     With my friends, I’ve been out of the broom closet since I talked to my parents in 1995. At one point, I’m sure people in space knew. Not because I introduced myself, “Hi, my name is Amy and I’m a WITCH!” As silly as it sounds, I’ve met those people too. It’s called immersion. You have a spiritual or identity change and you feel the need to spend more time with those people that identify similarly, because they understand. Most people deal with it for a little while and then happily, move on to a more subdued attitude.

      However, I was attending school in a county where a particularly violent hate group preached in broad daylight on the street corners on Sunday. Being out of the broom closet (OOTBC) was something that was a scary option at first. So, at school, other than some close friends, I was ITBC.

     Back in those days I wore a simple, beautiful crescent moon pendant with a tiny star (not pentacle) on the tip of the moon. One day a girl I believed was a buddy (not friend exactly) of mine asked whether my moon made me Muslim. I gave her a simple explanation about nature, staying away from buzz words like Witchcraft, Wicca, Witches or magic. It turns out this ‘friend’ was holding a grudge that her ex-boyfriend left her, and a month later asked me out and she spread my note (Yes, back in the stone ages before texting.) like wild fire. It came back to me scribbled with horrible things written in the handwriting of most of my grade. One of the ‘popular’ boys went so far as to corner me and threatened to kill me. The Witches Voice had recently featured a sad tale of a 14 year old girl who was beaten to death by members of her high school football team because her school mates found out she was a Witch.

      I brought it home that day, and went next door to my best friend’s house to cry. My 16 year old self was convinced that life was over. He came up with a most inventive and highly cathartic way of destroying the letter and the feelings that I had about those people. It was beautiful and empowering. (Just one of the many reasons my then best friend, is now my husband of 8 years as of May 1.) Even with dealing with feelings of betrayal, loss, and more, someone important in my life helped me see that, though it was an awful day, there can be beauty in all of life’s shitty days.

      It’s important to me to remember the hard days of being Pagan, because honestly, if it were easy, anyone would do it. I’ve had millions of moments of beauty that being Pagan and out of the Broom Closet has brought me. The cruddy moments I can count on one hand and still have fingers left over.

      During Blessed Be and Meet Me in DC in 2001, a particularly moving ritual by Elspeth and Nybor was interrupted by Rugby players from the next field over. The park police that we had informed of our event showed up and the 2 players and 1 coach were escorted from our Space and no harm came to our people. It gave the participants the organizers hope that we could be treated just like anyone else by authority figures.

     In late 2004 I created the Newark (DE) Pagan Meetup (which is still going strong, though I stepped down years ago, and is still being held by original members) and its ranks swelled to 200+. We had a setting on the website to prevent anyone under 18 from joining for liability reasons. If any of the moderators got emails from persons under 18, they were encouraged to discuss it with their parents and their parents could join, and attend meetings with their children for propriety and safety of the minor. A few years after the meetup was established one such request came through. The pre-arranged response was given. The next thing I know, my meetup linked email is filled with email. Screaming, hate filled threats dripped from my inbox. Threats to picket the business where the meetup was held were popular, but also included threats to burn down my house, kill my pets and my family.

     While the hullabaloo lasted a week or less, and never amounted to any actual harm, it was a stressful week. It never made me regret being a public face and doing public outreach for other Pagans. I was glad that I always used my Magickal last name, but it didn’t dissuade me, or make me crawl back into the broom closet or to stop meeting with those of a like mind.

      Just like anything else we do of import, it’s not always easy. It should be. It really should be. It should be easy to just be who you are, no matter your faith. To me, that feeling that my faith is something that has stayed with me almost 22 years, though ridicule, threats, and a near death experience is worth its emotional weight in rubies.

International Pagan Coming Out Day Part 1

International Pagan Coming Out Day May 2nd

Every year when May 2nd rolls around, I get a feeling in my chest. It varies, year to year, but I always have strong feelings about it. Two years ago, I made the decision to go back to school. My goal: to kick ass and take names in school such that the FBI will welcome me with open arms when I graduate with Honors. I’m doing very well on that end, if I do say so myself. But let’s face it, you didn’t stop by to listen to me toot my own horn, did you?

I discussed it with a friend when I made the choice. She’s been working with Law Enforcement Officers of all stripes (Pun intended) for all of her adult life. She warned me that LEOs were a conservative lot. I assured her that I knew because I come from a LEO extended family. The words ‘Conservative’ and ‘Liberal’ both give me hives, but that’s a topic for another day. We’re talking about being out of the broom closet.

I still remember the day I told my mom and step-dad I was a Witch. I did what all the articles tell you NOT, under any circumstances, to do. I walked up to my mom while she was cooking dinner and said, “So, mom… I’m a Witch”. I had been testing the waters you see. This was in 1995 and Dishwalla’s Counting Blue Cars was on the radio every five minutes. So while we were driving one day, I asked my mom about the lyrics.

We said, "Tell me all your thoughts of God?

'Cause I would really like to meet her

And ask her why we're who we are

Tell me all your thoughts on God

'Cause I am on my way to see her

So tell me am I very far,

am I very far now?"

So I asked my mom, “Do you think the lyricist is going to meet God (Her) or a girl he likes (her)?” We started having a discussion about whether my mom believed that God was Male, Female or All. It was a great discussion. I don’t remember what she said, but I felt very warm and positive. My mom was raised Catholic, but was non-practicing herself. My parents insisted we go to a church (usually whichever was closest to where we were living at the time) as kids. When my mom left my father, we stopped going to church, and we were all okay with that.

You see, I am the second oldest of my mom’s four girls. I shared a room with my older sister, and much like any other younger sister, I was nosy. One day while peeking in my older sister’s back pack I found a book that caught my eye. “Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner”. I was 11. I was also fascinated. The town we lived in was small enough, and I was responsible enough, mom let me walk to the library after school to hang out and read a bit before dinner. In a house with 6 people, quiet is a luxury. The next day after I got home from school, I hoofed it over to the library and started investigating this new thing I discovered, Wicca.

3 ½ years later I’m standing in our kitchen blurting out the words that I knew would change my life forever. “I’m a Witch”. As I wait for mom to look up from her dinner preparations, for the earth to swallow me whole, or something equally traumatizing to happen. My mom didn’t miss a beat, “Oh? Have you told your father (my step-dad)?”

“No, I wanted to tell you first.”

“Oh, okay. Why don’t you go tell him? Dinner in 30.”

The earth didn’t swallow me up. The earth didn’t swallow me up? Who is this woman and what has she done with my mother? I realized a few days later that my mother had the “mom” enough that she figured this was a phase, and it would pass sooner if she didn’t fight me over it. Seventeen years, and still the earth hasn’t swallowed me up and I haven’t gotten over my ‘phase’.

So I wander outside. It’s mid Spring and J is planting beautiful Clematis to climb a trellis he just built. “So how was school today, Princess?”

“It was okay. English was interesting. The teacher showed up in two different shoes, and threw a chair when someone pointed it out.”

“Whoa, anyone hurt?”

“Nope. Oh, mom wanted me to tell you dinner is in 30.”

“Okay, sweetie.”

“Oh, there was one more thing. I’m a Witch”.

“Oh really? I dated a Witch in High school.”

That was it. I had gnashed my teeth and worried and angsted over NOTHING. Now, I’m not saying it wasn’t interesting for a while. My mother threw it in my face for a while when she was mad at me. Her issue wasn’t that I had converted. Her issue was that I was investigating another faith (I had converted years before, but who takes the word of a kid? Sadly, very few.) without talking to her.

So she was hurt.  As an adult I can understand why she was hurt.  In her mind, when she left my father and stopped drinking, she wanted us to be buddies.  But I had grown up with her being a terrifying dictator who unleashed her fury over things that never would have occured to us.  How was I, as a 14 year old, to know whether or not this would be one of the things that she loses her mind over?