goddessing

cosmology, consciousness, contrariness
goddess religion: pagan blog
www.goddessmystic.com


Community as a Path 


IM: Most Westerners don't seem to be very attracted to community as a path. Perhaps one reason is because that path clashes with our cultural belief in the primacy of the individual, the importance of going it alone.

AA: I would agree. Community life is about setting aside my own desires for the sake of the group. It's self-sacrifice. To the individualist, that sounds like death. But the training in communality is, for many Westerners, a blessed shift in perspective. Because what makes us suffer most of all in life is having "me" at the center of it all. Our society supports and validates that attitude, which has led to deep feelings of alienation and insecurity.

Inquiring Mind interview (12:1) of Buddhist Monk Ajahn Amaro, as reprinted at The Path to Nirvana

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Spiritual Practice intersection Life 


In the West people tend to separate their meditation practice from their lives. Ajahn Chah emphasized that "if you have time to breathe you have time to meditate." You breathe when you walk. You breathe when you stand. You breathe when you lie down.
Buddhist Monk Ajahn Amaro, Inquiring Mind interview (12:1), as quoted at The Path to Nirvana

Do we, as Pagans, separate our practice from our lives? We could easily say no. Our spiritual practices are intimately bound up with our lives. And yet it's an interesting question.

No doubt in the middle of activism or yard-work we're at an intersection of Pagan practice and life. When we work at our altars, our focus is usually about our lives, here and now (or a soon-to-be present). But what about when walking, talking on the phone, buying groceries, doing laundry, taking the kids to soccer, doing our money-work, arguing with our spouses? Do we separate those things out from what we consider to be spiritual practice?

We're a diverse lot, so one Pagan's spiritual practice is not necessarily another's. Some of us meditate for quieting the mind, some for being fully present with the mind, others for giving deep mind the time to communicate with conscious mind. Some of us don't meditate at all, considering meditation a non-Pagan spiritual practice.

These days, my mind is full of what I see — beauty, order, leaves turning yellow; of what I hear — the chit of the chipmonk, the chatter of birds at the feeder, the deep tones of the alto chimes hanging high in the oak by the porch; of what I feel — awe and pride and gratitude at my healing and recovery, a deeper, more complex love for my spouse, fear, uncertainty, urgency, hope; of what I do — cook, clean, craft, create wealth. The Goddess most in my mind and heart is Hestia — domestic flame, She Who has no human form. In Hestia, in the hearth, the mystic is deeply rooted in the mundane.

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Harvest 



She told him about Blooming, about its emphasis on the importance of the patient attention necessary to bring a dormant possibility into being, and of the danger posed by the constant distraction of more immediate demands that are more easily and less effortfully fulfilled.

Zanja, in Laurie Mark's Water Logic

Spindly phlox, a sprinkling of mums, diminutive obedience plants, small-leaf hostas, magnificent sedums, and the steadfast knock-out roses -- these are the last of the blooming perennials in the yard. Here in south-central Wisconsin a cold fall is upon us, though warmer days ahead are predicted, and as my ninth growing season at this home comes to an end, I can look back to April's earliest bloomers, the bloodroot and Dutchman's breeches, and see that I've realized what I knew was possible -- perennials in continuous bloom, providing color in the yard for the entire growing season.

The lake was calm this morning, despite a steady breeze, a single fishing boat on it. The out-of-towners are nearing the end of their weekend visits, and soon our little neighborhood of houses tucked under oaks and maples will resume its seasonal stillness and quiet.

An early Equinox gathering on Saturday night brought good friends to the house for a gluten-free harvest feast -- black-bean and white-bean soups to represent the time of equal darkness and light, salad greens, my first gluten-free cornbread, and a crisp made from a gift of Wolf River apples. A platter of fruit and flowers were laid before Tara, harvest tales were told, words of gratitude spoken, and hopes and dreams for the coming year spiraled out into the universe on waves of sound from womens' drums.

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Beautiful Water 


... just a glint of water was visible in the distance through trees and bushes. The world is full of painful stories. Sometimes it seems as though there aren't any other kind and yet I found myself thinking how beautiful that glint of water was through the trees.
Lauren Olamina in Octavia Butler's The Parable of the Sower

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