Samhain

Samhain is upon us, and as always, three large groups are mobilizing once more. The majority of people are prepared for the secular holiday of Halloween. Costumes and candy have been bought, parties have been planned, and the trick or treating will soon begin. The second group is the group that recognizes this ancient holiday, the end of most Pagan calendars, and prepares to worship in their own way. The third is the group that is once more launching their campaign of misinformation, attempting to villify the second group and steal the fun away from children everywhere.

I won't launch into specific quotes from any of the many sources that condemn this holiday. If you care to look, they definitely aren't difficult to find. If you don't know where to start, there are some interesting quotes on The Wildhunt Blog to get you started.

I will instead focus on some of the aspects of the celebration itself. Samhain is a celtic word meaning "Summer's End". It is not, nor has it ever been, a Celtic god of the dead. Not that reference to the dead is completely pulled out of thin air, since the dead are one of the primary focuses of this celebration.

At Samhain, the harvest was basically over. It marked the coming of winter and the need to store up food and thin the herds in preparation for the hard times to come. It is one of the four fire festivals, and it was common (and still is) to have a bonfire at this time. Mythologically speaking, this also marks the time for the Goddess to make her descent into the underworld to rest, leaving the planet to rest as well. Plants and animals die out or go into a state of rest and await the spring for the replenishment of themselves and their species. Some also hold to the belief that this marks a period of timelessness. Many traditions ended their calendars with Samhain and began the new year at Yule. In effect not counting the time in which the Goddess slept.

This is the time of year when the veil between the worlds is the thinnest. The time when spirits roam and can be communicated with. The time when spirits that had stayed locked on this planet have the opportunity to return to the underworld and prepare for their next journey. Many attempt to communicate with the dead in this season, but it is important to remember that we don't command the appearance of the dead. It is a matter of polite request, that our ancestors might share their wisdom with us.

Many celebrations are practiced on this night. Rituals are held around the fires. Children dress up as spirits, or frightening entities in the hopes of frightening off malicious spirits. Many still hold the tradition of the dumb supper. This is a meal with your friends, family, coven or equivalent fellow worshippers. The rules are simple. The meal is prepared in complete silence (or if a lengthy process some will simply present it in silence.) The table is set with places for each of your guests plus an empty setting. All sit in silence and the empty plate, reserved for those that have passed away in the last year, or earlier if they still hold a strong sense of loss, is served first. If there are more than one person being remembered, all are represented with the one plate. The meal is also eaten in silence as all remember what the person or people they have lost mean to them. When the meal is finished all leave the table one at a time, touching the chair in a silent goodbye, and leave the room. At this point it acceptible, and expected, that the somber tone ends. Life goes on, and as such, the party should launch itself into a more enjoyable atmosphere. It is often good for the host, or designated oddball, to offer a toast. Preferably a humorous one, just to get things going.

Many hold a variation of the above, without the silence. Sometimes reminiscing on their lost loved one. Sometimes not even addressing the plate directly. I went to one celebration where they carried it on all night, offering drinks and orderves on occasion to the mantel. Initially, I don't think it was intended, but the guests kept coming in and seeing the plate with assorted cookies and snacks and taking some. The host didn't complain, and actually laughed about the fierce appetite of her departed. As the night went on and people realized, some carried it further. One guest opened a beer and placed it on the mantel, telling us all that we were being rude to our guest and he looked thirsty. This got some laughs, but not as many as when the beer was mistakenly picked up later and consumed. The last door was open, and while I don't know who was the most responsible, our deceased guest drank and ate enough to sleep for an eternity on a full stomach.

This, and scenes like it are common to the Samhain celebrations. A stark contrast to the black robes, candles and goats blood that Hollywood and various christian organizations seem hell bent to promote.

Not that rituals don't also take place. Not like the Hollywood version, but they take place. It is a religious Holiday. These I won't go into. Not because they are dark or mysterious, but because they are not fundamentally different from the rituals we practice all year, and are private to the participants.

Samhain is a good time for divination. Tarot, runes and scrying are often practiced, both for serious concerns and for fun. Many games can be played as well. This is a good ritual time for the kids. With carving of pumpkins, bobbing for apples and lots of candy to go around. You can also trick the kids into helping prepare with fun little games. Get them to help you peel apples and award a prize to the longest unbroken people. (In legend the length of the peel was supposed to indicate the length of your life.) Bobbing for apples also hass scrying roots. It was once expected that the first to succesfully claim an apple would be the first to marry in the coming year. Much like the modern day brides bouqet.

The primary colors of this holiday are black and orange. Almost all know that. Browns, golds, and reds are also important. Yes all but the black of night are colors of the changing leaves. No, it isn't coincedental. And so continues the cycle of life, or something close to it.

Lessons Unlearned

Here is the article I referenced below. This is also the article that inspired the artwork that went with it that is also now the tattoo I wear on my back:

Standing in the field, on the edge of the sea, she knows that she is alone. Except for the companion at her side, and the elements around her. These same elements that surround a million other people, each as certain that they are also alone.

She prepares once more for the dance, wondering if anyone will join her. It has been so long, that she wonders if she should just stop dancing altogether. She knows that she won’t, but even she is not immune to the effects of isolation.

The full moon rises and shines on her. It is her. Shining on herself and calling to the world once more. “I am here, and the dance is about to begin. Who will join me?”
The wind picks up around her, rustling the grass. It is as if the very air says, “We are alone again. Many watch, but none will come.”

Raising the bowl over her head, she stares up at the sky, at the moon reflecting her beauty. Flames stir and rise out of the vessel and arch to the sky. Her companion stirs and raises his head. Watching with interest, as he always does, as the flames reflect and dance across her face, highlighting the raven-tressed beauty that he has followed here countless times.
She looks down at the white wolf at her feet as he sits up to watch her. “Are you more loyal because you are here, friend?” She asked him. “Or more the fool because you follow so closely and will not dance with me?”

The wolf continued to stare as she returned her gaze to the sky. He didn’t know the answer. He hadn’t known it when they last met on a night like this, or the time before. The question was the same. The silence was the same.

On cue, the wind whipped up around them. He felt it ruffling his fur and watched the tall grass sway back and forth. He knew this was not a natural wind. Even if he had not known that she called it, he would have seen. The grass danced around her, as if to some unheard tune. It didn’t dance to a song unheard, though, it danced in anticipation of the song.
Her silver tunic whipped around her as well. At points, in such a frenzy that it seemed that it would tear right off of her body. Yet he knew it would not. The wind merely played with her, dancing with joy as the celebration was beginning.

The flames whipped and crackled. Reaching for the sky, they were prepared to consume the world. The first time, the wolf had been scared. Now he knew they would not. They also played. They teased and told her that they could destroy everything that she loved, yet they both knew that at least on this night, the flames would stay their hand.

The wolf could feel the excitement tugging at his bones. The waves joined in the chorus now, slapping against the earth in joyous anticipation of what was to come. The wolf, her companion, could not understand why none answered her call again this night. Many stood in solitude and stared, trying to get a glimpse inside a party to which they were invited, but would not come. He could not comprehend how any could stay away.

The fury of the elements reached a crescendo, and then began to calm. The wind now caressed her. The hem of her skirt swaying in the breeze, in time with the golden cord at her waist. He saw her toes caressing the bared earth at her feet, as the wind gently drifted across the breast that had escaped her tunic during its earlier exertions. She looked up as she tilted the bowl slightly. The water poured down over her body, as the flames framed her face and brought a glow to the pale features that defined beauty and grace.

This was the part that always bothered the wolf, and tonight was no exception. Nor was he surprised as she turned her gaze on him. He saw the flames reflecting off of her glistening countenance. He saw the triple moon on her forehead, and wondered why he hadn’t seen it earlier in the evening. He remembered thinking this last time.

“Are you jealous, my companion, that they pay their respects to me?” The wolf does not answer, but simply lowers his head. He knows what she will say next. “You have also been invited. You came, but you did not dance, yet still you are invited on this night. You need only step forward.”
Every cell in his body wants to do just that, but he doesn’t. He stands his ground. She laughs at him and places her hand on top of his head, lowering the bowl in her other arm.

“You know, now, what you know every time. Still I don’t understand you. You know me, and you loyally follow me, yet you will not dance. Should I rate you better because you come that far? Or should I rate you a fool because you won’t do any more?

“Out there, they offer their burden and their pain up to me, and expect me to take them. Yet I will not. I will share and nothing more. You want me to offer my burdens and pain up to you, and not share them. I will no more do this than the other.”

Her face grew dark and she stared down at him sternly. “You of all don’t cower under my darkest of gazes. Why don’t you dance?”

Knowing the point has come, the wolf fights against his own body as it turns and walks away, leaving her to finish her celebration alone. “Why do you come so close and then leave? You who understand what I want, when so few listen? Why do you abandon me now?”

He knows he has no answer to give her. He knows that with all of his desire, he can’t turn around. He wishes he knew why, and how he could fix it. He suspects she does. He knows she won’t share.

Her voice once more is a memory. “There is nothing without. Why don’t you come all the way in?”

Twenty eight days. Twenty eight to find the answer before he joins her again, and nothing changes. -- Steve

There you have it. A small glimpse into my life or something close to it.

The Neverending Story

I just finished reading The Davinci Code. An interesting novel, but not something I would expound upon as highly factual. It did put a thought process in my mind that I might not have jumped to before, though.

The protagonist references Pagan references in a number of stories and movies of modern times. He goes to great lengths on Disney, including references to Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. I am not sure I would completely agree with these ties, particularly sleeping beauty. In that one, a woman bites of an apple and thus invokes a curse that can only be lifted by the love of one man. Match some mythology? Yes, but not Pagan. However, when I came home from work today, I sat back to watch a movie that my parents were watching and spend a few minutes with my daughter before I went to sleep. (This was ten o'clock this morning, I worked overnight.)

The movie was The Neverending Story. Watching this and reflecting on the portions I remembered that were past or not yet showing, I found myself surprised. Particularly that some of these people out there who denounce virtually every movie and book that comes out as un-christian missed this one. Perhaps they didn't, it is an old movie. Perhaps they hadn't gotten their wind yet.

Here we witness a tale in a land of magic. A land that is being eaten up by the nothing, which is later explained as people's unwillingness to believe. A young man goes on the hunt, where a sacred symbol. Two serpents, one of gold and one of silver, entwined with each other in an elaborate knot. As he consults various oracles on his quest it eventually becomes clear. To save the childlike empress (a mystical female, forever young) he must find her a new name. He is of Fantasia though, so he can't. It has to be done by a human. In the end, the world is flying apart and she cries out in frustration to Bastian that he must give her a name. That he has known it all along and he needs to cry it out. In doing so, he finds her with the speck of dust that is all that is left of her beautiful realm, but she offers him the ability, through his imagination, to remake the world she lives in and make it beautiful again.

I was shocked as this all came together with me. I must say, just about any time someone declares there is a hidden agenda, I scoff. Not so much this time. This is a story of the Goddess. It might not have been intended that way, although I suspect it must have been, but it is nonetheless. The symbols are definitely Pagan in nature, and their Goddess figure, the empress, suffers from a unique yet painful condition. People have refused to believe in her. Yet she doesn't tell people to open the old books and read the stories again. She says, "You must give me a name." She can't tell him who she is and mend the rift. He has to tell her who she is to him. The name he chooses is his mother. The symbolism here is also not likely to be coincedental.

In my essay, Lessons Unlearned, (The published version, not my post here under the same name.) I addressed a young wolf who was familiar with the Goddess. He knew what she wanted, he understood her ways. He even knew what she would have of him, but he couldn't provide it, and he didn't know why. The wolf was convinced that this pattern would repeat every month until he finally learned what was missing. It isn't the complete answer, but this name issue might hold part of the key. He can tell the world what her traits are, and generically what she is to them, but he won't declare what she is to him. This is what saddens her. This is what she waits for.

"What do you mean you don't know my name? My name is written on your heart. It is you who must tell me."

Just some reflections on the oddity of life, or something close to it.

Maiden, Mother and Crone

When I got out of work today my parents and Emily waited outside. We were going directly from work to Syracuse to have dinner with and spend time with my paternal grandmother. It was a decent trip, the ride out giving me just about enough time to finish reading The Davinci Code. The last pages I finished out there. I couldn't exactly just stop.

This was the first time that my grandmother got the opportunity to see Emily. This was actually a large portion of the reason why we went out there to begin with. It was a great time to spend with the portion of my family that I don't see very often. Two of my aunts and one of my uncles stopped in as well. It is sad to say that the only reason they came by was to see Emily. Not that I don't understand how people want to see new babies, but I am saddened to know that my own presence would not have initiated a desire for my extended family to stop by and visit.

We got a couple of pictures of my grandmother with Emily. At one point my mother stood next to her and my mind wandered to the maid, mother and crone. These three did not exactly exemplify these three stages of womanhood, since my daughter has yet to grow to an age when she might be considered the maid. My mother is also traveling more into the realm of crone than mother. Still it got me to thinking. While there was no real active conversation going on at the time, mostly just the casual talk in reference to new babies, my mind traveled a little further on the aspect of the crone.

I started thinking of numerous conversations I have had with my grandmother in the past, in the light of the traditional role of the crone as the holder of wisdom. In truth, all too frequently I refuse to cast my grandmother in that role. Today I decided to explore it a little.

Now it is obviously a fact that being older than someone does not make one smarter. Yet our elders are the ones who are supposed to teach us. How did they get the role? The answer is relatively simple. Having lived more life than us, they tend to have more experiences to build off of than we do.

If we know that they have been there and done that, why then do we not assume that their is merit in the experiences that they lay out for us? For one, because our generation knows that their experiences were not in fact the same as ours.

One primary thing that keeps people of my generation skeptical about listening to the wisdom of my grandmother's generation is that their experiences are from a time that does not match up with ours. They are also biased by prejudices that don't match up with ours. Some of which we know to be wrong. As such, knowing this state exists, we are much more inclined to discount what our elders say to us, assuming that they don't understand what they are preaching about.

This latter reaction on our part is not completely correct. There are some aspects about our life that match those of previous generations. Some things just don't change. In these areas it is important to listen to our elders and recognize that they may have indeed acquired, at a painful cost, information that we will pay the same cost to learn if we don't listen. There is merit in learning from the mistakes, and the successes of others. Still this does not outweigh the issues of prejudices or topics that didn't apply to their generation. So what do we do?

In my opinion there is only one sensible answer. We treat them like we would any other source of information. Leave our prejudices aside and allow ourselves to measure their experience and in direct relation, reliability on the subject. Recognize where the crones and elders may provide guidance, and where the maidens and warriors are more equipped to blaze the new paths.

With a healthy combination of both, we can all improve our life, or something close to it.

Tiwaz

Tiwaz is the arrow. Symbolizing the warrior, sacrifice, intrigue, courage, justice. In reverse it symbolizes blocked energy, listlessness, and questionable motives.

It is depicted as an arrow pointing up. It is one of those runes that you can see in your daily life. For example, if you are driving down the expressway and you see Tiwaz flashing in front of you, your car is sideways and you are in too much trouble to reflect on this rune at this time.

I mentioned in the last rune remarks that some of these runes can be seen in every day life. I must reiterate that every time that you see a rune in daily life doesn't mean it is telling you something. Some of them are such common symbology that if every time you see them you assume they mean something, you can be in a lot of trouble. Still, it doesn't hurt to reflect on the characteristics it symbolizes and compare it to your life. Weighing the positives and the negatives in an ongoing personal philosophy.

There are a lot of positives and negatives that can be espoused by this particular rune, but the basic message holds thus: Tiwaz is symbolic of being proactive. In reverse inactivity is causing problems to you and those around you. It brings to mind personal reflection on our goals and the work we are or are not doing to achieve them. What are you doing in your life or something close to it?

A New Addition

I have added a link on the right if anyone wants to see what the runes I am discussing look like. The base site for it contains descriptions as well. They won't always completely match mine, so I would actually reccomend that if you are actually curious, you check out those and other interpretations as well as my own. Just a suggestion. It's your life, or something close to it.

Berkano

Today's rune was Berkano, or Purity. It is symbolic of becoming, of birth and of the Great Mother. Interesting given the other subject I concentrated heavily on today. (The previous post.) Obviously this also influenced some of my thoughts in my presentation of thus. In reverse Berkan is indicative of family problems & needs, anxiety and worry.

Berkan is one of the runes that is more frequently noticed in the worlds around us. The reason is that it looks an awful lot like the letter "B". The exception being that it is not rounded. Turn the letter B onto it's back and alter the two half circles attached to the "backbone" of the letter so they form two triangles. (Sorry for the sketchy description, but I haven't figured out how to actually show you the runes yet.)

I frequently suggest that if one is studying the runes, they should look for examples of these runes in the real world, as a sort of pop quiz/instant recognition kind of drill. It also helps to focus on the issue that particular rune would have us focus on. A lot of focus would go to this one since it resembles a letter of our alphabet. This might not be such a bad thing though. Birth and motherhood, and the corresponding cycle of life are not necessarily bad things to frequently contemplate. They are simply a part of life, or something close to it.

On Darkness

In a recent post, MaryEllen stated that she was surprised that I would admit that the Goddess was darkness. As I insinuated on her blog, I am going to further explain my position here. (That was a disclaimer for all of you not interested in reading my spiritual philosophy. That is all that this particular post is going to cover, anything else will be in a different post.

My response in the short form was that She is. It's that simple. It isn't though, because that opens the door to much misinterpretation, sometimes intentional, as to what this statement means. Let me make one thing clear right from the start. Darkness is not synonymous with evil. I certainly was not saying that the Goddess is evil. That is not where I am going with this.

When people think of darkness, they frequently have a set of ideas. Cold. Dangerous. Unforgiving. Lethal. All of these can apply. I won't try to deny it. The deeper understanding that leads me to not immediately assume any of the above is inherently bad is not something I can even begin to scratch at without a lot more work than I am providing here. There are other aspects and circumstances that can be associated with darkness. The womb that fostered you for the first nine months of existence was dark. It wasn't frightening, it was comforting. In fact in the earliest stages, children aren't afraid of the dark. Not until their imaginations start telling them what might be in it. Despite our obsession with light as we move about our lives, many find difficulty comfortably sleeping without darkness around them. The earth from which everything grows is also dark. The seeds it contain germinate in the dark before ever pushing up to find the light that will grow them. Darkness is a common element for the germination of all things. The birth and the beginning. These are elements of the Goddess.

Her worship itself is held at night, frequently without the aid and intrusion of external light sources. One primary element of her worship is the moon. Also not a giver of light. It only reflects the light from the sun. The worship at the time of the full moon isn't because of the moon being bright. It is a combination of the male and the female.

While quite capable of being cold and unforgiving, equating her with darkness does not isolate her to these attributes either. Have you never lain down with a spouse or lover and held them close to you in the dark? Whispering words to each other that aren't intended for others? Is it harder for an interloper to hear in the dark? Of course not. Still, darkness is the atmosphere for secrecy and mystery. Light is the atmosphere of truth. Again, the Goddess connects, for she is most mysterious, and her worship, even if uniformly accepted, was never intended for the middle of a well lighted stage. It was and always will be intended for quiet communion between herself and a few close and trusting individuals.

She blankets us in darkness and the comfort of anonymity. She tells us that our relationship with her is only between us and her. She is loving, but strict. She is cold, but not distant. She is what she is, and in dark corners are where you will find her.

I have given some consideration to this, and still have undoubtedly failed to fully illustrate my thoughts. I have always been a more practical conversant than preacher, particularly for a subject as large as the complexities of who and what the Goddess is and represents. Not a defense, just an explanation. I welcome what comments or questions you have. If there are none, or perhaps no interest in general, that doesn't bother me either. That's just life or something close to it.

Yet Another Tangent (A Long Tangent)

I have a scar on my right foot. It stretches across the entire foot and is about an inch or so wide. Too much information, I am sure. There is a point to this though. (Not one you're likely to care about. Just a point.) The first sentence of this post coincides with a rather lengthy essay I once wrote about myself, the basic concept of which I have been thinking about and expounding on today.

As I grew up, there were many different people I wanted to be. Many different people I tried to be. There have also been many different faces I have warn in my development and growth to the point I have reached now. One thing has been constant though. The scar. I am a pagan minister now, but this has not always been the case. If you go back just a little ways, I was just a practicing pagan, searching for the truth. A man who hadn't begun the process that resulted in ordination. A man with a scar on his right foot. If you go back nearly eight years, I would have been a single man, just out of the service. The scar was there. It was there when I entered the service too. It was there when I went to a Catholic High School. Further back, it was there when I was still Catholic. The scar goes back further than my own memories do. I don't remember it, but at three years old, without even knowing there was a world out there, let alone trying to figure out how to play in it, I had that scar. My mother has memories of rocking me to sleep seeing that scar. It's been there almost as long as the foot has.

Why does this matter? Grounding. There are times when a man has to sit back and assess himself. Sort through all of the hats he wears, all of the people he is to other people, and figur out who he really is. How does one figure out the true self. Who one is behind what they do? They look for the basis of what has always been there. The scar has always been there. Now is the scar who I really am? No. But it teaches me something. You see, the foot that the scar is on has also always been there.

Whenever one sits down and assesses themself, it is usually a reaction to a different kind of scars. The scars on our psyche, the scars on our souls. At the very least based on circumstances that can cause those scars. What we have to remember is that the scars have to be on something. It would be silly to imply that I could have difficulty locating my own foot, but if I needed to, I could identify it by the scars. How do we find out who we really are? By looking to where we have been hurt. Of course this isn't always as comfortable. The scar on my foot never hurts. I don't remember when it did. The other scars we talk about are a little more serious.

I think most people have examples of such circumstances in their lives. Circumstances that still eat at us when they come to mind. Events that we wish we could go back and change. But what if we could. What if we could go back and change it. What if we could make these scars never happen in the first place. Would I prevent the scar on my foot if I could? Hell no. I am as proud of it as I am of both of my tattoos. It is who I am. The other scars? They would be more tempting, but I can say now with certainty that the answer is the same. Why? Emily.

You see, we are the sum component of all circumstances that happen to us. Where we are is based on where we've been. If I changed even one thing, perhaps Emily wouldn't be. Would Martha and I have a daughter? Perhaps. Would we name her Emily? Perhaps. Would she be the same girl that she is? No. The slightest change in any of a number of factors, including timing could make her a completely different person. Would I love her as much? Probably, but I don't see myself voting for making her a different person because of a little pain on my part. Not that I have a choice in the matter, but that is what my vote is anyway.

The point? Some of the most painful parts in our lives contributed to who and where we are today. Could it be better? Probably. Could it be worse? Most definitely. Not only do they contribute, but frequently enough the painful moments are our landmarks. So, consider that a little next time you start complaining about what's going wrong in your life right at the moment. Sit back and take a closer look around you. Find that something that is going to mean that much more to you because it came up while this was going on.

A little bit of happy, shiny people kind of tone, but that's life, or something close to it.

A New Avenue

Today, for the first day, the established routine of my wife, my daughter and I has been changed. For the entirety of my daughter's life, I have gotten up in the morning and gone to work, and my wife has stayed home to take care of her. Not so today. Today Martha has returned to work. I am working today as well, but not until this evening. So I had the opportunity of having the baby to take care of as she took off.

It has been an interesting first run. The baby felt I needed to be initiated, so she has thrown up on me four times already. After the first two times it happened my mother laughingly suggested the process of feeding her in small amounts and then burping her so that this didn't happen. So after a couple of ounces I sat her up, propped against my hand, and patted her back as my wife and mother regularly do. That was the third time. All over my hand. At least she was amused.

Actually she was feeling rather playful at the moment so I laid her down on the table in front of me and talked to her and tickled her and grinned like an idiot as she laughed and sang and kicked her feet around. She got herself real worked up. So much so, that when I picked her up again to carry her into the other room, she threw up on me again. Again, she seemed rather amused. I doubt she would have been so amused if the roles were reversed.

It was at about this point that I delegated the job of feeding my daughter to my mother in the hopes that she might induce her to keep some of it down. We shall see. One thing is for sure: With Martha working I am going to have to figure out the whole process of feeding her. There are generally others that can do it, but if they aren't there I am going to have to know how. That's just a part of life, or something close to it.

Way Too Far

Anybody else agree that both parties that continued this pointless debate took it way too far?

http://thereformation.blogspot.com/2005/08/on-issue-of-elect-i-made-comment-on.html

(Or is it just life, or something close to it?)

Arrogance

As I have mentioned before, I find myself in frequent debates with people on various Blogs. Most of them are healthy debates. Ones in which I have learned and, I hope, people have occasional learned from me. You are also undoubtedly aware that some of these debates have nothing to do with learning experiences. They are more a matter of simply butting heads.

In most forums I will only go so far with someone who obviously isn't engaging in the same conversation I am. I have too many other ways to better spend my energy. As such, I just let them go there own way. There are certain individuals that I will run across though that manage to set the stage on which simply walking away won't work.

For months I have been in a number of debates with one person in particular. (If you haven't done so, you can follow the link to the right, to the only Blog that is linked. You will quickly see what I mean.) I have sat down and thought about it several times, and it finally occurred to me what my issue is here. Why it is that I am continuously driven to respond to comments he makes to me. Initially I thought it was simply because he was directly referencing or commenting to me, but there is more to it than that.

This man is a Pastor. No big surprise. Many of us that travel amongst the Blogs I frequent are ministers of one type or another. I certainly don't hold the title against him. Yet what bothers me is attaching this title to the method of debate thus far. You see, (or you would if you had read our debates) he tends to ignore the bulk of what is said or twist it to say what he wants it to mean. This isn't a good quality in a leader. Certainly not a religious leader. If it is your job to lead people, you need to be able to correctly illustrate what the map and instructions say. You also need to demonstrate that you are capable of listening to the people you are leading, even if to acknowledge and disagree. People you don't listen to tend not to listen to you.

I know some of you have a greater problem with religions in general than some of the rest of us. That's your right. Still, while I have more tolerance for all religions, I can't abide theocracies. It is one thing to say, "Listen to God and live his words" and another thing altogether to say, "Listen to me, I'll relay the important words to you." Then again, I suppose that is the crux of most organized religion.

The thing is, if a member of your congregation comes up to you and tells you their problems, they should be able to expect that any preaching or counseling you provide addresses those problems, not something completely unrelated. They should be able to expect that you will answer what they say, not what you think or want them to mean. Now I know that I am not a member of his congregation, but I also know that he is not likely to completely change his personality with them. Besides, I have seen him do it to a member of his own congregation as well.

I think this is one of the areas that MC comes real close to being right on. Without any established religions, we wouldn't have as many self righteous, closed minded individuals thinking they have a right and a talent for insulting those who don't fall into an immediate lock step with them. Maybe that's just a part of life, or something close to it.

What's Happening

Honestly, not all that much, which is why there isn't much by way of comment on this site. I have been having a couple of interesting conversations on several of my friend's blogs, but haven't had much of anything to inspire me to write about on my own. I guess there is a lot to be said for such a boring life. Normally the items in life that inspire post after post are the less fortunate ones. Not always though.

I have found myself somewhat immersed in religious debate as of late. I participate in a couple of blogs on which this is the primary area of conversation, and I am anxiously awaiting the return of the Jehovah's witnesses who left me this darling little brochure on Sunday and promised to come back to discuss it this week. :) I doubt they will come, they never do, but I am looking forward to it anyway on the off chance that it might happen. I think it would be an interesting conversation. I am not sure that they would agree with me.

Emily is busy growing up, one day at a time. She smiles now. More specifically, when she is half asleep in her mother's arms as I come in from work, she opens her eyes and smiles when she hears my voice. That is definitely something to make a father skip a heart beat.

The other day Martha was holding her and she saw her shadow. She started making noises and moving around, trying to reach for it. It was quite something to watch. As was the later "conversation" with an empty beer can on the table next to her. (We've determined she likes the color red.)

There is not much else going on right now, but the little that is going on needs getting back to. So I am going to wander downstairs and leave you guys to your regularly scheduled life, or something close to it.

Annoyed

I was sitting around again over the last hour or so brooding about an issue that has bothered me for about nine months now. (No, not anything to do with my daughter.)

For those of you who don't know, I have always toyed around with writing. Sometimes with greater success, and sometimes with less. Now for two years my wife and I have had a tradition that while we are winding down in the evening I will tell her a story. One of the initial such stories kept going for about eight months, while I detailed the events in the life of one woman and an ever expanding group of friends and family for about fifty years before it ended with her death.

I have gone on to tell other stories, but Martha and I had become so close with these characters that I began to write it down. I worked hard at it and put to paper the very smallest fraction of this epic story. It's the prologue to the greater story, although it is a story in itself and about the equivalent of three hundred published pages in length.

When I had begun this I would print it out piece by piece as I went along and my mother started reading it. She only read about the first twenty pages before she got distracted by other things, but I made a deal with her. I was going to give myself a deadline to finish the first draft by Christmas so that the two of us could really work together on it. I did to, more or less. In truth it required slapping an ending on I am not proud of, and leaving several areas that need some serious polish. I was happy though. We had a finished product to work on. So I thought anyway.

The only time any work was done on it was while I was in the hospital, and most of that involved me going over it while she sat there. The book just sat on her desk for three months gathering dust while I awaited her input.

In this time two of my co-workers repeatedly harassed me about letting them read it, so I finally took it from my mother (we were only able to print one copy before my mother's printer died) and I brought it to work to give to one of my co-workers. The one who had been more vocal about reading it, and the one who had already given me a great compliment when I had him proofread a small, sad section of the story and he told me he was almost ready to cry.

This would have been around March. He still has the book. He has still not said anything to me about it. It makes me so angry at points but there really isn't anything I can see myself doing about it. I get so pissed off when I think about it, but then when I am face to face with him I hide behind jokes to get a feel for things and try and figure out if I will ever see the book again. Why? Because he is such a nice guy and I don't want to hurt his feelings, even as I tear myself apart with the dark voice in my head saying that if it was enough to catch a reader's attention they wouldn't take this long.

Nobody seems to realize some of the unique components that go into this problem. First and foremost is the fact that all of these characters over so much of a time frame have become like friends and family. Friends and family who only live if someone reads about them. They have sometimes even touched me deeply. I wandered around saddened for a couple of days when one of the primary characters from the beginning died. Even though I did it (sort of) I missed her. An important note since she is in this first book and stays in throughout. It kills me to know that this story is going nowhere.

Some might say that I could hop on the computer and just go back to work on it. I could, but it would be difficult. You see, I did so much better in this oral story than any of my written experiences for one reason. I directly worked with my audience and got feedback. I had somebody right there sharing it with me. So I put it on paper and worked on sharing it with more and possibly touching more as we have been by these people. I did this and for all I know the pages grow mold at the bottom of a sock drawer. Maybe some accident destroyed it and he just hasn't been able to tell me yet. I wish he would. I wish I could just go up to him and say, "Are you going to read this or not, because either way I need my baby back soon."

I don't know. It is just so frustrating. And that's just life, or something close to it.

An Interesting Time

Martha's ten year reunion from high school just came around. Last night we all took a tour of the school to see what changes have been made to it, and today we got together for a picnic and more social gathering. It was definitely an interesting experience all around.

When we first arrived, Martha told me that I should take the lead since I probably knew more of her classmates than she did. I laughed about this, but as it turned out she was right. I knew three or four of them, and she had only associated with two of them. We had a good time reminiscing about the school though.

Today I did a lot of wandering about and chatting with her classmates. We had taken Emily with us, so Martha did a lot more sitting around and letting folks come to pay homage to our daughter and talk to her while they were at it. Since they were catering the event and had a couple of kegs to hover around I knew it was going to be a good time, but the socializing aspect played out good as well.

As I wandered from group to group, I occasionally found myself reminiscing with someone about events that happened at our school that I did recall. Other times I had no idea what they were talking about, but just listened. It wasn't until I was making my rounds to say goodbye that I made a disturbing discovery.

It was about the time I went out of my way to say goodbye to a girl I hadn't known, nor had I talked to for more than a few minutes in the past two days. The reason I made it a point to say goodbye was that she had been one of the few to immediately recognize Martha without the assistance of a name tag. It seemed the right thing to do. That was when it hit me. Somewhere in the past couple of years, at a point I can't nail down, I became the same kind of social creature that my mother is. At some point I moved out of the corners and started talking to and joking with people I barely knew, or didn't know but had some vague reason for associating with. Being the proud introvert that I am, this ability scared the hell out of me, and I am not sure what my final opinion about it is yet. It was a good time, but a short one. Now we have five more years to wait before we do it again.

Enough about that for now, though. It is about time for me to go to bed. Before I do, I must honor Lisanocerous' request:

The latest Emily chronicles:
I came home from work yesterday and stepped in long enough to collect Martha to go on the school tour. In doing so I found a new piece of furniture I hadn't seen yet. This item is a small chair that is slightly reclined and has multicolored noisy little toys hanging above it. The chair faced my mother, but Emily neither looked at her or the toys. Her head was turned and she was watching tv, reclined back with her hands laying on her stomach. She even squawked at Simba when he interrupted her line of sight.

While I initially thought this was cute, I was slightly concerned by her fascination with the television. It is not a big deal now, but I figure if it is ingrained in her that will make convincing her to do something non television related later might be more difficult. My concerns about this were lessoned later when I got home and turned on the poker match and Martha put her in the chair again. As she intently watched the poker game I realized that maybe the television is at least useful on an educational level. After all, anything that will teach my daughter to be a stellar poker player by the age of three can't be all that bad, can it?

I could probably go on about everything and nothing, but I do have a painful wake up call coming way to early in the morning. I would love to cancel it, but one has to pay the bills. That's just life, or something close to it.