brain, breath, and blood
Aug. 21st, 2003 03:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thejunipertreeCommenting to someone in a previous post of mine has made me want to write out the timeline of how I came to my present religion.
A long time ago, when I was just a wee Tara, I was terribly dissatisfied with the religion I was baptised into. Lutheran. Which is probably the most dull of all the Christian religions, if you ask me.
Add on top of that a very spiritually defunct family. My mother didn't really make us go to church or anything like that. Both of my brothers were raised Catholic (oh, how jealous I am!), but weren't necessarily forced into making confirmation or anything else. It was kind of a 'in name only' sort of thing.
Being the inquisitive brat that I was (and still am), I started to read up on all manner of things. Including the mythologies of various cultures, one of them being the Celts. Having been slapped with a very Irish name, this appealed to me from the get go. The stories of the Celtic deities also appealed to me because they were just more interesting then any of the other pantheons. To me, at least.
Fast forward a few years and you will find me wandering around bookshops, looking for things to read. I am a voracious reader and will happily devour just about book I can lay my hands on. And at that age, maybe 11 or 12, I was already reading way beyond my age group. Most of the books I read were my mother's or lent to my mother by her friends. I didn't want any of that "The Babysitters' Club" garbage. I wanted something GOOD.
One trip to the bookstore led me into the religion section, which was placed right next to the occult section. I spied numerous things that I had never even thought of before. Witchcraft? That's not real. Don't be silly.
However, I left that day with a book about witchcraft. For the life of me, I can't remember the title of it either. I wish I could, because it was probably something really stupid that I could laugh at now. ;)
This led me into more forays to the bookstore and more books devoured. Cogs were beginning to turn in my little clockwork brain. I was a strange child and didn't have very many friends, since we always moved around so much. I was also picked on quite a bit, usually for being the new kid. Or the weird kid. Or the poor kid. Any of those things fit me and my classmates loved to point the finger. One of them in particular was quite nasty and I wanted to get him back in the worst and most painful way.
After reading these books, I decided that a spell (hah!) was the best path to revenge. And I concocted a goofy little number that was designed to set his house on fire.
It didn't work, of course. But, I felt better for getting all that anger out.
Fast forward a bit more and you'll find me as a very young teenager who has decided that she is going to worship the Celtic pantheon. Two of my favourites being Macha and Brigid. It spoke to me in ways that no other religion had before, despite the fact that I didn't think it was an actual religion. I wrote my own little rituals and conducted them. I prayed to the gods and goddesses that I felt would help me, sending my pleas to the ones corresponding roughly to my problems.
I later found books on something called 'wicca', but didn't really care for it. I wasn't about any kind of 'divine feminine principle' and I certainly didn't like the whole Wiccan Rede of 'an harm none, do what thou wilt'. When I started to become open about my religious ideas, people who had a basic knowledge of the occult would ask if I was wiccan. Urrm. No. What I was doing was 'older'. (hah! hahahahahaha!)
My mother saw the candles I brought home and the strange symbols I carved on them. She smelled incense and heard strange noises coming from my attic bedroom. The only thing she ever said was 'What are you doing up there?' Other then that, she was perfectly accepting of what I did. She even asked to read a book on candle magick I had been carrying around.
I read more books, stole ideas from them, began to learn about herbalism (something which I'm still pretty good at now). I prayed, did my little solitary rituals, and wrote down everything I did in a little black and white notebook.
This continued through high school and my failed foray into college. I was out on my own, by then. And when weird things happened in my friends' apartments, I was usually asked to come in and cleanse the places (there's a whole lot of other stories for that, maybe another time). I still read a lot and now I had more people to talk to about what I was doing. But, under everything was a growing dissatisfaction. It still didn't feel right. During this period, I become involved with a boy who has an obsession with Aleister Crowley. He bugged me into reading Liber Aleph, which I did begrudgingly. And found to be boring and dry. The boyfriend talked a lot of smack about what he could do, but I was usually left rolling my eyes. I read more. I stopped doing rituals. The dissatisfaction grew.
I began to feel like my former patrons were abandoning me. And I began to abandon my ways, slowly.
A few more years go by, to my twenties. I've started to read more on other religions and other occult paths. A friend of mine tells me about Chaos magick and I go to the local bookstore to look for something on it, but mistakenly pick up something on chaos theory. Math? Fuck that.
By now, I've met all manner of people from all manner of religions and occult paths. I have made friends who were Wiccan and Satanist. Hindu, Hari Krishna, Rastafarian, OTO people, chaos magickians, atheists, Orthodox Catholics. You name it. And at about this time, I develop an obsession for Mary Magdalene. Which leads me into researching Catholic history and becoming enamoured with the saints.
After a few more talks with a friend (the same one who told me about chaos magick), I began to pick up on that. Make up my own rules? Shift from pantheon to pantheon? This doesn't sound bad. So, I take that ball and run with it.
Until about two years ago.
One of my ex-roommates had been into voodoo. He and I had some interesting conversations on the subject, but I couldn't find any good reading material. I started using the image of one of the spirits from that religion, Papa Gede or Baron Samedi, in my little chaos magick rituals more and more. His wife, Maman Brigette, also began to figure strongly into things.
One day after a particularly long depression I had been having, I made a life altering decision. I was tired of an seemingly endless succession of mind numbing jobs that weren't going anywhere, so I decided I wanted to go back to college. Only this time, instead of photography (which I had previously gone to school for and dropped out), I was going for something that really fascinated me. Something that spoke to me on numerous levels. Something that seemed worthwhile.
Mortuary science.
It felt right. I felt called to it. And after the first time I vocalised this desire, a strange sort of peace filled my head. It was the right decision, I felt. It was where I was supposed to go and what I was supposed to do.
I had been having reoccuring dreams for quite some time of a cemetary, probably for the past year or so. Then one night, I had this dream.
I felt it was an omen. But, it wasn't something I was enormously happy about. Everything I had gotten my hands on about voodoo had seemed so...committed. It was scary shit, the idea of being so intricately tied to such a demanding religion. I fought it. For a long time, I fought against it. I did not want to commit myself to something like that. It was far too much.
But, the dreams kept coming every few months. And each time I was left feeling more and more like I was being pointed in the correct direction. They still come, because I'm still fighting it. One day, after looking over some webpages I found, I read an article about the connection between Maman Brigette and the Celtic goddess, Brigid. Brigid, who I had thought abandoned me. Despite the fact that this connection between the two is fiercely debated, it struck a chord in me. Maybe they're not the same entity, but surely it must mean something that I was tied to both of them at various points in my life?
My dreams have all spoke of having a benefactoress, a patron. Papa Gede spoke of it. And so did the secret named lwa who showed himself to me in another dream. It has to mean something, to figure so predominantly in my dreams.
So now here I am in present day. I haven't completely committed to this religion, mostly because I haven't the resources to do so. I am very much alone in this quest right now and I probably will be for some time. I don't mind it terribly much, but I'd still like to have someone more knowledgable then I to speak to about it sometimes.
I have my altar set up on a little shelf in my room and I kept it clean, with fresh cigarettes and candy. One of these days, I'll make it to the liquor store for a bottle of Barbancourt rum. Each Saturday, I kneel in front of it and honour Papa Gede and his wife as they are the ones who seem to have tapped me. The secret lwa I'm still learning about, so I don't quite know yet what to do for him, but I speak to him occasionally in my dreams and in my head.
I haven't stopped reading about other religions, I don't think I'll ever be bored of that. But it feels right, all of this. I've started incorporating the other lwa into my day to day activities. The other day, I promised Legba I'd buy him a statue of his saint if the door to an upcoming appointment I was running late for wasn't shut (indicating that it had already started and I wouldn't be allowed in). The door was open, so now I have to find him a good representation for my altar. I whisper to my boyfriend's kingsnake hellos that he should send to Damballah for me.
Every day, I become more and more wrapped up in this new fabric and every day, it feels more and more comfortable. Maybe I'll only ever remain just a practioner. I have no desire to take on the asson or ascend further up the ladder.
For now, I am merely content in believing what I believe.
And that's good enough for me.
A long time ago, when I was just a wee Tara, I was terribly dissatisfied with the religion I was baptised into. Lutheran. Which is probably the most dull of all the Christian religions, if you ask me.
Add on top of that a very spiritually defunct family. My mother didn't really make us go to church or anything like that. Both of my brothers were raised Catholic (oh, how jealous I am!), but weren't necessarily forced into making confirmation or anything else. It was kind of a 'in name only' sort of thing.
Being the inquisitive brat that I was (and still am), I started to read up on all manner of things. Including the mythologies of various cultures, one of them being the Celts. Having been slapped with a very Irish name, this appealed to me from the get go. The stories of the Celtic deities also appealed to me because they were just more interesting then any of the other pantheons. To me, at least.
Fast forward a few years and you will find me wandering around bookshops, looking for things to read. I am a voracious reader and will happily devour just about book I can lay my hands on. And at that age, maybe 11 or 12, I was already reading way beyond my age group. Most of the books I read were my mother's or lent to my mother by her friends. I didn't want any of that "The Babysitters' Club" garbage. I wanted something GOOD.
One trip to the bookstore led me into the religion section, which was placed right next to the occult section. I spied numerous things that I had never even thought of before. Witchcraft? That's not real. Don't be silly.
However, I left that day with a book about witchcraft. For the life of me, I can't remember the title of it either. I wish I could, because it was probably something really stupid that I could laugh at now. ;)
This led me into more forays to the bookstore and more books devoured. Cogs were beginning to turn in my little clockwork brain. I was a strange child and didn't have very many friends, since we always moved around so much. I was also picked on quite a bit, usually for being the new kid. Or the weird kid. Or the poor kid. Any of those things fit me and my classmates loved to point the finger. One of them in particular was quite nasty and I wanted to get him back in the worst and most painful way.
After reading these books, I decided that a spell (hah!) was the best path to revenge. And I concocted a goofy little number that was designed to set his house on fire.
It didn't work, of course. But, I felt better for getting all that anger out.
Fast forward a bit more and you'll find me as a very young teenager who has decided that she is going to worship the Celtic pantheon. Two of my favourites being Macha and Brigid. It spoke to me in ways that no other religion had before, despite the fact that I didn't think it was an actual religion. I wrote my own little rituals and conducted them. I prayed to the gods and goddesses that I felt would help me, sending my pleas to the ones corresponding roughly to my problems.
I later found books on something called 'wicca', but didn't really care for it. I wasn't about any kind of 'divine feminine principle' and I certainly didn't like the whole Wiccan Rede of 'an harm none, do what thou wilt'. When I started to become open about my religious ideas, people who had a basic knowledge of the occult would ask if I was wiccan. Urrm. No. What I was doing was 'older'. (hah! hahahahahaha!)
My mother saw the candles I brought home and the strange symbols I carved on them. She smelled incense and heard strange noises coming from my attic bedroom. The only thing she ever said was 'What are you doing up there?' Other then that, she was perfectly accepting of what I did. She even asked to read a book on candle magick I had been carrying around.
I read more books, stole ideas from them, began to learn about herbalism (something which I'm still pretty good at now). I prayed, did my little solitary rituals, and wrote down everything I did in a little black and white notebook.
This continued through high school and my failed foray into college. I was out on my own, by then. And when weird things happened in my friends' apartments, I was usually asked to come in and cleanse the places (there's a whole lot of other stories for that, maybe another time). I still read a lot and now I had more people to talk to about what I was doing. But, under everything was a growing dissatisfaction. It still didn't feel right. During this period, I become involved with a boy who has an obsession with Aleister Crowley. He bugged me into reading Liber Aleph, which I did begrudgingly. And found to be boring and dry. The boyfriend talked a lot of smack about what he could do, but I was usually left rolling my eyes. I read more. I stopped doing rituals. The dissatisfaction grew.
I began to feel like my former patrons were abandoning me. And I began to abandon my ways, slowly.
A few more years go by, to my twenties. I've started to read more on other religions and other occult paths. A friend of mine tells me about Chaos magick and I go to the local bookstore to look for something on it, but mistakenly pick up something on chaos theory. Math? Fuck that.
By now, I've met all manner of people from all manner of religions and occult paths. I have made friends who were Wiccan and Satanist. Hindu, Hari Krishna, Rastafarian, OTO people, chaos magickians, atheists, Orthodox Catholics. You name it. And at about this time, I develop an obsession for Mary Magdalene. Which leads me into researching Catholic history and becoming enamoured with the saints.
After a few more talks with a friend (the same one who told me about chaos magick), I began to pick up on that. Make up my own rules? Shift from pantheon to pantheon? This doesn't sound bad. So, I take that ball and run with it.
Until about two years ago.
One of my ex-roommates had been into voodoo. He and I had some interesting conversations on the subject, but I couldn't find any good reading material. I started using the image of one of the spirits from that religion, Papa Gede or Baron Samedi, in my little chaos magick rituals more and more. His wife, Maman Brigette, also began to figure strongly into things.
One day after a particularly long depression I had been having, I made a life altering decision. I was tired of an seemingly endless succession of mind numbing jobs that weren't going anywhere, so I decided I wanted to go back to college. Only this time, instead of photography (which I had previously gone to school for and dropped out), I was going for something that really fascinated me. Something that spoke to me on numerous levels. Something that seemed worthwhile.
Mortuary science.
It felt right. I felt called to it. And after the first time I vocalised this desire, a strange sort of peace filled my head. It was the right decision, I felt. It was where I was supposed to go and what I was supposed to do.
I had been having reoccuring dreams for quite some time of a cemetary, probably for the past year or so. Then one night, I had this dream.
I felt it was an omen. But, it wasn't something I was enormously happy about. Everything I had gotten my hands on about voodoo had seemed so...committed. It was scary shit, the idea of being so intricately tied to such a demanding religion. I fought it. For a long time, I fought against it. I did not want to commit myself to something like that. It was far too much.
But, the dreams kept coming every few months. And each time I was left feeling more and more like I was being pointed in the correct direction. They still come, because I'm still fighting it. One day, after looking over some webpages I found, I read an article about the connection between Maman Brigette and the Celtic goddess, Brigid. Brigid, who I had thought abandoned me. Despite the fact that this connection between the two is fiercely debated, it struck a chord in me. Maybe they're not the same entity, but surely it must mean something that I was tied to both of them at various points in my life?
My dreams have all spoke of having a benefactoress, a patron. Papa Gede spoke of it. And so did the secret named lwa who showed himself to me in another dream. It has to mean something, to figure so predominantly in my dreams.
So now here I am in present day. I haven't completely committed to this religion, mostly because I haven't the resources to do so. I am very much alone in this quest right now and I probably will be for some time. I don't mind it terribly much, but I'd still like to have someone more knowledgable then I to speak to about it sometimes.
I have my altar set up on a little shelf in my room and I kept it clean, with fresh cigarettes and candy. One of these days, I'll make it to the liquor store for a bottle of Barbancourt rum. Each Saturday, I kneel in front of it and honour Papa Gede and his wife as they are the ones who seem to have tapped me. The secret lwa I'm still learning about, so I don't quite know yet what to do for him, but I speak to him occasionally in my dreams and in my head.
I haven't stopped reading about other religions, I don't think I'll ever be bored of that. But it feels right, all of this. I've started incorporating the other lwa into my day to day activities. The other day, I promised Legba I'd buy him a statue of his saint if the door to an upcoming appointment I was running late for wasn't shut (indicating that it had already started and I wouldn't be allowed in). The door was open, so now I have to find him a good representation for my altar. I whisper to my boyfriend's kingsnake hellos that he should send to Damballah for me.
Every day, I become more and more wrapped up in this new fabric and every day, it feels more and more comfortable. Maybe I'll only ever remain just a practioner. I have no desire to take on the asson or ascend further up the ladder.
For now, I am merely content in believing what I believe.
And that's good enough for me.
