In the winter, we will leave in a small pink railway carriage
With blue cushions. We will be comfortable.
A nest of mad kisses lies In each soft corner.
You will close your eyes, in order not to see, through the glass,
The evening shadows making faces.
Those snarling monstrosities, a populace
Of black demons and black wolves.
Then you will feel your cheek scratched…
A little kiss, like a mad spider, Will run around your neck…
And you will say to me: ‘Get it!’ as you bend your neck -
And we will take a long time to find that creature -
Which travels a great deal…

I’ve previously described the bare bones of how I came to Paganism. In this portion I’ll discuss more about I felt when I first realized that being black was a BIG DEAL to some Pagans.

I grew up not really aware of race. Both of my parents had friends of various races and the private schools I was sent to always had a diverse mix of cultures. Growing up my best friends were Greek, Japanese, Indian, Black and German. I didn’t look at them differently, they were just like me. It wasn’t until High School that I realized oh hey, my upbringing was completely not the norm. I have tried to continue to foster this idea of treating everyone the same. I’m not one of those folks who go “Oh I don’t see race at all” because I think that’s a bit of hooey. Of course I do. I just choose to not let whatever race you are define how I treat you, how you act will do that for me.

It never occurred to me that when it came to my religion the color of my skin would be remarked upon so much. I’ve mentioned that I came of Pagan age during the Wicca 101 glut of the late 90s. Even though I had access to the internet and could research on the weekends when my mother wasn’t looking (My mom: “What are you looking at?!” Me: “Uh…trying to see if anyone remembers the Worst Witch with Tim Curry!” Pagan sites back then usually had a spinning pentacle .gif and a dark purple background. Sometimes there was a midi *shudder*) for the most part I was solitary and learned through books and my general fumbling. Race was the furthest thing on my mind, I was just trying to make sure I was doing a circle casting correctly.

Years later I decided that it was time to try to get out there in the alternative spirituality world at large. I HAD AN OPINION! What can I say? I was young. I started small. I first went on newsgroups, then worked my way up to lists and message boards. This was all well and good (Pagan message boards are where I learned to research everything) but I craved more. I wanted face to face interaction. I still believe that face to face interaction (via it Skype, or video conferencing or good old potluck) is really something folks should deal with at least for a year regularly or so. So baby Vermillion stepped off the internet and into the Pagan world of her city.

I honestly can tell you that my first tentative steps into the Pagan side of my city absolutely sucked. At first I thought the side eying looks, the muttering under the breath, the exasperation had to do because I was new. Everything I knew I knew from books and if I’m real, I was a bit of a smart ass. I figured the resistance that I was getting had everything to do with the fact I was a dreaded newbie and not you know, black. I scaled it back a bit, I listened more then talked and I tried to ask interesting questions. I made an effort to not be THAT person anymore.

I was still treated like dirt and it wasn’t until I went into a store and heard some disparaging remarks about my skin color that it clicked. It wasn’t because I didn’t know anything, it was because I was black! Hooray! Finally! I felt relieved that it wasn’t me personally, it was just a bunch of racist snotdoodles. Then I realized holy toledo, why does the color of my skin matter? Weren’t they too busy being High Priestess of Awesome to Lord and Lady Lightfluff to care about whether or not I have a natural tan? Shouldn’t there be more important things to put their energy into, say not being slapped around with a cosmic two by four? I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it.

When confronted with (what I perceive as) idiocy I usually do one of two things: either I ignore it and hope that they will reach enlightenment on their own (my preferred approach) or I go balls to the wall and get really aggressive about it. In this case I did neither, I just retreated. I disliked (and dislike) the idea that because of something so damn mundane I was being treated as if my views, my opinions, hell, the way I worship was just wrong. Not because I hadn’t done my research and not because I decided to throw say 2000 years of lore in the slop bucket but because I was BLACK.

I could quote some Shakespeare here about how we all have a heart with four chambers pumping red blood to keep us all alive, so why do we treat each other different but I won’t. There are traditions out there that place an emphasis on blood relations, on your genetic makeup and you know what? That’s fine…for that particular trad. I have no qualms with that. But if I’m attempting to join a group which distinctly states that all are welcome but what you really mean is “All are welcome except blacks because really don’t you have some Santeria to get down with?” is where my stiletto heels and I are going to have a talk with you.

Needless to say the experiences soured me to the point where I really considered going back to Christianity. In the end I didn’t (obviously!ha!) because I would have felt fake. Plus I didn’t want the misguided, mucked up opinions of some people to take away what was (and continues to be) a rich fulfilling spiritual life.

Next installment: The Gods, Vermillion and some apples.

To sit on rocks, to muse o’er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest’s shady scene,
Where things that own not man’s dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne’er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o’er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude, ’tis but to hold
Converse with Nature’s charms, and view her stores unrolled.

But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel and to possess,
And roam alone, the world’s tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
None that, with kindred consciousness endued,
If we were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued;
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

Hi blog-land! To quote Wendy Williams: How YOU doin’?

I’ve been lax in posting I know. I know. Here’s what I’ve been doing so far in list form. I like lists, they are tidy and appeal to my Virgo mind greatly:

• Full Moon rituals with my circle – I never thought this could be as fulfilling as it has been. I look forward to our monthly meetings (or bi-monthly if our schedules align), to standing outside under the Moon, working our Will, chanting, scrying (tho if I’m completely honest I’m completely crap at this) and communing with Deity. It’s amazing. If you had told me a year ago I would actively be getting together with a group of women in honor of the Gods I would have laughed in your face and called you a bloody liar. Everything is more potent and the food afterward is no joke either. Is this what I’ve been missing with avoiding groups before? Ye Gods!

• Work and I don’t mean the 9 to 5, bi-weekly paycheck kind. T. Thorn Coyle has been super inspiring to me lately, her latest blog postsums it up exactly. I’m trying to be more aware, more present in my life. I am working also on a massive year long project for the SOA that ties into that and it has been taking up quite a bit of my esoteric time. A lot of the stuff is internal so I couldn’t write about it without giving it away and really, I don’t want to do that. Not that it’s secret or anything but I feel like I would best be served by shutting up about it.

• The Wild Hunt! I’ve been commenting over there a lot. I HAVE AN OPINION OKAY?!

My poor blog has been neglected. So here’s what I’m going to try to do. One post a month that’s not Apple Mother. I can manage that I think, this post not included. That way I’m still being present but yet I won’t feel “AUGH” about it, I’ve given myself some wiggle room! A lot of my posts will probably be about my general witchcraft stuff since I can’t really talk about the SOA as it’s a mystery trad after all. So whoop whoop for being present!

Three months bade wane and wax the wintering moon
Between two dates of death, while men were fain
Yet of the living light that all too soon
Three months bade wane.

Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain,
Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune
That death smote silent when he smote again.

First went my friend, in life’s mid light of noon,
Who loved the lord of music: then the strain
Whence earth was kindled like as heaven in June
Three months bade wane.

A herald soul before its master’s flying
Touched by some few moons first the darkling goal
Where shades rose up to greet the shade, espying
A herald soul;

Shades of dead lords of music, who control
Men living by the might of men undying,
With strength of strains that make delight of dole.

The deep dense dust on death’s dim threshold lying
Trembled with sense of kindling sound that stole
Through darkness, and the night gave ear, descrying
A herald soul.

One went before, one after, but so fast
They seem gone hence together, from the shore
Whence we now gaze: yet ere the mightier passed
One went before;

One whose whole heart of love, being set of yore
On that high joy which music lends us, cast
Light round him forth of music’s radiant store.

Then went, while earth on winter glared aghast,
The mortal god he worshipped, through the door
Wherethrough so late, his lover to the last,
One went before.

A star had set an hour before the sun
Sank from the skies wherethrough his heart’s pulse yet
Thrills audibly: but few took heed, or none,
A star had set.

All heaven rings back, sonorous with regret,
The deep dirge of the sunset: how should one
Soft star be missed in all the concourse met?

But, O sweet single heart whose work is done,
Whose songs are silent, how should I forget
That ere the sunset’s fiery goal was won
A star had set?

SNOW. IN OCTOBER.

If there was any doubt in my mind that this winter was going to be interesting for me, this cleared it all up. At 2:40 tomorrow morning I will be on a train (providing the snow doesn’t muck it up) heading to Salem, Massachusetts. I realize that Salem is sort of a witchy pilgrimage for some and I’d be lying if I said part of me wasn’t interested solely because of that reason. I’m going Samhain Eve to visit an out of town friend (as in Salem is out of town for her as well) but I can’t shake the feeling that my current spiritual malaise will get a much needed jolt from the visit. I haven’t really written here for that particular reason. I had thought I was doing a pretty good job of keeping hush hush about it but a friend of mine has keen intuition because the other day I received a package from her, via the faeries.

It was interesting opening up the package. I couldn’t understand what it was, I hadn’t ordered anything (well I HAD but nothing I was expecting anytime soon *cough*) but when I got it open I sat there in shock. Everything in it was so right on point, it was eerie. Later on when I emailed her she asked some questions that I’ve been struggling to answer. I really don’t want to fail on my current path but I just can’t seem to grasp certain things. I don’t know if it’s because I’m not trying hard enough or if maybe there’s some basic part of my DNA that is pushing against this when I should be pulling.

Anyway that’s what’s going on for me. I have some posts halfway finished, my only issue is finding the bloody time to do so! I find it telling that come spring, summer & winter my social life is non-existent but once autumn comes around it kicks into high gear. I suppose that’s me squirreling away time with friends & family before I go off and hibernate for the winter. As for my lack of social life int eh warmer months, that’s attributed to the fact that I hate the heat.

Thy soul shall find itself alone
‘Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone –
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy:
Be silent in that solitude
Which is not loneliness — for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee — and their will
Shall then overshadow thee: be still.

For the night — tho’ clear — shall frown –
And the stars shall look not down,
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given –
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever :

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish –
Now are visions ne’er to vanish –
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more — like dew-drop from the grass:

The breeze — the breath of God — is still –
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy — shadowy — yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token –
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries! –

There are lots of folks who call this sabbat Mabon. I’m not entirely sure why as Mabon was the name of a God who was imprisoned in the Welsh Arthurian tale Culhwch ac Olwen and there’s no mention of Him having anything to do with Autumn. In fact there’s not much about Him period, all we know is he was the son of Modron, was captured as a young infant and is apparently the only person who can hunt down a particular boar. How folks get Autumn from this is beyond me. A bit of googling got me this page by noted author Sorita d’Este (must pick up her books sometime, too many books not enough time to read!) but even she mentions the same confusion I did. Further searching lead me to here which still doesn’t illuminate anything for me although the layout of the site is VERY nice indeed. I had hoped that Mike Nichol’s Witches Sabbats website would have something on it but nope, his entry for the equinox is called Harvest Home!

I don’t get it.

As for autumnal rites I’ve done today…short of a quick prayer this morning (said on my porch with the fog rolling in) I haven’t done anything. No baking of apple strudel (next week) or eating of pomegranates or frolicking in the leaves. I feel good about this. I’ve been working on some other stuff and I don’t need to have a big huge production for every turning of the season. Sure they’re fun (and I’ll be spending Halloween in Salem visiting a friend so if that’s not a big huge production I don’t know what is…) but quiet celebrations are great too.

Right! It’s Friday night and I’m…beat so I’m going to curl up in my bed with a new book and a cup of tea. I still owe the second half of the whole black pagan beginnings post but it’ll have to wait till next week as I’m giving the greater Pagan community in my area another shot to prove me wrong! We’ll see how it goes.

Autumn has hit and I have been WORKING. The SOA has these things called stations and the one that corresponds with autumn is Descent. Descent is…well I won’t say it’s fun but it’s a good sort of challenging. Lots of writing, lots of listening to my own gut, lots of thinking. I wouldn’t say I’m enjoying dealing with some things but I haven’t tossed in the towel yet. I have also been working on my non-SOA spirituality, doing a sort of general check-in with certain deities. Also this is a public shout-out to Manannán mac Lir for helping me to not completely lose my shit on a harrowing flight last month and yes I know He’s a sea deity. Just trust me on this!

That’s about it. I hope to have another post up this week but we’ll see.

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.