Today I’d like to share with you some of the prayer beads I have made.

A few years ago, I became extremely intrigued by the idea of rosaries and prayer beads. For many years I have enjoyed micro-macramé, and attempted to see if I could use it to make prayer beads. I didn’t like the effect and switched to simple knotted silk.

Hematite and red glass on green silk. 9 sets of 9 beads plus the focal four.

I later decided that I preferred using eye pins instead. Most of them were given as gifts over the years. I still have a few that haven’t found homes yet, waiting neatly in their packages.  Here’s a gallery of the ones to date. They aren’t all works of art, but I was really quite pleased with most of them.

[Show as slideshow]

Lately I feel like maybe making some more.

I made a deal with myself that I couldn’t open module 3 until I at least finish the journal questions from module 1. Module 2 needs to be done as well, but I don’t think I can hold out that long. This course is just too interesting so far. I want to eat it all up!

This may seem a little stream-of-consiousness or disjointed.

Spiritual history

Looking back over my spiritual history, I think I’ve mostly had a positive experience. I think I am fortunate in this. I was reflecting recently in a conversation with my mother that I don’t have a lot of the hurts and injustices many do when healing from their experiences with the Church, although at the same time this is also a challenge for me. I have nothing to rise up against. Spiritual rebellion was challenging for me as a teenager. I think going Pentecostal for a while was probably more rebellious than the going Pagan afterward.

I did find while I was at Church that there were things I didn’t agree with, but in the end I think it has to be admitted that my problems were with the people themselves. I remember encountering some people who were vehement creationists, which I found, well, shocking and baffling. I remember on one retreat someone being shocked that I was raised on AC/DC because they had been taught that this was an acronym for “AntiChrist/Death to Christ!” and I didn’t have the heart to tell them it’s an electrical current. It’s easy for some people to see demons anywhere. Maintaining my open mind became more important after that.

Deity

I’m not sure I could come up with just one name to call God if I had to choose it. In my brain it varies between The Gods, The All, Them, Whom, Himself, Herself, God, Goddess, etc. Interestingly, I notice that none of these are names in and of themselves. My definition of the Divine has not changed in many years. I have spent (wasted?) a lot of time searching for a particular Aspect to call my patron or patroness, but I suspect that for me this may be missing the point. I need to remind myself sometimes that the All that is true for me is a dualistic, elemental, multifacted thing, more like Yin and Yang than like a particular face.

Occasionally I have interacted with Aspects, or gods with a small “g”, or particular faces of the Divine as many pagans have. It’s rarely been the same Aspect twice. This is one of the biggest reasons why the Nomad course and path are drawing me in. I have had powerful moments, earth-moving interactions, dreams, conversations, and stunning visualizations with Aspects, but none of them have ever Called me Home the way I’ve always craved. Instead, I find I resonate with different Aspects at different times, and that’s okay.

Sometimes the interaction is not with a specific Aspect of the Divine but with what I would consider the Divine in a more generalized way. The moments of grace, for instance, that I wrote about in my earlier post, would fall under this category. It is more… trancendent, perhaps, although even that doesn’t feel like the correct word.

Altars

As with my previous post on altars it seems to me that I can do with less, much less, despite my love of the accessories of faith. In fact, I can do with nothing at all. I don’t need an altar to connect to the Divine, but I am enjoying the ritualization of it and the altar’s role in the ritual.

Thanks for bearing with me through all that!

I have taken captcha off of commenting for the time being while I figure out what the issue is. Commenting should work fine now. If you are still having trouble, please drop me an email at analae at gmail dot com to let me know – I’d appreciate it!

I’m sort of bouncing all over the place here, but right now I’m going to skip back to one of the Week One exercises, which has been stewing now for about two weeks. The idea is to identify moments of “grace”.

“Grace” can be a loaded word, especially for those with a Christian background. It has helped me to think about it in other terms. For instance, times that I unquestionably felt a Divine presence; times when I feel like the God(s) have interceded in my life; times of great peace and calm, or serenity. To me, when I think about it, yes. Those qualify as moments of what I would comfortably describe as Grace. So that was the first challenge of the exercise. Alrighty then. Moving on.

I would add something to that list. Movie Moments. Have you ever had a moment that just seemed perfectly orchestrated, as if the director of the movie of your life had placed this light here, the marks just so, the soundtrack perfectly queued, and shouted Action! and you find yourself waking up into the most beautiful moment? I like to think the the director is a divine force, so let’s call that force the Director with a capital D.

Most of my Movie Moments have a soundtrack. They most often involve music, although sometimes it is more subtle, like ambient noise or birdsong. For our purposes today let’s go with musical examples.

I can recall once, in highschool, walking down the sidewalk with my headphones on. I am not certain what I was listening to at the time but I suspect it was something by Roxette (<3 Roxette). The day was overcast and cool, and there was a fine mist of rain starting. I remember my mood was fairly grim (I was a teenager; this was not uncommon). Suddenly everything – the mood of the scene complemented by the weather, the freshness, the mist on my face and the soundtrack – just came together for a moment, and time just… stopped.

I recall another time probably a year or two later when a friend I no longer have and a boyfriend long gone and I were sitting in her sister’s room, listening to a particular song (Windy Day, from the Escaflowne soundtrack) and she and I were belting out the phonetically learned lyrics at the top of our lungs while he looked on. It was a gorgeous moment when time stopped. To this day that is the only Japanese song I can sing fully from memory.

I recall taking the train into Toronto at night, and onto my headphones came Across the Universe, which is a Beatles song, but the version from the soundtrack of the movie of the same name, and I recalled the scene in the film when it plays – the main character is on a subway. I watched the lights of Toronto become brighter, speeding through the industrial areas, and felt like I understood the context of the song the director – or Director – was trying to achieve.

Last May, I was on a bus on an overcast morning on my way to get my nails done with a bride and my co-bridesmaids. On my headphones (don’t you love shuffle?) randomly came the opening to U2′s Where The Streets Have No Name, and just then, the sun broke through the clouds. And it was beautiful, and perfect, and not ironic or cynical in any way. It just was, and I knew that no one else on the bus would understand this moment, because they weren’t me, where I was in my life, listening to what I was listening to just at that exact wonderful second.

I can think of several other moments of Grace that fall into the other categories I listed, but those would require pages and pages to define. I am happy with remembering these examples for you all.

Hey gang,

If you’ve tried to leave a comment recently and it hasn’t taken, don’t worry. It’s not you. I’m working on it!

This week’s focal assignment has been very difficult for me.  We were to create a collage or board of inspiring people, gurus, if you will. They could be anyone. I’ve been stewing on it for days, not really wanting to dive into it, think about it, worry about actually setting out who inspires me. Nothing could be a complete list, anyway, and someone’s always going to be left out, but here it is. Ta-da:

In almost no particular order:

Sarah Brightman. Her music speaks to me in so many ways. For a while I had a framed poster of her on my wall; it was gorgeous but didn’t survive the last move.

Audrey Hepburn. I don’t think I really need to explain this one, and nothing I could say would do her justice.

Juniper. Don’t be embarrassed that I put you on here, because in the last year I have learned more from you than you realize. You are an extremely strong, knowledgable and lovable lady and you belong here.

Ayumi Hamasaki. She thinks outside the box, and even translated her lyrics sometimes bring me to tears.

Sarah, Labyrinth (Jennifer Connelly). You have no power over me. ’nuff said.

Vanessa Valencia. I read A Fanciful Twist all the time. I want to love life as much as she does, to see the sparkle and beauty and whimsy in everything.

Countessa Lenora. Don’t go being shy either, you. You are a dear friend and mentor and you care about the state of my soul and have the experience to guide me in its care and feeding.

Jenny Lawson. I know I’m not the first to put The Bloggess on my Guru Board. She’s raw, and honest, and funny as hell. She belongs. And I do own a red dress.

On a parting note: my favourite Ayumi Hamasaki song, for your enjoyment:

Ayumi Hamasaki – INSPIRE ( PV ) – MyVideo

Giving a smile fit for each situation
Saying plausible words
I go blank
It’s about time to end up pretending to be impassive

*No one can live alone
No one can live without love
Though they are matters of course
Now I keenly feel so

**You are blaming on this age
But what is the excuse for?
You see? To talk about love or dream
Is not uncool at all

Whom are the words for?
What is the process for?
What does it mean to live?
If there are definate answers, don’t you think it’s boring?

***I don’t have to hesitate any more
I know what I want to protect
It’s too late to turn back,
Which I know very well

****Yes, I stand up again and again
If there is a wall, we can break it
Don’t you think our lives have only just begun?
So long as there is a way, we can open the door

This article from the Toronto Sun yesterday describes love not so much as an emotion as a drive.

This is your brain on love, by Carolyn McTighe

I have that drive, for sure. But I lack the drive of extreme career ambition, the drive to hunt or compete or participate in extreme sports that some people have. I think similarly, some people lack the drive for love. No one has them all, but everyone craves something, whether it’s adrenaline or dopamine or who knows whatever else.

Brain chemicals are yummy.

Of course this is not to say that the feelings and emotions surrounding the drive for love are somehow invalid. They are no more invalid than the feelings and emotions that surround success to the ambitious or failure to the athlete. The possibilities for emotional reactions/consequences to love are limitless.

I “get” love. I guess some people don’t…  but I find that difficult to understand. Much like I don’t relate well to extremely ambitious people, I have difficulty understanding people who don’t have the drive for love. This drive is a defining point in my personality, my goals, my vision for my life, my nature and demeanour, my attitude towards spirituality, friendship, media, food, pets, you name it. Everything! Love that love.

I’ve always attributed it to the heavy Venus influence in my astrological chart. But no matter where it really comes from, it is a big part of who I am. Although sometimes that makes me something of a jaded romantic, sometimes it adds a brilliance to my life that I wouldn’t give up. Love is just my favourite flavour of brain.

On that note, please now enjoy this Zombie Valentine by Buz Carter. Happy Valentine’s Day to those who celebrate it, disdain it, and ignore it! :D

This is a long one, folks.

This week in the Nomad course there has been a lot of focus on one’s spiritual background. After spending some time drawing out my roadmap with all of its main attractions (the biggest ball of twine in Lis’ head!) it seems apparent that I have spent most of my conscious spiritual life trying to find what pet owners refer to as a “forever home.”

There have been many stops on the path where I rested and got comfortable, but I am coming to accept that they are not where I would stay. So many of the places I wanted to belong, it turns out, were stepping stones. Extremely important stepping stones.
Read the rest of this entry »

Things are already starting to get crazy around here. Today we will be discussing something completely unexpected, at least to me, who assumed this was a closed subject. But you never really know what doors are going to be open at times like this, so here goes.

One of the books on the reading list provided in the Spiritual Nomad materials is The Red Book by Sara Beak. I ordered it for my Kobo and began to read it on the weekend. The other day, I was reading it in the lunchroom on my Kobo, when a co-worker asked me what I was reading. This happens a lot in our lunch room, as only a few people still bring paper books with obvious covers to work. After a moment’s hesitation I told her the title and its tag line: “A Deliciously Unorthodox Approach to Igniting Your Divine Spark.”  She replied affirmatively that this was a way to get in touch with God, then, to which I agreed with but emphasised the unorthodox aspect. Her response was, oh, so, not through prayer? I replied that it seemed to have to do more with mindfulness and mantras, but that I hadn’t gotten to that part yet (I was was being purposely obtuse).  She replied that I should just remember, He doesn’t have Call Waiting, and I can talk to Him anytime. The conversation ended and we went back to our own lunches.

Firstly, let me say that I really like this woman, she is a sweetheart and very knowledgeable about her job. I don’t on principle take offence to anything she said; she was just being kind and I opened myself up to it by deciding to tell her what I was reading. But I did react to it as if I was offended, internally, and that reaction was very curious. I felt a tightening in my chest and a sort of flip-flop of my heart, like an engine turning over, and it made me feel anxious for a moment. The feeling wasn’t pleasant. All of this happened in a split second, and I was left with a deep sense of, “Huh. I wonder what that was all about.”

I suspect that part of what troubled me was the feeling that she was making an assumption of which God we were talking about. Part of it was that when I assume what God(s) I’m talking about, they’re usually Pagan, and part of me is apparently still willing to get defensive on that point. By extension, part of it may have been that she was imparting advice which may be really quite applicable to her definition of God without considering mine. Part of it was my Pentecostal Christian background, later superseded by Paganism, that felt a twinge of recognition and, somehow, guilt.

I am curious about the guilt. Do I have residual feelings about leaving my church, almost 15 years ago? What IS this all about? I read recently that in order to be offended by something you have to have bought into it. What did I buy into? Do I still care about the Pentecostal God, which would be my closest version to Whom my co-worker was referring, after all this time?

Really, I never stopped caring; I just put Him on a shelf. I joined the church in 1995 and left the Church in probably late 1996 or early ’97. For years, I allowed the Pentecostal version of reality co-exist with the Pagan version of reality similar to the way one would partition a hard drive. It was probably 2002 before I came to reconcile where the J-man came to rest in my personal mythology, and it’s never occurred to me, until now, that I’ve not necessarily made that same reconciliation about his Papa.

Huh.

This is not to say I haven’t thought about it at all; for a long time my principal Goddess concept was Shekhina, which rather requires acknowledgement of the existence of at least an Old-Testament God. But, like so many post-Christians, I dismissed the male divinity as the absent patriarch and focused all of my attention on Her. Classic neo-pagan stereotype, getting all goddess-centric.

Now I have to wait until the pieces fall into place so I can understand where that reaction came from, what it means. Am I even on the right track? I have no idea, but I do know that some nerve was touched and I’ll need to figure out what it is.

I am just a wooden tray. Or am I?

I’ve had many altars over the years. Many. I was the type of child who was mostly interested in dolls to dress them, undress them, redress them, pose them, and so on. So it has been the case with my altars. They begin pretty with a fresh utilitarian notion and ultimately become places that collect dust, display trinkets, and generally hold my keys and my mail. Lather, rinse, mix your metaphors, repeat.

I have one, now, sort of; it holds my hearth cauldron and my Brighid candles; it holds the incense beads I made last year and shelves the herbs I wildcrafted, stores my candles and my incense, and oh, and guess what? It also hold my keys and my mail.

I’ve only lived in this apartment since September. That didn’t take long. Once again the “altar” is actually just a glorified shelf. But it lives in the entryway, because that is the only place for it. So perhaps that is meant to be, after all. The Shelf it is.

I love Things. I love knicknacks and accoutrements and accessories and stuff. I love My Stuff.  Big ol’ loves to My Stuff.

With all due respect, My Stuff is getting stuffy.

Enter the suggestion in Week 1 of the Nomad course to go minimalist. This idea appeals to me. I like the idea of a tray-style altar that holds only what I need it to hold at that moment, and nothing more. Gone shall be the 33 Magickal Instruments of No Use Whatsoever.  Or, at least put away until they are, in fact, of use. On The Shelf. Do I want to meditate in the  living room? The tray sits nicely on the coffee table. Do I want to work in the bedroom? It provides a stable surface on my bed. I can put it on the floor. I can take it outside. The possibilities. (I don’t know where I’d take it outside; I live just off a fairly busy city street in an apartment building that doesn’t exactly have a rooftop garden. Not the point.)

I went out and sourced, then came home and worked worked with the tray today. It was different, but comfortable. In fact, much more comfortable than the various altars I’ve created while being unable to decide whether I want it to be sitting-, kneeling- or standing-accessible. I expected to be hyper-aware of all the Stuff that was missing, but actually, I wasn’t. It was fine. I consider this a win.

Altar. Check.