Tim

Tim teaches psychology, English, and journalism in southern California. He grew up in community theater and has been writing freelance reviews of both professional and community theater on and off for 18 years. Tim has been the Publicity Chair for Orange Coast CUUPs (Covenant of Unitarian Universalist Pagans), and is now their "Blogger at Large." He is an initiate in and member of the Temple of Witchcraft.

The Gates of Witchcraft: An interview with Christopher Penczak

 books  3 Responses »
Apr 282012
 

Christopher Penczak may be the most prolific contemporary Pagan author.  With almost 20 books to his credit, Penczak has published texts that cover a wide range of topics from gay witchcraft to Reiki to establishing a  relationship with plant spirits.  Of course, he is best known for the Temple of Witchcraft series, which presents the training system for the tradition of the same name that he co-founded.

One of Penczak’s talents is to synthesize a wealth of information from a wide variety of esoteric sources into a unified, coherent system.  This is exactly what he does in his newest book, The Gates of Witchcraft:  Twelve Paths of Power, Trance, and Gnosis.  Starting with a foundation in British Traditional Wicca, indeed in Gardner’s Book of Shadows, Pencak fleshes out Gardner’s original list of consciousness-changing techniques and adds new paths, all the while folding in techniques with roots in everything from the Northern Seidr to entheogens to sacred sexuality.

As a member of the Temple of Witchcraft, I don’t usually review Penczak’s books.  However, this book is a fantastic foundational book for Pagans of all paths and experience levels, that I felt it was important to discuss it here.  So rather than review the book, I thought I’d let the author speak for himself. Last week, I interviewed Christopher about his new offering.  His thoughts tell the story of his book better than I ever could:

 

Q: What was your inspiration for The Gates of Witchcraft?

CP: The core of the idea comes from the British Traditional Wicca Book of Shadows, a section known as the Eight Ways of Raising Power, or Eight Ways to the Center. It is a section on different methods of entering trance and/or raising power for rituals. I was fascinated by the list, but found some of the groupings confusing. I reworked in specifically focusing upon trance, and added four more paths, making twelve in all.

Q: Could you describe the book in your own words and give us a basic overview of the 12 paths?

CP: The Gates of Witchcraft is a manual for magically oriented people to explore many different methods of trance, from the exhibitory and exciting methods that raise our body’s systems to the more inhibitory techniques that lower our bodily systems and relax us. The techniques include meditation, breath work, sound, movement, isolation, plant substances, sexuality, ordeals, ritual clothing, sacred space, sacred time and dreams.

Q: Our readers are on a variety of paths and may not identify as Witches,  How can your book be an aid to Pagans and magick workers of other paths other than Witchcraft?

CP: While its drawn from the traditions of British Traditional Wicca, and my own experience and work is oriented towards teaching those who identify as Witches, it might be more suited for those who identify as practicing a magickal spirituality. I think anyone on a Pagan, Ceremonial Magician, or Shamanic Path might benefit from it. In fact, I think even those in other more broad traditions, practicing martial arts, yoga, tantra, herbalism and even other communities not specifically metaphysical, such as the BDSM, might find it interesting.

Q: Meditation and breath both hold a strong place in your work.  Which of the techniques were more out of your comfort zone?

CP: I think the isolation and ordeal paths were more out of my comfort zone at least in terms of writing. I’ve done some isolation rituals for my own personal practice and helped others with them, but haven’t written much or done any formal teaching on them. I am not a British Traditional Wicca initiate, and while I think the “properly prepared” section of ritual binding and scourging in initiation was important to include, it is not my own initiatory experience.

Q: In the book you present a large selection of techniques.  It can be hard to know where to start.  How would you suggest that people begin to explore the 12 Gates?

CP: I wrote them starting with the most simple and most safe, and progressed to the more difficulty and potentially dangerous, at least for the first few. I suggest meditation, breath work, sound and movement as the starting places. Each chapter ,too, starts with more basic exercises and becomes more complex by the end of the chapter.

Q: You quote Gardner’s book of shadows, which proclaims “the more the better.”  How would you suggest incorporating multiple paths into one ritual without losing focus.

CP: The very last chapter gives some creative examples of uniting several paths in one working. I think if you focus on your intention in the ritual, and then think which of these paths support that overall vision, you’ll be doing great. Avoid the “Everything but the kitchen sink mentality.” Every ritual doesn’t need every path. I think determining if it is inhibitory or exhibitory is the first step, then which paths will help in that method?

Q: How do you utilize the 12 Gates in your own practice?  Which are more foundational for you?  Are there any that you choose not to enter?

CP: Many of them are a fundamental part of my daily meditation practice, or monthly ritual practice. Meditation, breath work, sound and movement/posture or staples for my solitary work. I am a big believer in plant magick and plant trance, but don’t use that path daily, with perhaps the exception of incense for meditation and ritual. Entheogenic rituals are used to punctuate important workings, not a regular practice for me. As a Witch, Sacred space and sacred time are an important part of my ritual practice. Sexuality is a part of my spirituality, but not always in a ritualized way. Like plant trance, it is for a special occasion ritually. I am also very fond of dream magick and trance as of late. I don’t use the isolation or ordeal paths that often, but its nice to know how to play that card when I need it.

 

The Gates of Witchcraft truly presents a dizzying array of trance and consciousness changing techniques.  It can be so easy to get stuck with just a few ritual favorites, but this book offers a wide variety of new paths to experiment with in order to perfectly fit the work you are doing.  It is now available on Amazon or on the author’s own site.  Whichever Gate you prefer, Penczak’s new book can help you find your key.

 

 Posted by Tim at 10:29 pm  Tagged with: , , , , , ,

An Aquarian, Kennedy Camelot at Mysterium

 culture, Stage  3 Responses »
Apr 222012
 

The classic Lerner and Lowe musical Camelot is not so much about the Arthurian legends as it is about revolutionary new ideas and the struggle to bring them into the world.  This Arthur is a reluctant warrior who, encouraged by his Merlin to “keep thinking,” seeks creative new answers to the futile system of battle, death, and justice-by-the-sword that stagnates his kingdom.  Frustrated with “might makes right,” he introduces a world of equality fueled by a new maxim, “might for right,” and introduces the seeds of democracy into the his medieval world.

The musical opened in 1960, the year that John F. Kennedy won the presidency and, like Arthur, represented a young ruler filled with hopes of reform and who challenged his country with groundbreaking new ideas.  Kennedy’s time as president coincided with the decade in which the idea of the “Age of Aquarius” was beginning to enter the popular consciousness.  The youth of the day looked forward to an age of true equality, and end to war, and brotherly love that was promised by what they believed was this new astrological era.

In this sense, the Arthur of the musical and ­President Kennedy are pretty similar.  Both presided over (perhaps overly) optimistic ages which inspired their citizens while irritating the upper classes.  This is the premise that drives Mysterium Theater’s production of Camelot, which opened this weekend.  This Camelot is set inside the Kennedy White House, paralleling the Aquarian optimism of the two famous rulers.

The concept works.  The show combines the two periods.  The set is a castle, Arthur wears a crown, and carries an impressive Broadsword as Excalibur, and the knights still joust.  But the costumes are from the 60’s, Morgan LeFey is Marilyn Monroe, and the Beltane-inspired song “Lusty Month of May” is sung during a martini-guzzling key party.

As Arthur, Duane Thomas is genuine and thoughtful.  He looks nothing like Kennedy, nor is he a physically imposing warrior-king, but he doesn’t need to be.  His idealism is honest.  He is inspired by his revolutionary ideas.  He comes across as a philosopher king who is truly concerned for his people and willing to sacrifice raw power in order to establish real justice.

I rarely like Guenevere in any version of the Arthur legends.  One way or the other, she seems to always come off shallow and Marie Antoinette-ish.  Daina Baker Bowler avoids that track in her Jackie Kennedy inspired interpretation of the role.  Her transformation from young, fearful princess to materialistic queen to tragic accidental destroyer of Camelot is satisfying and complete.  Her expressions are real, her voice beautiful as it changes through the show, and her chemistry with both Arthur and Lancelot is tangible.

Robert Dudley carries a wonderful swagger as Lancelot.  As he walks the line between his love for his king and his passion for his queen, the internal conflict comes off impressively.  Erik Hjortnaes brings an appropriately slimy quality as Mordred, Arthur’s son and eventual bane.  His devious performance is reminiscent of the Devil/Mr. Applegate in Damn Yankees.

Keith Bush is an excellent bright spot as Arthur’s friend and confidant, Pellinore.  He has more energy than anyone on stage, and his constantly humorous presence drives every scene that he is in, making his more serious work toward the end all that much more gripping.

Of course, neither the Arthur of this retelling nor John Kennedy were able to complete the work they so optimistically began.  Arthur’s past comes back to destroy him, and Kennedy’s presidency was cut short by a sudden hail of bullet in Dallas.  Still, their place in history is secure.  Arthur’s quest for the Grail of his high ideals is legendary, and Kennedy remains respected, even by those who disagree with him.

Their Aquarian ideas lived beyond them.  The Round Table’s symbolism of equality among all those who sit at it is firmly set in the popular mind, remaining a representation of the democratic ideas that the Arthur of the musical strives so hard to implant.  Kennedy asked America to challenge its assumptions and work to put a man on the moon.  Although he died, his challenge became reality by the end of the decade.

This version of Camelot doesn’t deify Arthur or Kennedy.  It presents them both as real men with passions, dreams, and flaws.  It shows us that dreamers aren’t always liked, and they don’t always succeed in their lifetimes, but unless you pull hard you will never get the sword out of the stone.

 Posted by Tim at 9:03 pm  Tagged with: , , , ,

In Memory of Wallace Hartley

 culture, music  3 Responses »
Apr 142012
 

100 years ago tonight, the RMS Titanic struck its fatal iceberg.  The ship sank at 2:20 the next morning, and since about that time, the Titanic has captured the popular imagination.   The first film version of the tragedy came out just 29 days later. Called Saved From the Titanic, the silent film starred an actual survivor who wore the same clothes she had on when she stepped into the first lifeboat.  Multiple films have been made about the doomed steamer since then. The most popular, of course, was James Cameron’s 1997 version.

1,514 people died that night, and their stories have been told over the years.  Some have become legendary.  Tales of Molly Brown’s courageous lifeboat takeover ­­in the face of a stunned, ineffective officer duel with stories about the cruise line’s director­­­­, J. Bruce Ismay, making a cowardly escape while over 100 women and children remained on board.

In my mind, one of the bravest people on the ship was Wallace Hartley.  Hartley was the leader of the ship’s storied orchestra, famous for continuing to play as the ship went down.  The band’s musical demise has become a metaphor for ignoring your problems, but Hartley and his musicians deserve better than that.

The musicians aboard the Titanic were not employees of the cruise line.  They were contractors.  When requested to play in order to calm the passengers and prevent panic, they were under no obligation to do so.  They were passengers, albeit men, who had just as much right to seek their own survival instead of facing their certain doom while helping the crew in the evacuation.

But Hartley chose to stay.  As instructed, he and his band played lively, happy tunes to keep the mood of the escaping passengers as light as possible.  He faced his own death with honor, doing what he could to help others remain peaceful.

Hartley (obviously) was not a Pagan.  He was a Methodist, and a devout one.  But he understood the power of music to change consciousness, and he used his talents to help his fellow doomed passengers.  It was his life’s work, and he bravely fulfilled his mission even to the moment of his death.

In the 100 years since the sinking, music has become a beloved method used by Pagans to alter their consciousness during ritual.  Wiccans recite the charge of the Goddess, urging their covens to “Dance, sing, feast, make music and love,” and of course chanting is a vital part of many rituals.  I don’t know a lot about ADF rituals, but the one I attended went beyond chants.  The leader sang to introduce each section of the ritual, his beautiful voice creating seamless transitions. Gerald Gardner listed “chants,” “runes,” and “dance,” as methods of consciousness changing.  In The Gates of Witchcraft, Christopher Penczak specifically includes music as one of the 12 ways to alter your consciousness.

Music has a long history of mediating our moods. It has power.  People of all faiths use music to pump them up, console them, calm them down, and worship.  As Pagans many of us use it consciously for this purpose. As a professional musician, Hartley did the same.  I respect that.  We also value honor and courage.  While Hartley’s faith was different from mine (heck, mine didn’t even exist yet), I still honor his resolve in the face of what must have been paralyzing fear and his use of the ancient art of music to help calm fears.

The popular legend is that the musicians switched musical styles as the end approached.  As the waters rose, the band is said to have changed from happy dance tunes to Christian hymns.  The final song they played is reputed to have been “Nearer, my God, to Thee.”  That may or may not be true as some eyewitness reports conflict with this tale, and an earlier ship is known to have gone down playing that hymn.  However, Wallace Hartley was known to have liked the song and specifically wanted it played at his funeral.  In honor of the hundredth anniversary of his passing, and in the spirit of interfaith peace across the veil, I present his favorite hymn, from 1958′s A Night to Remember:

Blessed be, Wallace Hartley, and may you be nearer to your god.

 Posted by Tim at 9:08 pm  Tagged with: , , ,

Finding Honor in The Hunger Games

 books, cinema, culture  No Responses »
Apr 012012
 

Like most of the rest of the country, I saw The Hunger Games last weekend.  I was a late convert to the phenomenon that is The Hunger Games.  I’m pretty picky about what I choose to read, and I have automatic suspicion against anything with such amazing success.  It took me four books to start in on Harry Potter, and I have yet to crack a copy of Twilight. After enough praises from both teens and adults, I finally read The Hunger Games last fall.

Despite some of its bash-you-over-the-head-with-its-message style, I found the book to be compelling.  Against my will, I found myself sucked into Katniss’ terrible predicament and, although I found the writing to be clumsy, I was totally hooked.  So when the movie came out, I had to see how they handled this painful story.  Could they refine a story which takes place so much within the protagonist’s head while keeping the savagery and suspense that made the book so guiltily enticing?

For the most part, yes.  The movie version uses the trope of having announcers narrate the games to full advantage, taking much of Katniss’ inner turmoil and decision making, along with much of the basic exposition, and placing it into the mouths of the games’ pitchmen. This technique can be extremely artificial at times, like when the narrators break in to tell you all about how deadly tracker jackers are, it generally works.

Unfortunately, some background elements about Katniss’ life in District 12 are glossed over, but I enjoyed how the movie emphasized the pre-games sequence in the Capitol.  I expected a very Hollywood-like rush through the backstory and straight into the blood and guts, but the film actually takes time to set up a love and respect for Katniss, her partner Peeta, and a full understanding of the games, the other challengers, and the sensationalistic shallowness of the Capitol’s citizens. It may be dystopia, but the satire is loud and clear: these people aren’t so much different from us.

The time and attention paid to this element of the worldbuilding adds to the emotional element once the games finally start.  By the time the competition is underway, audiences truly care about Katniss, but also about Peeta.  Add to that the true affection we all develop for Rue and the ever-present knowledge that all but one of these people you love must die, and you have the makings of a story that keeps you riveted until the final moments.

It’s a good movie, whether you read the book or not.

This morning, I came across this commentary of the movie on Patheos.  It’s a very good analysis from a Christian perspective.  Indeed, the movie does stress how the expectations of others can change you; how extreme circumstances can change you; how violence against another human can change you.  Peeta, in particular, is quite clear about his desire to escape unchanged and show the Capitol that they don’t own his soul.

From a Pagan perspective, what I see is sovereignty and honor.  There is so much pressure on these kids to give in to the bloodlust that is the Hunger Games.  Some, especially the “Careers” from Districts 1 and 2, completely give over their lives to the Capitol, allowing themselves to be sacrificed and changing into absolute monsters in the name of someone else’s political goals.  The most obvious example of this is Kato, a Career player from District 1, who saunters through the games showing off his prowess.  He sees himself as in control, but finally realizes that his entire life has been controlled by others – for their own interests – and that his own personal will has been completely annihilated, despite his prodigious strength.  Controlled by others his whole life, Kato learns that being strong is more than just the ability to snap a neck at will.  Leadership is not about physical strength.

In contrast, many of the less physically able players learn to exercise their own sovereignty.  They take charge of themselves rather than bullying others.  Obviously, they don’t all succeed, but they die with integrity where the others die in shame.  No spoilers here, but Katniss’ ability to remain her own person ultimately becomes her greatest strength.

Honor is a strong value within many Pagan traditions, and honor is valued in The Hunger Games.  Related to sovereignty, it is those characters who maintain their self-awareness and control who are able to act with honor.  Kato and his band of bullies give in to the game, and so their actions become more and more cruel and reprehensible.

Katniss helps her enemies throughout the game.  She feeds Rue.  She nurses Peeta back to health.  Yes, she kills, but- unlike some of her competitors- she never does so with sheer cruelty in her mind.  She kills in order to not be killed.  She honors the dead.  It is that demonstration of honor that earns her great respect in the book and ultimately gets her significantly further in the game.  Unfortunately, this is a part that was glossed over in the film, but one can still feel that her ability to control herself and act with dignity under the most difficult of circumstances is a lesson unto itself.

Early on, Katniss’ and Peeta’s sponsor Haymitch tells them that the way to survive games is to get people to like you.  This is one of the take-away lessons from The Hunger Games. True respect comes from acting with honor and with control rather than giving into the system and relying on your brute force to overcome any situation.  Sometimes bloodshed is inevitable, but the true measure of a person is if they can deal with the pain, maintain their self-control, and come out worthy of respect.

 

 

 Posted by Tim at 11:11 pm  Tagged with: , ,

What I Learned from Star Wars

 cinema, culture, film  3 Responses »
Mar 242012
 

Every now and then, the Star Wars saga seems to re-enter the cultural conversation.  George Lucas continues to find creative new ways to keep his iconic films from fading into sci-fi history.  Most recently, Lucas started the ball rolling again by re-releasing The Phantom Menace in 3-D. The other five films will follow, and a whole new generation will learn to love Star Wars.

About a mile from my house, a museum exhibit called Star Wars: Where Science Meets Imagination has been displaying props, costumes, and behind the scenes information on the production of the films since November.  Watching tiny children, whose parents weren’t old enough to play with Luke and Leia action figures when the original movie came out, parading around in full Storm Trooper and Boba Fett costumes left little doubt that this groundbreaking science fiction saga continues to strike a chord in the American mindset.

And why not?  It’s modern mythology.  It hits many of the same notes and archetypes that ancient myths reveal, but it is told in a sci-fi context. Here you have your hero’s quest, your facing the shadow, your Oak King/Holly King battle, your descent into the Underworld, and more.

I hope to explore the Star Wars saga in a series of posts.  I have recently finished watching all six films again.  This was the first time I had seen the prequel trilogy since its original screen release, and I gained a new appreciation for them.  For now, let me start with a list of the Top 10 lessons I learned from Star Wars. Some of these are Pagan-related.  Others are just good things to know.  If you have your own, please feel free to add them.

10. Keep your mind strong so no one will be able to bend your will.

9. Protesting that “It’s not my fault” will not get you out of difficult situations.

8. Don’t trust genetically modified anything.

7.  In a conflict, always take the high road or your opponent will cut you off at the knees.

6. Your dad isn’t as evil as you thought he was when you were a kid.

5. Trust your animal guides whether they are large or small.

 

 

 

 

 

4. If your intuition tells you “I have a bad feeling about this,” listen.

3. Blood is thicker than…crazy lightning bolts coming out of the bad guy’s hand.

2. Don’t give up, even if all you know has been destroyed and the love of your life has been frozen solid.

1. Judge others by their size, do not.

 

 Posted by Tim at 11:45 pm  Tagged with: , ,

The Diviners at Mysterium

 culture, Stage  2 Responses »
Mar 042012
 

The Diviners by Jim Leonard, Jr. is a play that many layers to it, but more than anything else it is a play about water.

Water has a pretty good reputation.  It sustains all life on the planet.  It keeps our crops, lawns, gardens, and pets alive.  It keeps our bodies clean, cools them down, and provides hour of recreation.  The very survival of the ancient Egyptians depended on the annual flooding of the Nile.  Christians use water to symbolize spiritual cleansing, and Pagans work with this same power when they acknowledge “the living waters of her womb.”

Scientists talk about Earth being in the “Goldilocks Zone,” the small region of space just far enough away from the sun that water can exist in liquid form.  Any closer and you have steam.  Any farther, and you have ice.  Earth’s distance from the sun is “just right” for life to exist.

Of course, it’s pretty well loved as one of the four elements, too.  We talk of water as relating to love, compassion, connection, and healing.  The moon, probably the heavenly body most adored by pagans, corresponds to water.  Water corresponds to psychic work in many systems.  All in all, that’s a pretty good day for one substance.

But then water, like any element, has its dark side.  All of the elements can kill, and tragedies like Hurricane Katrina and the tsunami in Japan and Indonesia remind us that water is no exception.  Water may be the ultimate reminder that what gives life can also take it away. Elementally, water’s dark side can include emotions like fear, anger, and jealousy. Water reflects our images as we are, not as we want to be. Oceans, especially western ones, represent death in some belief systems.

The Diviners, the current offering at Mysterium Theater, incorporates all aspects of water.  There is deep love in this play.  Love is present in many of its forms.  There is the protective, parental love that Ferris Layman (Tom Royer) clearly shows for his mentally challenged son, Buddy (Andrew Paskil).  That love is fueled on an even deeper level by the unhealed wound of losing his beloved wife.

There is the fierce, protective love that Buddy’s sister, Jennie Mae (Amanda Riisager), shows for her brother.  Perhaps most importantly, there is the healing bond of love that connects Buddy to CC Showers (Mike Detrow), a vagabond ex-preacher who arrives in town seeking escape from his own demons and a baptism into a new life.

There is also a very watery connection of trust the local farmers feel for Buddy.  Water is irrational; working with it requires intuition.  One of the play’s themes, brought out most often by the character of Basil (Robert P. Purcell), is to trust intuition and feeling over rampant industrialization.  The play begins with Buddy using a divining rod to find water, and then predicting the approach of a storm, all over the scoffing of other (rational) townsfolk.  But Basil trusts Buddy’s special connection to water to an almost mystical extent, perhaps because of his distrust for over-rational modern thinking.

Buddy, of course, is the play’s central character, through whom all of the water flows.  His special connection to water comes at a price however.  His mother drowned trying to save him, and he can sense her in the water around him.  But while he can find water by seeking out his mother in the world around him, he is terribly afraid of the precious liquid.  This fear, an aspect of water’s dark connection to emotions, keeps him from bathing, quickens disease, and ultimately brings him face to face with mortality.  Water is Buddy’s gift; it is also his shadow.

The other main character in the play, CC, is Buddy’s other half.  CC’s preaching was infected with thought instead of feeling, language instead of emotion.  Where a good preacher can get the crowd up and rolling in a sermon-induced frenzy, CC was too controlled by his rational mind to let go and whip up a good revival.  Where Buddy feels, CC thinks.  Where Buddy trusts, CC analyzes.  Where Buddy loves, CC fears.

Coming together is the perfect healing opportunity for both of them.  They teach each other.  Buddy brings CC the gifts of perfect love and childish trust.  CC acts as friend and mentor to Buddy, helping him come to terms with his fear of water and trying to help the boy understand the world from a more adult point of view.  They complement each other.

But full healing requires full submersion, and CC resists complete submersion into the local town life just as much as Buddy resists the submersion in the river that would heal his wounds.  Buddy resists physical water, which would heal him.  CC resists elemental water, in the form of love and acceptance, which would heal him too.  Eventually, we come to the climactic moment in which the two must come together as one beneath the water’s surface.

Mysterium’s production hits all the right notes.  The set is sparse, allowing the audience to focus on the themes of the piece.  These are simple, honest people, and the actors engage that honesty in a very poignant way.  Although Buddy and CC take center stage, this production subtly hints that each person is living their own lives, with their own struggles, needing their own healing.

Water can heal and water can hurt.  It does both in The Diviners.  At that final, tragic moment, both CC and Buddy touch the depths of life’s pain. The play’s message seems to be to find balance.  Wade in life’s cool, cleansing waters and you will find love and joy. Avoid them for fear of pain, and you will end up stuck at rock bottom, “like a drop of rain flowing to the ocean.”

 Posted by Tim at 12:37 am  Tagged with: , ,

Diversity, Anger, and PantheaCon

 culture  26 Responses »
Feb 212012
 

I’m going to start with a very brief and woefully Incomplete list of some of the other things that happened at this year’s PantheaCon:

  • Ivo Dominguez, Jr. helped us to see the shadow in our higher, middle, and lower selves.
  • The Brotherhood of the Moon allowed us to see the face of the God in the face of every man.
  • Selena Fox honored Pagan warriors and led a ritual of healing for ourselves, PCon, and the world.
  • Christopher Penczak taught us how to work with the Three Rays of Love, Will, and Wisdom.
  • Sam Webster held a discussion on how to bring the lessons of Hermes to the world, including an idea of creating a Pagan health care system.
  • John Carosella led us on a shamanic journey to find animal medicine in some of nature’s smallest, most seemingly insignificant creatures.

And that is just what I attended.  With roughly 12 options available per session and seven sessions available per day, the program at PCon is enormous and varied.  There are sessions for everyone.  The vast majority of the offerings are open to all and focus on some form of spiritual growth, celebration, or healing.  They are led by wonderful people who do wonderful things in this world and for our community.

And yet, if you were paying attention to Pagan blogs over the weekend, you heard almost exclusively about one thing.  You heard about it in language filled with anger, threat, and hatred.   The picture painted of the con was one of violence and anger.  If you weren’t there, you would think that this anger overshadowed the conference.

I’m here to tell you it didn’t.  If you were there, you felt the charged atmosphere of togetherness.  If you were there, you could very easily have enjoyed every minute of the conference with zero knowledge of the fire that was burning in one small corner.  You would have grown and changed, partied and played, and come home recharged mentally, bodily, and spiritually.

I’m not going to name this issue.  To name it would give it energy. It is a complicated hornet’s nest that I, as a white, heterosexual male am not going to stick my nose into.  What I will say is this: choose where you put your energy.  Whatever you give it to will grow.  You can send your energy into the anger and hatred, thereby threatening your fellow Pagans, fanning the flames of more anger.  You can put it into revenge, aggression, or boycott, which will cause more strife, spreading fuel to the fire of anger on the other side.  Thus you energize that which you fight against.

Or you can put your energy into the majority of the conference.  There were 2,331 attendees at PCon, last I heard. Maybe 200 or so had any knowledge of or were involved in this in any way.  Most of the conference – indeed, most of the work done even by those who are central to the issue – was positive, loving, and healing.  Energy placed into healing engenders more of the same.  I choose to put my energy into the good stuff.

I’m not going to call anybody out.  I’m not going to name anyone’s names, even those I agree with.  It’s not my battle.  What I will do is point out to those who were not there that this year’s PCon was a space of overwhelming love, healing, and unity.  One issue, even if well publicized, will not change that.

Despite what you may have read, there was true unity in diversity this year.  I saw it every time I walked through the halls.  I saw it in the caring faces of both biological and transgender males participating in a men’s ritual.  I saw it as polytheistic Witches clamored for a ribbon from the Flying Spaghetti Monster guy.  I saw it as a heavily liberal Pagans sobbed openly during a ribbon presentation ceremony honoring Pagan soldiers.

Diversity doesn’t mean we all agree.  It means we honor our differences while working together.  It means that we CAN come together in one place despite our disagreements.  In that coming together, we can learn from each other and grow as a family of religions.  I choose to throw my gasoline on that fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Posted by Tim at 11:37 pm  Tagged with: ,

The Oscar Contenders: Moneyball

 culture, film, sports  No Responses »
Feb 092012
 

Moneyball is the story of how one man took a failing baseball team, radically altered the way players were selected, rocked the foundation of Major League Baseball…and then continued to fail.

If you’re not baseball literate, the Moneyball philosophy claims to help poverty-stricken teams compete with their wealthy competitors.  The essence is that instead of hiring big-time, expensive players you focus more on low-paid but productive players.  Where a highly paid slugger can get you lots of home runs but strike out a lot, a team full of very productive players will be a very productive team.

So instead of bowing down to superstars, Moneyball teams kneel at the altar of statistics.  Baseball has always employed the batting average and the Earned Run Average (ERA) to analyze players, but Moneyball teams staff their roster by relying on more obscure statistics like the On Base Percentage (OBP) and Walks plus Hits divided by Innings Pitched (WHIP).  In Moneyball, a day at the ballpark becomes an occasion for laptops and spreadsheets instead of peanuts and Cracker Jack.

Oscar-nominated Brad Pitt does a wonderful job playing Billy Beane, the harried general manager of the desperate Oakland A’s.  Faced with a formerly successful team that has been decimated, Beane embraces a new approach in the face of everything his mentors and the fans expect of him.  He takes a ton of criticism, but- at least in that first season (2002)- he was able to reach the first round of the playoffs with a payroll that was millions of dollars less than that of the other competitive teams.

The film is good.  It is full of witty dialogue, as one would expect from any project involving Aaron Sorkin.  It does its best to make complicated baseball terminology accessible to the average viewer.  Pitt immerses himself in the role of Billy Beane.  Jonah Hill, nominated for Best Supporting Actor, is perfectly nerdy and just aggressively intellectual enough as Peter Brand, Beane’s statistical guru.  The human story of Beane trying to maintain his career and family is nice.  Instead of the overplayed workaholic-dad-trying-to-connect-with-his-estranged-child trope, Beane is genuinely affectionate with his daughter, who clearly loves him back.  It’s a satisfying layer to a film that is basically about statistics.

Pagans, even those who have no interest in baseball, should be able to appreciate the radical thinking and action that Billy Beane took.  He looked at a system that was getting him nowhere, sought a different solution, found one, and dedicated himself to the new path.  Beane’s willingness to think differently strikes at the heart of what many of us are about: remove the old, tired ways of doing things and set out on your own, fresh, exciting path.  Beane endured ridicule for his choices, but what he chose was the best path for himself and his team at the time.  I think most of us can appreciate that.

That said, the Moneyball philosophy has never worked.  Sure, the A’s got farther than they would have that first year, but the league wasn’t prepared for that kind of thinking yet.  The A’s lost in the first round, and the World Series was won by my Anaheim Angels that year.  The Angels also subscribed to a different philosophy, but they weren’t Moneyball.  Our announcers called them “smallball.”

The end of the film suggests that the Boston Red Sox won the World Series in 2004 after “embracing” the Moneyball philosophy.  That is not completely honest.  The Red Sox had several big-name, big-check players that year along with some excellent fielders- all of that is against the Moneyball philosophy.  One cannot employ expensive names like Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz, base stealer and excellent outfielder Johnny Damon, and future Hall of Fame pitchers Pedro Martinez and Curt Schilling and call themselves Moneyball.  Damon, in fact, is specifically mentioned in the film as a non-Moneyball player.  Boston’s payroll is consistently one of the largest in the league.  The Sox utilized the philosophy in part; they did rely heavily on statistical measures. But the movie’s suggestion that Boston was pure Moneyball is, in my opinion, false.

Moneyball is a baseball film.  Really, it’s a baseball geek film.  It’s not The Natural or A League of Their Own, stories that allow you to root for likable, if rough-edged heroes against the background of America’s pastime.  You don’t really need much knowledge about the sport to enjoy most films about it.  This one, though, will probably leave most audiences who don’t follow the sport cross-eyed.

It’s also a maverick story, and that’s probably the place where it can reach the heart of most Pagans.  We tend to like people who buck the orthodoxy.  I think there’s a little part of all of us that fells for the person who challenges the status quo. In that sense, maybe we Pagans are all a little Moneyball.

 Posted by Tim at 4:28 am  Tagged with: , , , ,

The Oscar Contenders: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

 culture, film  No Responses »
Feb 082012
 

 

My wife’s father died very suddenly.  We were on vacation at the time, trying to get cozy in a quaint little cabin in the Rocky Mountains.  We had known for a few days that he was sick, and on that last night – our first anniversary- he told us to keep traveling because we would need the rest to come back and help him fight.

He didn’t survive the night.  We got the call in the very early morning and immediately began our mad dash across the mountains, through the painted Utah desert, and back to southern California to help the family prepare for the funeral.  At one point, as we were barreling at dangerous speeds somewhere near the Continental Divide, we got hit with a sudden, freak rainstorm.  Now, that type of thing happens a lot in Colorado, and, indeed, all across the Midwest.  But when we looked up, the sky was completely clear and blue.  There was not a single cloud anywhere near us.

The storm went away almost as quickly as it had come.  We didn’t have time to seek for a logical explanation, but she emphatically stated that it was her dad telling her, “Slow down: the family needs you to arrive safely more than they need you quickly.  Enjoy at least some of the beautiful scenery around you.”  It’s the kind of thing he would have said.

Was it really her dad speaking to her from beyond the veil?  I don’t know.  We weren’t even Pagans then.  What I do know is that it made her feel better.  It comforted her.  That’s all that really mattered.

The Oscar-nominated film Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close sensitively depicts a similar situation.  Nine-year old Oskar Schell’s (Thomas Horn) father, Thomas (Tom Hanks) is one of the thousands of victims of 9/11.  Incredibly attached to his father, young Oskar is left without a rudder.  He is fearful, angry, vulnerable, and obsessed with the six tragic phone messages left by his father as the building burned toward destruction.

The one thing he has to keep his father’s memory alive is a treasure hunt.  Before his death, Thomas used to challenge his son with treasure hunts around Manhattan.  Oskar would eagerly dissect the island and search for the answer.  When Oskar finds a mysterious key in his dad’s belongings, coupled with strange messages his father circled in the newspaper the night before he died, the hunt is on.  Oskar sees this as a new challenge: find the lock that fits the key and, in the process, find out what his dad wanted him to know.  And keep the memory alive just a little bit longer.

Was the key placed intentionally?  Was Thomas Schell really sending messages to his son from beyond the grave?  I’m not going to spoil that.  What matters is that it gave the child a direction.  It gave him the chance to spend his time and energy connecting with his father and doing something he loved, healing some of his wounds in the process.  It’s not an easy journey; few healing journeys are.  If healing happens, it doesn’t matter whether his dad was talking to him.

My wife continues to receive messages from her father.  Not long ago, she listened to a podcast hosted by Spiritman Joseph Tittel in which the host said that pennies left on the ground are messages from beyond.  Since then, she has found pennies galore.  I’m not just talking about the odd penny we all find here and there.  Like the unexplainable rain, she finds them in the strangest places.  She’ll turn her head for a second, turn back and find a penny lying there.  Once, she got into the driver’s seat in our car, and entire pocketful of change was spewed over the ground.  As the last person to drive the car that day, I can verify that those pennies were not there before.

One time, we were at a play and got up for intermission.  When we returned, and entire army of pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters were on the ground right in front of her seat.  We asked the people in front of us, but they didn’t think the coins were theirs.   She believes these random coins are messages from her father.  They seem to occur right when she needs them to. As a witness to the physical event, it is often hard for me to think of other explanations.

Are they really messages from beyond? I don’t know.  I don’t really care.  They bring her peace and a connection with her father, who was taken too early from this world.  Using the vehicle of one vulnerable little boy, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close explores deep within the psyche of those who lose their loved ones suddenly – the intense anger, the overwhelming guilt, and the crushing sadness that keeps them searching for something to connect to the person they lost so abruptly.  It doesn’t matter if his father left him the key, or the pennies, or the rain.  What matters is that this soul is able to heal itself and move on.

Last November, I visited the 9/11 Memorial site.  Just a few seconds on the grounds brought back the sadness and fear that was left over from so many sudden deaths.  It didn’t take a pagan to feel it.  Everyone changed their tone the second they got through security on onto the memorial site. In the footprints of the buildings are two reflections pools, each etched with the names of the victims.  I was with a three-year old, and even she was overwhelmed by the hallowed feeling of that land.  The dead of 9/11 are still speaking to the City of New York just as much as they speak to young Oskar.

The lesson of Extremely Loud is to trust.  Trust in those who care for you and you will eventually heal.  Although the journey is painful, one day a perfectly clear sky will send its healing waters down to you.

 Posted by Tim at 1:56 am  Tagged with: , , ,

The Laramie Project: A Healing Journey

 culture, Stage  1 Response »
Jan 142012
 

­­One of the reasons we face our own darkness is to heal.  Unpleasant though it is, we cannot heal our physical or emotional wounds without acknowledging that they exist.  If one has cancer, looking away and pretending that lump in their breast is harmless will not heal the problem.  Marriage counselors dig into the heart of a couple’s emotional troubles, often uncovering long-hidden sources of pain that both partners would prefer to ignore.  They treat the root rather than the symptoms so that the marriage can be mended.  Shamanic practitioners guide you down to meet your shadow, helping you heal the sources of your own problems.

In 1998, Laramie, Wyoming was in desperate need of healing.  The brutal torture and murder of 21-year old Matthew Shepard, motivated by homophobia, had cast the entire town into a pit of darkness.  Where locals would once have said that their town was full of good people who “live and let live,” that they “don’t grow children like that,” they now had incontrovertible evidence that they were wrong and that something malignant was living in their town.

Into this fragile town came a big city writing team led by Moises Kaufman.  The team interviewed just about everyone in Laramie, from Shepard’s close friends to the local Baptist minister.  Their story became The Laramie Project, currently running at Mysterium Theater.

Very few plays are as grippingly honest as Laramie.  The idea was to tell the story of the town, not the story of Matthew Shepard.  The result is documentary-like.  It does not re-enact the events.  It presents the interviews with the residents and the commentary of the writers, woven together to tell a heart-wrenching story of destruction, soul searching, and resurrection.

The weaving is very important to the pacing and power of the play as the actors must switch effortlessly from character to character as the show moves forward.  Director Stephen John accomplishes this masterfully, getting the most out of his brilliant cast while maintaining the urgency and mood throughout.

This play is extremely demanding on the performers.  Each one spends the majority of the time onstage, exiting only for lightning-fast costume changes.  Each one plays multiple roles, switching in an eye blink from one to the next.  Each one must hold up the flow and channel the overwhelming river of emotion that gushes through the piece.  John has assembled a cast who is adept at just that.

It is such an ensemble piece that it almost seems wrong to mention individual actors.  Jeff Lowe is excellent in each of his roles, from Doc the oddly philosophical limousine driver to Russell Henderson, one of the murderers, and even the disgusting Fred Phelps. Gregory Cesena shines as a local theater student, but plays all of his roles with conviction.

Theodore Lance does a wonderful job, particularly as the young man who found Shepard tied to the fence.  He also gives appropriate grace to the part of the local Catholic priest.  Tiffany Berg is very memorable, giving especially poignant notes as Reggie, the officer who responded to the emergency.  Probably the single most challenged member of the community, Berg’s portrayal showcases Reggie’s incredible kindness in a situation in which most of us would have lashed out in anger.

Jessica S. Runde’s portrayal of Reggie’s sassy mother is close to perfection and she excels in her other roles as well.  Joe Parrish handles his roles with incredible sensitivity.  The cast is rounded out by Jill Cary Martin and Meghan McCarthy, both of whom are riveting and honest in their roles.

In the end, the Laramie Project turned out to be just as transformative for the authors as it was for the town.  They healed each other.  The writers guided the locals through their pain, helped them face their shadow in a safe and supportive way, and brought them back to a place of healing.  Although they were resistant at first, the residents learned to trust these srangers, learned new things about themselves, and came to resolutions that helped the city move on with dignity.

Kaufman and his fellow project members also were healed.  They begin by making fun of the rural town, mocking the less-than-perfect grammar of the state’s welcome sign, and proudly announcing to a waitress that they are just passing through.  However, after many trips to Laramie and hundreds of interviews, they learn to love the place.  They see their own shadows while talking to these simple, honest people.  They confront and change their own assumptions. They are redeemed every bit as much as the town is.

Although Laramie centers around one specific incident and could easily become dated, the story is universal.  It is a rarity of theater: a play about real, living people attacking a real problem and finding wholeness by the end.  Its power is undeniable, and even sitting in the audience can be a healing experience.

 

 

 

 Posted by Tim at 7:33 pm  Tagged with: , ,
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