Naukrateia ‘09

To avoid going into a detailed description of what the Naukrateia is, read this post.

This year I entered an essay for this year’s artisic agon for Neos Alexandria…and I apparently took second place! Yowza. Anyway, below I’ll post my essay for everyone to read. It sums up what the concepts “homesickness” and “homecoming” are to me. Both of which are always a very real part of my life at all times, as I tend to live in an in-between zone, until such a time as a legal marriage or domestic partnership can occur.

I have more to say on the topic of the Naukrateia and the concepts of “homesickness” and “homecoming”, especially as it applies to recent events in my totemic work, but right now here’s my essay.

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Heimweh

When I first laid eyes on him in L.A., I knew he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen or would ever see, and I would spend the rest of my life with him. It didn’t matter to me that we were both of the same gender, or that he was a German national and I was a citizen of the United States. We would make this work, or die trying.

I learned something about homesickness from my grandfather. He spoke often of Germany, the country of his grandparents, a place he only visited once as a soldier during the war, but dreamed about often. He told the family about Wolfhagen, a tiny village nestled in the rolling meadows of Hessia, the place of our ancestors. Much in the way of ancestral storytelling, his dreams became my dreams. When he passed away, those dreams were all I was left with, along with the image of his beautiful smile, and the rampant black wolf of Wolfhagen.

Two tearful goodbyes too many since we met in L.A. My country of birth tells me that our relationship isn’t real, that there is no legal recourse for people like us, and that my partner is not welcome here. But as I stand on the airport concourse, I try to push all of this in the back of my mind. Tonight I’m flying to Germany, and soon I will see what will become my new home, and the partner I haven’t seen in almost six months. I fall into a daze as the plane takes off and heads east over the Atlantic. I have a strange dream. I am sitting in a shining golden barge, cruising down a long and vast river in the sky. I look ahead of me and see a man crouched in the bow of the boat. He has the head of a falcon and two blazing suns for eyes. He bobs his head at me in the quizzical fashion of curious birds. I look next to me and I see my grandfather. His smile is just as beautiful as I remember it.

Germany is a place that reeks of familiarity for reasons I can’t readily explain. The most familiar thing however are the arms of my lover, the only place I would ever truly feel at home. The month begins to pass all too quickly. I learn the local dialects of animals and people. I tour old towns, gaze at at the vaulted ceilings of grand old cathedrals. I contemplate the works of Goethe while dwelling along the same street he walked. I follow in the footsteps of the Brothers Grimm, old wolf tracks and grand forests steeped in witchcraft lore. My partner and I make love all night long and into the day. We hold each other every day and night as if we may never get the chance again. For people like us, the possibility always lingers.

It is mere days before I am to leave the country. Right now I try to do my best to banish that thought from my mind as the train to Wolfhagen rolls along. We have to catch a connecting train in Kassel, an epicenter of crop circles and Rosicrucian lore. I doze off against my partner’s shoulder, and I dream of a vast oak forest. A flash of sable through emerald leaves as the wolf dashes away from me. He looks back once, flashes his teeth at me, like white lightning against angry storm clouds. I woke up at our destination and once again was reminded of Wolfhagen’s coat of arms–a rampant black wolf posed among oak trees, as if running. I could feel my grandfather’s presence strongly throughout the trip. The visit to Wolfhagen was deeply emotional, and strangely haunting. Even painful. But necessary. I left something of myself there, and I’m glad I did it.

It’s time to go back to my home country. I can’t really call it “home” anymore. If that mushy old adage is true, if home really is where you’re heart is, then it only lends more validity to that feeling of my heart being torn out as I left his arms at the security gate. The concept of “home” is more than just “where you hang your hat”, a place of shelter. Home can be many things to many people. A place where you are accepted for who and what you are. The place of your ancestors, or your gods. The passionate embrace of your lover.

A man from the Ramesside period once wrote on homesickness:

I am awake, but my heart sleeps.
My heart is not in my body.
All my limbs are seized by evil:
my eye is weary from seeing,
my ear hears not.
My voice is husky,
all my words are garbled.
Be gracious to me! Grant that I may revive.

My heart is not in my body. It lies somewhere over the sea, waiting. Wepwawet, my Father, grant me the Way, that I may come home once again.

This essay is dedicated to all binational GLBT couples who fight every day for the right to live together. Never lose hope.

Quote source:
The Search For God In Ancient Egypt, by Jan Assmann

* Heimweh means “Homesickness” or literally “home ache” in German.

A Few Notes on Weakness

This is moreso a follow-up to my post Falling Apart, Coming Back Together that I had been meaning to write, plus a supplement to my more recent Past, Patterns, and Keeping Silent.

To help me begin, I’m going to bring up Phil’s comment in the former post, in which he brings up some very good points. In order to help me compile just what I’m trying to say however, I’ll start off by saying that I too have chronic illness–in fact it was the onset of this chronic illness that tipped the scales when it came to my shamanic practice. I had leanings most of my life, but it was in 2005 when this thing hit, that the dam really burst open for me. I still have it. No amount of discipline, praying or “mind over matter” will ever make it go away. It’s here, and here to stay for the rest of my life. This doesn’t make me weak, or inadequate, and certainly not incapable of performing the duties in the path I walk. I walk a more ordeal-oriented path as a result–but this wasn’t my choice. Psychological scars also are present, and there are things, mentally and physically, that I will never “get over”.

Or, to put it this way: Certain things never will be gotten over–and no one should ever expect you to.

Sometimes it is only in the presence of injury, disease and related hardship that true knowledge can fully blossom.

In fact, this is one of the reasons why I always detested and despised the New Age drek The Secret or the Christian Purpose Driven Life, or otherwise related ‘name-it-and-claim-it’ philosophies. No matter how skilled a magician you are, or how hard you pray or how disciplined you are…shit happens. It just happens. It’s what you do with that shit, what you transmute it into, that matters.

Phil’s quote in his one reply was quite handy in this:

This is where the idea of lycanthropy as a disease can be useful. If you let it control you, and it is the master, that’s the bad situation where you have amnesiac werewolves who go on killing sprees. If you can control it, and use it most productively, let the beast out when it needs to get out and so forth, then that’s a position of true power and mastery, and it doesn’t involve squelching it or conquering it, or getting rid of that disease either (which is something one rarely sees in films and such…).

Of course you can apply this to a wide variety of ailments, but the general idea is there. And I think, for the moment, I’ll leave you all to ruminate over that, because my ability to form intelligent words right now is drastically flagging at the moment.

The Past, Patterns, and Keeping Silent

In looking back through my childhood (not an easy thing to do), I realize that I had all of the (stereo)typical behaviors of a magician and shamanist in the making. Traumatic events, both explained and unexplained. My brain was wired differently–so differently that I was consistently medicated for it from the age of seven, and reminded of it for every day of my life. I didn’t start actively trying to make friends until college, and even then, I wasn’t very social. I’m still not. As far as practitioners go, I’m very, well…solo.

Though unlike some, I was very underwhelmed when I began reading about magic, paganism and the occult back in my preteen years. It all seemed to describe to me things I knew already, or was already experimenting with. I somehow didn’t seemed too incredibly surprised to find others doing the same, though I was surprised to be able to connect with like-minded individuals who fit that niche. When it came to the occult and the paranormal, the big thing that really surprised me was that a thing like “otherkin” and “therianthropy” existed outside of my own little island of being. The honeymoon period with that, however, is long since over. I no longer actively seek connection between peoples that fit those two descriptors, simply because most of them are merely trying to escape from themselves and the species or world they were born into. I have no commonality with the false, the damaged, and the confused.

It leads me to wonder why I deal with the occult or animistic community at times. I can’t really say I deal with it as much as some–I am virtually inactive on most social fronts aside from my writing. But the patterns I seem to pick out most readily is the glorification of the bullshit artists and “internet shamans” that float around out there. The ones that are glorified for their fanciful storytelling, name-dropping, pity-partying and attention-seeking through their traumas (which, they feel, is an automatic badge for the practice of shamanism). Although they claim to be healers and to (desire to) help others, in the end they help no one but themselves–if you can really call it “help”. The people they surround themselves with are nothing more than yes-men, psychophants and enablers. But amongst these people are those who, I was astonished to find, are actually reasonably intelligent people. It stunned me to think that people who were so smart could be duped by such high school grade behavior. It wasn’t until I read Daniel Pinchbeck’s Toward 2012: Perspectives on the Next Age did I find out that Carlos Castaneda had actually duped a fair amount of professors who even had studied the Yaqui culture. Suppose this thing could happen to someone regardless of intelligence, though it leads me to speculate why, and how. The essay within the book, “Shamans and Charlatans: Assessing Castaneda’s Legacy” is well worth the read and relevant to this part of my rant. In fact, Reality Sandwich has some great essays in general on a variety of topics.

But it’s one of a few reasons why I step back, or remain on the periphery of what people there call “community”. I was never much a social being, which is kind of funny you think, coming from someone who claims strong alliance to canine archetypes. But witnessing this sort of thing is a turnoff towards community. The bullshit artists, the spindoctors. Plenty of people can write books and still be completely incompetent, and just because you’re popular doesn’t always make you right. I’m also a private person, and the extreme freedom by which occultists and shamanists share in gross detail their experiences is beyond me. I hold strongly to the clause, “To keep silent”, or as Christian Sedman in Generation Hex puts it:

We could tell other people straight out, but of course the minute you talk about magic–the shit you’ve turned into gold–is the minute it turns back into shit.

But hey, at this point you’re thinking “Well hey Solo, you do write about magic, right? Yes I do. I love doing so. I want to inspire people, or at least shoot out that signal flare out there that yes, there is someone else out there who isn’t doing this for wholly selfish reasons, or to find some sort of crutch for an inadequate life. Sedman goes on to say:

Sometimes you can write about it. That kind of works. The best thing you can do with something you’ve written about magic, I think, is inspire somebody else enough to try it themselves, so that they can see for themselves.

Even within the paradigm of magic and the animistic, there is so much people aren’t seeing, and it can be frustrating. I try not to waste too much time myself though. I am too constantly involved in the magical and animistic world to always pause enough to write about it or network or “do business”. Or, perhaps it’s too involved in me.

Pariah Dog

Domestic dog tooth strung on 1mm dark brown leather cord with Indian camel-bead choker. Made in the spirit of the desert pariah dog. $15 shipping included.

Drop a line here, or at cynanthropos(at)gmail.com if interested.

Sirius

Made with 1mm black leather cord, two domestic dog teeth, and six authentic ancient Egyptian faience beads from 716-30 B.C. (yes, the beads have provenance–feel free to inquire). The two dog teeth represent the binary star-system Sirius. The pendant itself is made in dedication to Wepwawet and Yinepu. On sale for $25 shipping included, proceeds to go to a nonprofit.

Drop a line here, or at cynanthropos(at)gmail.com if interested.

The photo really doesn’t do it justice. I had to take photos from my iPhone, my digital camera is currently out of commission pending new software. I’m hoping to get that fixed soon.

I think I’m going to post more of my artwork. Some people are beginning to show interest in it, and I’m beginning to develop my own style. I think I might just roll with it, maybe set up a little shop here or something. I’m not as good as some artisans out there, but I’ve been enjoying what I’ve put together so far.

Shells, and other things

The Symbolism of the Cowrie Shell

I visited the coast this weekend, trying to get away from some of the stress of home. Amidst the tacky, tourist-trap gift shops, one could find many stores selling a wide variety of seashells and other related things from the ocean. I developed an intense attraction and desire to pick up cowry shells, and ended up coming home with a whole big bag of them, mostly cypraea moneta and cypraea annulus. Now, I aware of the basic nature by which cowries were appreciated by the Egyptians, and I had planned on picking up a few for my practices. As it turns out, I find that cowries have so many other meanings, associations and uses–some of which I find rather synchronistic and fortuitous to parts of my current situation.

Ah, the interesting things in life.

In any case, I plan on updating a little more on my trip, because a close encounter with feral ponies has served to remind me of certain thoughts on totemism I wish to express. I’d also like to address some good points and some thoughts that a few others made in my last post at some point.

Post-Saint Patrick’s Day Thoughts.

Unless you’re completely stupid, you’ve probably figured out by now that I’m not Christian. But yet, I have no trouble celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day. I don’t celebrate it for the same reason Catholics do–in fact, even before I walked away from the church, the primary gripe in the church was that St. Patty’s day had lost it’s original purpose, instead devolving into a day of decadence and partying.

Then again, even as a kid, I always thought Saint Patrick was a pooper. I mean c’mon. What’s there not to love about serpents? Later on, when I figured out that the serpent-thing was a metaphor, it didn’t really change my opinion of him much.

But really, why all the Pagan outrage?

For one thing, it’s a fact of life that religions subjugate each other all the time. The conquering religion forms a festival around it. Ancient Pagan festivals were rife with that sort of thing. You could argue that St. Patrick’s Day shouldn’t be celebrated because it recognizes the subjugation of one religion over another, but really. Nowadays people who celebrate that holiday aren’t even Christian, let alone Irish. All they care about is luck, shamrocks, green food dye, Irish heritage and Boondock Saints. And really, what’s not to love about that?

On the other hand, I don’t go around yelling at Muslims for celebrating Ramadan, for instance. So, let the Catholics have their holidays. As long as they don’t go out of the way to put a stinker on my festivals, then I’m not too concerned. Of course, one could say they would like to try–but I’m typing from a America-centric perspective here. America is ass-backwards when it comes to quite a lot of things, but in the end, we are relatively free to do as we please. The Religious Right doesn’t just go around trying to ruin a pagan’s good time.

Just the other day, I had someone add me on Twitter who listed “spiritual tolerance” as an interest, and yet updated for the day that she was “Busy pissing the non-pagans off”. How this classified “spiritual tolerance” was beyond me. And yet this is a prime example of quite possibly why we aren’t taken as seriously, and why we need to work on mutual tolerance and respect. My fiancee, who is European, frequently reminds me on how shocked he is that people in this country are allowed to be so openly rude to each other on the basis of religious affiliation. No, I’m not just talking about the Christians here. Everyone.

Now granted, there are religious groups I, quite simply, do not agree with. But for the most part I ignore them, choosing the “live-and-let-live” principle. Unless of course someone openly comes out to harass me or compel me to convert (Jehova’s Witnesses at my door, for example). I don’t busy myself with pissing anyone off simply because I do not agree with their way of thinking. To be honest, I have better ways to spend my time.

This is precisely why I don’t choose to get upset about St. Patrick’s Day. I simply choose to reclaim it for myself–a celebration of my Irish ancestry, good beer, good movies and friendship. I do not agree with the Catholic spin on it, so I simply choose to ignore it, and reroute it for my own uses. When the Catholics celebrate St. Patrick’s Day they aren’t beating us out with sticks or preaching at us–they’re probably at church, waiting for the priest to finish the homily so they can spill out into the bars (well, if they’re Irish at least). Pretty harmless, in my book.

I’m also not saying we shouldn’t forget the past, or what happened. But what you make of it is a choice. People can choose to be offended by it, or people can redirect it and turn it into a celebration. Paganism isn’t one religion but a conglomeration of many religions. If everyone stopped to focus and be offended by every religion that suffered a blow in the past by every other religion, we’d just spend the whole time sitting around being pissed off at each other. Remember the past, but learn from it. Don’t repeat it. Talk to a Catholic friend, get their perspective. Donate your time to a Celtic Reconstructionist group. Know what it is, and why you’re getting passionate about a thing.

Personally, my day was spent running around like a chicken with my head lopped off at work, followed by a fun evening with my fiancee watching the Boondock Saints and listening to the Dropkick Murphys. Good stuff.

Book Review: Talking About The Elephant

Talking About The Elephant 

To some people, especially those in the (neo)pagan communities, bringing up the topic of cultural appropriation is either tantamount to beating the proverbial dead horse, or will be stated as a topic not brought up enough.

This book is different, however.  It doesn’t present extreme arguments in black-and-white, but rather addresses the many different grey areas that occur, and brings up some important questions and aspects not often discussed, such as cultural appropriation of the occult/pagan communities by academia, and the other many different aspects that this sort of thing can take. For example, the issue of syncretism within a tradition, and the need for growth without fear of being labeled as not being “true” to said path or tradition, or the idea of “authenticity” when seeking teachers, gurus or experiences.  I also liked how well some of the authors cited their sources, and offered books for the interested reader to pursue on their own.

If you have strong feelings about cultural appropriation, or want to get a better idea about different sides of the argument without sifting through debates, flame wars and other such crap, then it’s probably worth picking up this book.

Five chew marks out of five.

Book Review: The Phillupic Hymns

Yes, I’ve finally gotten around to writing a book review. Go me.

The Phillupic Hymns, by P. Sufenas Virius Lupus

There are many things I could say about this book, mainly because there are many things about this book which make it a very skillful and well-executed work of art done by a very talented individual.  Below I will explain why.

What truly makes a poet is one’s ability to bring forth imagery and, above all else, emotions with words. Phillipus does this and more, by utilizing his knowledge of ancient poetry styles coupled with his talent for words.  His poetry runs the full gamut from humor to drama and many others in-between, using many different styles. If you want devotional hymns, prayerful contemplation, or oratory presentation, this book satisfies all those and more. Phillipus has a take on syncretic polytheism that is built on much knowledge, authority and divine inspiration.

Not only do you get great poetry throughout this book, you also get some never-before-seen translations of ancient text, as well as some in-depth historical and mythological background. Your brain gets entertained, inspired and fed all in one amazing book.

Five enthusiastic chewmarks* out of five.

*Some people have stars, some have pawprints, I choose chewmarks because, as a Canine-centered person, canids tend to chew the things they most enjoy!

A Wintry Post

This post is mostly a collection of links and curiosities relating to this holiday season.

Mentioned by a few other sources, but this link directly from my German husband: Goat-Headed Christmas Cheer: Run Kris Kringle, Krampus Is Coming! This article gets into the tradition’s pagan roots a bit:

Depending on who you believe, Krampus is very old indeed. Some say the tradition stems back to the pre-Christian era, and that the Krampus known and feared by Austrians today is a version of an ancient god incorporated into Christian holidays.

Lady Lavona’s Cabinet of Curiosities also wrote a nice and in-depth article going into the occult and pagan roots of Krampus festivities.

Spiegel.de is becoming one of my favorite international news sources, and especially their Europe’s Weird Ways section makes for particularly interesting reading. Take, for example, the article on the Greek ‘Kallikantzaroi’ and their ancient pagan roots. There’s also Italy’s Christmas Witch, delivering presents on a broomstick. Somehow Kiki’s Delivery Service comes to mind.

And finally, Winter Solstice has arrived! Whatever your ‘reason for the season’ may be, I hope everyone reading this has a great holiday.