tinhuviel | Entries tagged with hypocrisy

CHRIST

The faithful condemn, they condone persecution,

as the suicides plummet with nowhere to turn.

For, if Christ cannot love them, then why should they live?

And, if God won't accept them, then they'll just have to burn.

There is only one faith and one road to be traveled,

which leads to that mountain where Man may find love.

But there's only a handful of rich men and preacher men

Able to lie and reach Heaven above.

So the suicides have to be burning in Hell now

and those of us left are just souls lost in sin.

And we're told by the faithful how evil we are

and that we must give them money to be born again.

But I can't help but think that, if Christ came to Earth now,

a pauper, hippie, a heretic man,

the faithful who worship him would crown him with thorns again,

call him a sinner and drive nails in his hands.

And we who have wandered a world without meaning

would find there a martyr who, for us, his life lost,

then our children will reign in some bigoted future

and impale the same outcast on the hypocrites' cross.

©Tracy A. Evans / 31 August, 1990

Mood: gloomy
Where? the house
Music: ELO - The Sun Will Shine on You

Around 2 AM this morning, I was watching and looking for more of Marina Abramović's performance art, when I happened to come across a picture of her bottle-feeding a baby tiger. My mind was instantly transported to the Wiccan Charge of the Goddess. For those who may not know what the Charge of the Goddess is, it is a poem written by Doreen Valiente, for use in Esbats and Sabbats, and most usually spoken by the High Priestess presiding over the ritual after having drawing down the Moon. The version I'm using here is Starhawk's adaptation of the Charge, because her version was the first I ever read.

Listen to the words of the Great Mother, Who of old was called Artemis, Astarte, Dione, Melusine, Aphrodite, Cerridwen, Diana, Arionrhod, Brigid, and by many other names:

Whenever you have need of anything, once a month, and better it be when the moon is full, you shall assemble in some secret place and adore the spirit of Me Who is Queen of all the Wise.

You shall be free from slavery, and as a sign that you be free you shall be naked in your rites.

Sing, feast, dance, make music and love, all in My Presence, for Mine is the ecstasy of the spirit and Mine also is joy on earth.

For My law is love is unto all beings. Mine is the secret that opens the door of youth, and Mine is the cup of wine of life that is the cauldron of Cerridwen, that is the holy grail of immortality.

I give the knowledge of the spirit eternal, and beyond death I give peace and freedom and reunion with those that have gone before.

Nor do I demand aught of sacrifice, for behold, I am the Mother of all things and My love is poured out upon the earth.

Hear the words of the Star Goddess, the dust of Whose feet are the hosts of Heaven, whose body encircles the universe:

I Who am the beauty of the green earth and the white moon among the stars and the mysteries of the waters,

I call upon your soul to arise and come unto me.

For I am the soul of nature that gives life to the universe.

From Me all things proceed and unto Me they must return.

Let My worship be in the heart that rejoices, for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are My rituals.

Let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence within you.

And you who seek to know Me, know that the seeking and yearning will avail you not, unless you know the Mystery: for if that which you seek, you find not within yourself, you will never find it without.

For behold, I have been with you from the beginning, and I am That which is attained at the end of desire.

I'm not sure why I've latched on to Ms. Abramović, connecting her with the Divine Feminine, but I can say this is the closest I've felt to the Great Goddess since 2011. It could just be that I resonate with the archetype Marina's carriage emanates.

I'm nowhere near acknowledging the existence of any sort to any deity, but I have to admit to myself that I'm not an atheist. By the same token, the revelations and theories that seem to have exploded in the science communities over the past few years give rise to a kind of wonderment of existence, of being a part of living, sentient organism. It is believed that information is never lost. It can be transformed into something we can't see, but it is not gone. In some form, everything is still cradled within the cosmos.

Combined with that theory, the line in the Charge, From Me all things proceed and unto Me they must return, has given me a level of comfort I thought I would never feel again. Not since 2011. How long will this last? I do not know. Could it magnify and allow me to return to the Craft? I do not know. Is it simply a fleeting subconscious attempt to cling to the memories of a time when I felt much more in control of my life than I am now? Perhaps. Still, I do not know. Will I ever know?

I do not know.

Spirituality, however, is not something you know. At least it shouldn't be. Unwavering certainty is the pathway to religious extremism, which is about as far from spirituality as a person can get, in my opinion. A person has to believe enough to engage in spiritual practice of any sort, and I know deep in my bones that I am not there yet, and may never again be. Some may suggest I cast or find a Circle and see where it takes me, but I can't do that. I always took my responsibilities as a High Priestess very seriously and I feel being involved in a ritual of any sort would be hypocrital of me. I tried to explain this - unsuccessfully - to the Mother Unit and Matt, when they tried to get me to attend a full moon drum circle. Since rhythm and song were intrinsic in my own rituals and the ones I led in Hecate Triskele, and this drum circle is held on every Esbat, my conscience won't allow me to get involved. I would feel like a phony and a liar to myself and everyone with whom I've practiced since embracing Witchcraft, and everything I'd ever believed or done within that context would be worthless, devoid of any sincerity. That's something I cannot and will not do.

That said, I think it would be wise of me to avoid Marina Abramović for a while.

Edit: The background image I used for the Marina Charge is an artist rendering of what scientists believe the universe looks like.

Mood: contemplative
Where? the house
Music: Shriekback - This Big Hush

When I was still in The Pit, enjoying the interactions I had with a handful of sane music business homies, I often entertained a scenario where a snorkel of voracious, pissed-off weasels methodically skinned her alive, leaving her ravaged, bleeding form to get all manner of unwanted attention by creatures in the forest, who take their janitorial duties quite seriously. To be honest, that’s too good for her. Some people who are reading this post, can attest to a lot of what I’ve been saying about her since 2002, and I will attempt to communicate my memories of that. Essentially, we were at war with one another, not just work-wise, but creatively, business savvy (she had it all over me on that), and every single worldview to which each of us clung up to this very day).

This is someone who used the collective office phone to have a raucous conversation with a sales rep about she would have no clue on how to live on a $20-30K yearly budget, where all of her employees who were managing just that, listened on in disgust. This is someone who began threatening me with termination if, for the next 6 months, I had to drop out of work for even a half day. Aunt Tudi's doc appointments were a mess to reschedule and find other transport if I couldn't figure out how to work around the situation. On top of that, since my cube was right outside her office door, I was always the first one she'd come to each morning to say "G'mooooooorneeeeeeuuuunnn" and pretend civility.

And she loved to stand outside my cube and laud conservatives and everything they've ever done. One of our bitchiest fights was one night, when we were working over on promo campaigns, news came on the radio that Ronald Reagan had finally dropped dead. The Mistress had a sad. I said, "Thank fucking god. It's about time that piece of shit dropped dead. The world suddenly seems lighter and happier." She was scandalised, and began chanting all the good things he supposedly did for America. I shut her arse down with no mercy when I interrupted her to state that I was part Jewish and to watch a POTUS lay wreaths on SS officers graves after doing a PR tour of Bergen Belsen. "I was glad when I found out he was losing what little fucking mind he had, and I'm glad he's dead. I hope he suffered before the end, and I hope he's rotting in hell now."

We didn't speak for a couple of days.

Then a few months later, she was complaining about all the immigrants to me and the lady behind me, Joanie, who is Laotian. Being appropriate is a foreign concept to the Feudal Mistress. I let her say her self-inflated piece, which she ended by saying: "Besides, if they want to come into this country, they need to speak its language!"

To which I replied, "Oh, wow! I didn't know you could speak Cherokee! Let's hear you say something."

I was rewarded with two more days of peace and quiet. Before I left BMG, I purchased a special tee shirt I wanted to wear in a photograph with the Feudal Mistress. Politically, she may be a 9-volt battery, but she was pretty sharp when it came to passive-aggressive innuendo.The expression on our faces say it, don't you think? What I want to try to write about regarding our ongoing war that ended with the day the tee shirt I bought specifically to have a farewell taken with the Feudal Mistress, leaving no doubt in her mind that the entire front of my body is screaming murderdeathkill in a mild-mannered public service announcement. Whoever said that a picture speaks a thousand words should be honoured, or sainted, or given a So Good and True You Are, We Wish to Bestow upon Your Person, this Cliché Master's Medal of Honour.