Difficult Damsels by Nikita Gill
I haven’t posted any aerial hammock stuff lately. This is part of what I did today – core and balance work with shoulder stands in the hammock.
you are not a machine. you are more like a garden. you need different things on different days. a little sun today, a little less water tomorrow. you have fallow and fruitful seasons. it is not a design flaw. it is wiser than perpetual sameness. what does your garden need today?
[Originally posted at my blog, A Sense of Natural Wonder.]
Last night I finished looking over the proofs for my next book,Nature Spirituality From the Ground Up, which will be coming out in January 2016. One of the things that struck me was how much of the book is spent simply showing readers how to connect with the land they live with. Most books on totemism and nature spirits give a bit of context, and then leap into the “how to find your guide” exercises. It’s not until the very last bit of the second chapter that we even start trying to contact totems. Even after that point, many of the exercises are intimately linked to the physical land, getting people outside and in direct contact where possible (though the material is still accessible to those who may be housebound).
Here in the U.S., most people are critically detached from the rest of nature, at least in their perception. This book is meant to help them reconnect, not just for self-help, but because we live in such an acutely anthropocentric world that we rarely consider the effects of our actions on the other beings in the world (to include other human beings). The problem seems immense: few of us give any thought to our environmental impact, either in part or in whole. When we are unwillingly confronted with it, it’s often in the most catastrophic manners–global climate change, mass deforestation, entire species disappearing overnight. We’ve learned to simply shut off the part that cares about nature any further than maybe sorting the recycling every week.
We’re afraid to care, because caring hurts. It’s hard to find hope in a world where the environmental news is largely bad. As far as I’m concerned, though, where there’s life, there’s hope. And I want to help people find that hope as a motivator to making the world–not just themselves–healthier and better. But because we’re used to seeing “THE ENVIRONMENT” as one big global problem, I reintroduce people to their local land–their bioregion–first in small steps, and then greater ones.
Some of that may be old hat to my nature pagan compatriots. After all, we’ve been hiking and wildcrafting and paying attention to the rest of nature for years. But this book isn’t only meant for the proverbial choir. There are plenty of people interested in non-indigenous totemism who wouldn’t describe themselves as “pagan”. Some of them are looking for self-improvement; others have some inkling that a being is trying to contact them, but they aren’t sure how to proceed. Still others want to feel connected to the greater world around them, but are too used to heavily structured spiritual paths that allow little room for personal experience.
That personal experience is absolutely crucial to my writing and the exercises I offer readers. If we’re going to reconnect with the rest of nature, we have to make it relevant to our own lives. Most of us in this country are used to being preached at, something the dominant religion is good at. But we quickly learn to tune it out, the same way we often tune out the messages about how horrible we are in our environmental practices.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about human psychology, it’s that most of us don’t do well when we’re being yelled at. There really is something to that whole “you’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar” adage. Environmental scare headlines try to terrify people into reconnecting enough to take responsibility, but that approach can be counterproductive. By making reconnection a positive, constructive and appealing concept, I hope to get people interested not just in their own personal spirituality, but how that spirituality is set in a greater world context.
From the beginning, Nature Spirituality From the Ground Up talks about the importance of totemism in relation to entire ecosystems, not just “me, me, me, what can I get out of having a totem?” Most of the books I’ve read on the topic are mostly about how the reader can connect with individual totems; there’s very little about the context all that happens in. And that goes right back into the anthropocentrism I’m trying to counteract,.
I’ve had the occasional reviewer complain that the material in my books isn’t “hardcore” enough because I rely primarily on guided meditations and accessible excursions into open areas, that I’m not telling people how to take hallucinogenic plants and soar off into the spirit world, or spend twenty days fasting in the wilderness. Well, of course not! That’s not the kind of thing that I think can be appropriately–or safely–conveyed through a book. Most people simply aren’t cut out for that much hardship and risk, and I don’t think they should be denied this sort of spirituality simply because their bodies or minds may not be able to handle ordeals, or because they lack the money to travel to remote locations in South America for entheogenic training.
As an author (and by extension a teacher) it’s my job to meet people where they’re at and help them explore someplace new. I am a product of my culture, and so is my writing. I am not part of a culture that lives close to the land and its harsh realities; mine is conveniently cushioned through technology and the idea that we are superior animals to the rest of the world. We don’t have a culture-wide system for intense rites of passage or life-changing altered states of consciousness. And I don’t have the qualifications to single-handedly create such a system, beyond what help with personal rites I can give as a Masters-level mental health counselor.
So are my practices gentler than traditional indigenous practices worldwide? Absolutely. That’s what most people in my culture can reasonably handle at this point. Trying to force them into something more intense would go over about as well as Captain Howdy’s rantings about “being awakened” in Strangeland. Sure, sudden and seemingly catastrophic experiences can cause a person to reach higher levels of inner strength and ability–but they can also cause severe physical and psychological trauma, or even kill. And, again, since we don’t have a culture in which everyone goes through an intense rite of passage at a certain age (such as adulthood), we can’t expect everyone to accept such a thing immediately.
Maybe that’s not what we need, anyway. Plenty of people engage in outdoor, nature-loving activities like backpacking, kayaking and rock climbing without the foremost notion being that they’re going into some intensely scary and dangerous place that could kill them in a moment. Most experienced outdoors people are fully aware of the risks and take necessary precautions, but their primary intent is connecting in a positive way with the rest of nature.
I think it’s okay for our nature spirituality to be the same way. I don’t think we always have to work things up as “BEWARE NATURE WILL KILL YOU AND YOU HAVE TO DO THINGS THAT COULD POSSIBLY KILL YOU IN ORDER TO FIND GUIDANCE”. I’ve spent almost twenty years gradually rediscovering my childhood love of the outdoors and its denizens, as well as developing a deeper appreciation for it. I’ve had plenty of transformative experiences without fasts or hallucinogens, and they’ve served to both improve myself as a person AND make me feel even more connected to and responsible for the rest of nature.
Does that mean there’s no place for ordeals? No; they have their place for the people who respond well to them. But they shouldn’t be held up as the one and only way to do nature spirit work. Again: meet people where they’re at, whether that’s on the couch or on the trail. You’ll reach more people, and create change on a broader scale as more people participate in the ways they’re able. And isn’t that change ultimately what we’re after, those of us who want to save the world?
Like this post? Please consider pre-ordering a copy of Nature Spirituality From the Ground Up: Connect With Totems In Your Ecosystem!
isn’t it ironic that we bury people even deeper beneath the ground in hopes they make it to the sky?
allthesinkingships (via wnq-writers)
I get this question surprisingly a lot and until today I’ve never had what I felt was a decent answer. Some people will be quick to say that you shouldn’t teach children witchcraft at all. I think they need to take a chill pill and realize that although there are definitely dangerous sects of witchcraft, it is ultimately what you make of it. A parent who is aware of this can steer their child in the right direction and make sure they are safe. How many of us claim that witchcraft is just a skill like any other? Plenty of skills have potential dangers for children yet we still teach them. Why not witchcraft?
At the end of the day I can’t dictate what you should and should not teach your own children, so consider this post more of a friendly suggestion from someone who was raised with witchcraft. Take what works for you, leave the rest behind.
Teach your child patience.
Teach them that results sometimes take a while to manifest. Teach them to keep living their lives, to not stop everything to watch a kettle boil.
Teach them that they may be tiny but they still have power and the ability to protect themselves.
Teach them that it’s okay to say no.
Teach them how to handle no when it comes from other people.
Teach them about grounding, visualization, meditation, but understand that some or all of these things might be hard for them to do. That’s okay. We’re all different and some of us can’t do these things, nor do we need to do them.
Teach them kitchen witchcraft. Instill a strong love and respect for food at a young age.
Teach them the basics of gardening, what plants are most commonly used in magical workings, what plants to not touch or consume. Let them tell you what certain plants make them think and feel and don’t discourage them if their answers differ from yours.
Teach them that if they grow up to hate cooking or gardening, it’s okay. They’ll find their niche in their own time.
Teach them compassion and control.
Teach them to forgive.
Teach them not to be ashamed if they’re unable to forgive certain actions or people.
Teach them that their emotions are valid, all of them. Teach them that anger, sadness, heartbreak, fear, discomfort, can all be used just as strongly as any positive emotion. Teach them that all of their emotions are important, not just the happy ones.
Teach them common sense: fire safety, environmental awareness, chemical safety, etc.
Teach them fairy tales about witches, mages, sorcerers, etc. Never underestimate the ability of these tales to do amazing things to a child’s imagination and to affect their practice in a positive way.
Teach them about science and how they can utilize it in magic.
Teach them how to respect the wishes of oppressed cultures so they don’t grow up to become one of the witches who actively harm closed cultures.
Teach them that they can always come to you if they’re uncertain about what they’re doing and expect nothing but love and support in return.
Teach them about music, art, writing; give them all the tools they need to express their creativity.
Teach them about life, because every aspect of life can be a magical experience if you let it be.
And that’s just the thing. I think whenever someone asks me “how do I teach my young child witchcraft?” they’re looking for a set list of practices and techniques, but there is no set list. There wasn’t when I was little; my mom taught me and my brothers about life and showed us that it can be as magical as we wanted it to be.
As I said, take it or leave it. It’s ultimately up to you how and what you decide to teach your child about magic, but I hope you instill in them a level of trust and agency that will stay with them for the rest of their lives.
(Via)
Thought experiment: the crew of a hypothetical Star Trek style TV show that’s been deliberately contrived to cause as many arguments as possible between canon-conscious fanfic authors.
A chief engineer whose facial appearance is apparently shockingly unusual, but whose face is never actually seen. The engineering deck is often obscured by steam, and their responsibilities frequently require them to wear a full-face protective shield, while any time they’re encountered outside of engineering they’re shot exclusively from the back, or with some foreground object conveniently blocking their face. There’s a running gag where any time someone tries to describe them they just can’t seem to come up with the right word.
A tactical officer who may or may not actually have a name. Unlike the chief engineer, above, no conspicuous concealment ever occurs; the show’s plot and dialogue are simply structured so that their name just happens never to come up, in such a way that a given audience member might not notice until someone points it out to them. The character is, of course, one half of the show’s primary canon ship. The show’s supplementary material is likewise phrased in such a way that the character’s name is never stated, with the character’s actor being credited as “also featuring”.
A chief medical officer who manages to deploy a strangely topical anecdote from their implausibly extensive prior career in nearly every episode. These anecdotes are careful never to directly contradict each other, but in aggregate form a personal history which cannot conceivably be true. The possibility that they’re just spinning tall tales is ruled out by the fact that their anecdotes are frequently corroborated by comments from other crew members who’ve either heard about the incident in question or were present themselves for some (generally unspecified) reason.
A communications officer and a science officer who are played by the same actor. They’re never seen on screen together, even while off duty. (e.g., at any gathering where one of them appears, the other “couldn’t make it”.) The circumstances that prevent them from ever being in the same room are often set up to lead the audience to suspect that they’re looking at one character pretending to be two separate people for some unspecified reason, but only characters who aren’t members of the crew ever notice the fact that they’re identical apart from the colour of their uniforms; the other crew members simply don’t see the resemblance.
The captain, who appears in every single episode and often plays a central role in the plot, yet has no regular actor, being portrayed by an endless parade of guest stars. Their age, gender, and overall appearance is usually wildly different from episode to episode, though they always wear the same distinctive headgear in order to allow the audience to easily recognise them. This is apparently a diegetic phenomenon, as other characters will occasionally comment in passing on the captain’s current appearance, but the phenomenon is otherwise so unremarkable to them that its significance is never discussed.