[tweetmeme source=”poachedkumquats” only_single=false]
Magick is in my blood, it’s part of my breath. Magick informs every action I take, in one way or another. I don’t usually think of magick as my “faith” per se, but as part of my being. Living a Jewish life as a magickal being is surprisingly quite easy. The Jewish calendar is lunar/solar, so I am constantly in tune with Her cycles as I observe the months and holy days in Judaism. And, in Judaism {particularly Reconstructionist Judaism, the branch with which I am affiliated}, God just is. God is not a gender, or a being. God is part of all beings. For me, this is easily translated as be-ing divine energy, and for me this takes on “feminine” characteristics and attributes. In Judaism, there is Shekinah, the “feminine face of God.” For me, Shekinah is God. There is no one side or the other. Shekinah just is, and is part of me. We are God, so it doesn’t really matter what noun or name you use.

God just is.

Love just is.

It’s all one, all connected. We are all connected.

For a while, I was really into Rumi. And I realized that Rumi is talking about the same “God” I grew up with in a really conservative church. The difference is the attention paid to one attribute or another. Same is true for Dianic Wicca, and Reconstructionist Judaism.

Somehow, in the crazy, fractured, complicated life I have walked thus far, I learned that the more we can see the sameness in really big things {like God}, the more attention we can pay to the unique differences we each have. The differences that make us special.

And so I contemplate this as I read over yesterday’s post. I am drawn to the hate-full letter written by the leader of my parents’ congregation, and how stunningly blatant it is, when you choose to read it with an open heart. I do not believe that my opinions are more “right” than anyone else’s. I do not believe that my dogma is better than yours {though I admit, I’m not certain I have a dogma. Cat-ma yes, dogma no}.

This is the church in which I grew up, though I learned early on that I did not hold the same things to be true. This is the church in which I had my only “real” friends outside of Girl Scout camp {a topic for another essay}. This is the church in which I fiercely loved the adult women who paid attention to me, who cared about me, who smiled and hugged and cherished me.

*Many of these women still love me, though they do not ask about my life, do not ponder on romantic involvement or business arrangements. Nope, nothing below the surface. Nothing.*

I started practicing yoga at 12. This was radical. My family was afraid for me. I started reading the Tarot, and using a pendulum, and talking to trees and animals. I still attended catechism class every Wednesday after school. I was still confirmed Lutheran, a total lie of an act. I already knew I was a lesbian. I already knew I wasn’t welcome. At 14, I had no spiritual home.

Some time later, a friend suggested I attend the Unitarian Universalist fellowship in town. Small, meeting in rented space, it was an eclectic gathering of many of the artists, writers, community organizers and other activists in town. I was instantly in love. I became their darling. I couldn’t be involved enough. I wanted to do everything, try everything, help in every way possible.

I continued attending the UU fellowship for many years. I grew up there. After I lead my first worship service, people asked me if I had considered attending UU seminary. Serving people, in a spiritual capacity, lit up my soul. I was blazing bright enough to be seen from Jupiter. I was alive.

Was it magick? Belief in myself? The generous faith of others in my abilities?

Or was it something deeper, something beyond definition and explanation?

I am still called to serve. Whether it is facilitating a spiral dance in a public ritual or leading a prayer in a Reconstructionist service, I am shining at my best, highest self. I am alive. I am on fire.

All these things swirl in my head as I devour Style Statement and prepare for the World-Changing Writers Workshop. Discovering my essence is a journey that has been a lifetime in the making. For so many years, I cowered. My true self was stored in a box on the top shelf in the very back of my very deepest closet.

It’s time to let her shine.

I’m sure she be a little light sensitive and likely emaciated, but with the proper nourishment {and a whole lot of love}, in short time she’ll be ruling my life.

Which is exactly the way it should be.

Advertisements