The Wagner in me

I just finished watching Stephen Fry's gorgeous documentary: "Wagner & Me".

And it's evoked in me so many memories.

My Great-Grandmother (on my Father's Maternal side) was Margaret Wagner.

We are cousins of Honus Wagner. And my Gram loved to tell tales about what a hard guy he was. His famous refusal of baseball cards because they were in cigarette boxes and he didn't approve.

The family lore surrounding the cards. Worth so much when we all were folk of modest means.

Family to be proud of.

The stories of Margaret's second husband William Runyon (My Gram's step dad) and his famous writing relation. I remember the stories being my Great-Grandpap's brother. But I don't know for sure. One day I'll track all the history down.

There was always music in my Gram Audrey's home. I lived with her for a goodly portion of my life. First as our only neighbor then in my Dad's small crowded house. I loved music. And especially opera as a small kid. Classical music was a 'safe' form allowed and encouraged by my Mom.

My two favorite pieces of orchestral music were "Night on Bald Mountain" by Mussorgsky. And "The Funeral of Sigfrid" by Wagner.

Independent of the opera I listened to a recording of the Ring Cycle Orchestration in my deepest times of distress as a child. Ad nauseam to help lull me into sleep as a hyper vigilant insomniac I played this music.

Until one night my Gram pulled me aside and asked me to stop.

I was in high school. I was obsessively researching the Second World War. I was driven to delve into the madness of the Holocaust. I read everything. I watched the news reels. I sat through lectures and hours of Nazi propaganda film. I took a special history course specifically on WWII.

All through this the sounds of Richard Wagner soothed the pain in my heart nightly. The horrors of the war were a way to struggle through the nightmare of my own early days. I talked to my Gram about being a teenage girl during the war.

She brought out the original family copy of "Mein Kaumpf"( which my Dad and Uncle had punched holes into Hitler's eyes) and told me about our family. And my obsession with the war and the man who wrote the music I loved.

My Gram said that at first the family had received the book written by Hitler from relatives still in Germany. They saw him early on as a force of healing for Germany. But my Gram was mostly raised by her Grandmother Rose. Rose didn't like that "nasty filth book" or it's author.

My Gram revealed that she had been raised Catholic by her Grandparents. This was a shock for me. We always identified as Protestant though my Gram never once went to church that I recall. And being Catholic was somehow unsavory to our family.

More astounding was the idea that were were related to Wagner. But something made our family intensely dislike him.

I knew no history of Richard Wagner. I knew only the notes played. The story in liner notes. The intense pitch of the Valkyrie "Hi ya ah". The Bugs Bunny in drag of Wagner.

Gram told me of his antisemitism. She told me that was why he wasn't allowed to be played in Great-Grams house.

And then the story went deeper.

My Gram told me that her beloved Rose was Jewish. She converted to Catholic to marry my Great-Great Grandfather. This was Never spoken of and would be denies as high treason by the older generation. No Jews in there good German line. (This was in the early Thirties as related to my young Gram)

Margaret died when I was a small child.
My Gram only spoke of these stories once to me. Then showed me photographs of my German Wagner relatives. Honus and the brothers and back to the family Wagner who came to Heidelberg Pennsylvania from the old country.

So here I was a kid immersing myself in the history of the Holocaust. Trying to understand the culture of a people who some how survived. And now I find out that I lost family too. I had lost Jewish cousins and there was strong ties for an against Nazism in my close family tree.

I found out the music I so loved was written by a man who hated Jews. Who hated the idea of my Grandma Rose.  Who's music was much beloved by Hitler who used the Ring story to feed his madness. Wagner's, I learned tonight,  son in law openly embraced that hatred. More history to trace.

So I watched Mr. Fry who too loved the music as I do struggle with the Nazi taint to Wagner's work. I saw a gay, Jewish man come to terms with the spaces where Hitler stood to bask in Wagner's work.

And I understand better now bits of my own history.

Now did my Gram tell me the truth? Or is the connection to Wagner in name only. I'll never know. She and all the family are gone.

But I choose music. I am choosing to love the music. In itself for itself. And I feel pretty much like Mr. Fry in the end.

They Like You, They Really Like You

Well... until they don't.

I am talking about virtual friendship and the pitfalls of acquaintance.

Today I received a terse and rather unhappy private message from a social media acquaintance.

My prolific sharing of "homo & devil worship" materials, memes, articles, associations and events over our year and a half connection had driven this soul to frothing rage.

I was summarily dumped from their 'friend' list and wished in distain that I "find Jesus before I drag my whole family to hell."

Obviously I am not sad to no longer be this person's acquaintance.

As my writing in this blog should attest I am fairly open about most aspects of life.

I speak freely and openly about sex, love, religion, politics, and nature.

And if I've accepted your request for friendship, virtual or otherwise, it is because I want to get to know and like YOU. 

It's not only the parts of you that we can agree about that I like but the whole, glorious, human that makes you.

I don't have to worship, love, look, speak, vote, live, shop, grow, parent or exist lock step with you to LOVE you.

I am perfectly clear that you and I can disagree on oodles of stuff listed above and we BOTH are great people. As long as we agree to respect each other's boundaries. As long as compassion rules our passions.

And when we step over each other's boundaries, screw up, get furious with one another we can always come back to the core of our mutual love and respect. We all fuck up or get genuinely angry with each other. It's how we repair the trust that matters.

I tried to ask this person to discuss their obvious discomfort and distaste with core portions of who I am. That too was shot down because apparently I have "an agenda!"

Yep. You betcha I do! And here it is:

Respect.
Love.
Equal opportunity to express those two concepts in all facets of living.

The mind is like a book. It can only be opened if you want it to be.

As I posted to my page on said social media, I am sorry you didn't get the memo that I am a bisexual, neopagan. But when you sent me the friend request I saw that you were a conservative, fundamental Christian. I was fine with that. I respect your values and form of worship.

I tailored my feeds to you so that you had limited access to most of my posts. A courtesy I extend to anyone I don't know well or who may not want to see everything I share.

Grandma wants to see my kidlet grow. She doesn't want to know what I am eating, reading, or watching on the boob-tube. Or how my relationship with her child is strained because the garbage went out late. Or that I love using curse words.

But it is my page. I don't cross post or tag folks without full consideration. And I am going to share things that are relevant to me on my page.

And we all earn the right to enter each others deeper, closer circles of connection. It takes time. And value calls on who gets what access are vitally important.

I wasn't this person's cup of tea. And not all getting-to-know-you periods lead to friendship. And that's okay. Okeydoke! No harm. No foul. Until....

You take the time to yell and wish eternal torment at a fellow adult (me and my whole genetic line) because you don't believe like them (or I refuse to worship exactly like you).

So if my being an animist and hard polytheist who currently is part of an ADF style druidic congregation bothers you? So be it!

I will still be proud to share that my first public liturgy is a Blessing rite to LBGTQ and hetero normative love. I wrote the invocations and closely worked with my Grove liturgists and I think it is going to be great. And if you don't care don't come. Really don't come.

I am proud that my husband & I have been together since 1992! Our decades long, loving, monogamous partnership doesn't change the fact that I am a human being who is sexually attracted to both sexes. The soul I love is part of a male body. You don't like non-heterosexual couplings? Don't engage in non-hetero coupling. But don't tell me and those I love how we are doing it 'wrong'.

My delightful cousin, who I've adored since we were both toddlers, said it best:

"I wish people would spend more time trying to help others than worrying about what they are offended by.  It's silly."

I 100% agree!

Mothering Day Part 2

Last year I tackled a very hard subject: my uncomfort with Mother's Day.

See my post: Obligatory Mother's Day Post http://drolleryandpathos.blogspot.com/2013/05/obligatory-mother-day-post.html to see how much can change in a year!

This year via the interwebs I learned this year is the 100th anniversary of Mother's Day in the United States.

Read about the cool origins here in the Huffington Post: http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/5280493 How incredibly amazing is that? It moved my distaste for the day from high to a thoughtful pondering. How could I reclaim the day?

So what I've been dreading as a saccharine card-store holiday and yearly reminder that my maternal cords snapped long ago has shifted for me here in the year 2014. Even more so than last year's acceptance and partial repair of familial bonds.

Today I would have been 5 1/2 months along in our pregnancy. And that tidbit caused me to suck air a bit. I won't lie.

But this year has so far taught me how much mothering is so needed.

The unconditional compassion for others is what I feel is at the heart of the word mothering.

Through the darkest hours of this year thus far I witnessed astonishing acts of mothering:

Between us women who found courage in each other to grieve our lost babies. In some cases to speak on those loses for the very first time!

Between my husband and I and in turn with each other to our one living child.

I save seen that my words of truth on my loss here have helped comfort others.

And what has occurred is a small community of men and women who need and want to share mothering.

I am glad that though my uterus failed I was able to birth a small safe space online where we can and do support each other unconditionally. We mother each other and give to one another courage and comfort and occasionally a swift kick as needed. It's glorious!

And I am grateful and astounded by the love, support and courage of all these folks!

But as happy and life affirming as my revelation and grief process has been I still must ask a small favor:

Be gentle in your well wishes to any and all females you know on this 100th anniversary.

You may not know how she braves the day. Can you know if she is dealing:

With the painful reminder of her own loses?

With the empty womb where love should have grown but sadly has not?

With the overwhelming love and resources to adopt or foster yet has been denied?

With the terrible loss of her own Mother or Grandmothers or beautiful gay man who taught her trust?

With the unwanted questioning as to when or why or why not she's a mother by now?

With feeling her own parenting is a miserable failure?

With exhaustion and feeling of being overwhelmed or postpartum with their new bundles of joy?

With an empty nest where the birds never return?

We don't know. So if someone wishes me a happy mother's day I'll smile and thank them. And if I truly know them I'll well wish or offer a hug, or let her grab a quick shower as needed.

But for me this year I'd rather be mothering and being mothered than toasted for my status as MOM.

Though the excited whisperings of the kidlet as the plotting of how to spend my day is more welcomed thus year than I ever imagined. And I'll gratefully appreciated each minute on Sunday.

I love you all. And if the day is getting you down, I am here for you. And you might just hear from me too!

Dancing

Everyday Death and I
do a slow dance.

I look up longingly
trying to read Her face.

Today? Today perhaps?

But alas no. Not today.

Some days I twist
and turn my face from her
and whisper

Today? Must it be today?

But thankfully no. Not today.

Sometimes we move swiftly
across the floor.
Our feet gliding in and out
To and away.

Today? Is it today?

But no. Not today.

My whole life we've been
moving in this tango.
I know all life does.
But our bond is closer
We are more intimate.

There have been so
many days in which
I cry:

Today!! It is today!

But no. As you can see, not today.

Death dances thus with
others I love too.

Each day they glide and
dip and spin with Her.

And all too many have asked:

Today? Is it today?

And have heard:

Yes!

Today we dance no more.

Balancing Acts

I have been busy fighting of bee hordes trying to bore into our home's pointing and bitchy wasps nesting in our patio furniture so spring must be truly here.

So how am I doing? Friends have been checking in on me and I feel loved. Very loved.

But I also feel like I am being kid-gloved too. As if I am fragile or precious.

To be fair in the past I have been brittle after emotional devastation. So my good friends wonder, rightly, which jack-in-the-box they might be having to deal with.

It was running me down a bit. I felt a tremendous need to show everyone I was right as Raine. And not because I am doing better, which today I thankfully am, but because I didn't want to see the hesitation in their responses. As if I need to prove I am not going to go all "crazy" again.

I wanted to show everyone that this isn't like 2006 and my big PTSD battle. That this is grieving not depression. That I am having a hard but manageable transition. And all of that is 100% true. But I selfishly worry that I am being watched for signs of mental breakdown. Judged as broken. When truthfully my friends and family aren't engaged in those judgements at all. They love me and want to know where I am.

Then today I was told that my processes written here were helping friends with their own pregnancy loss.

I am gob smacked! I am humbled beyond words. And my choices of words became very important to me. My need to cut away the niceties and the concerns about what someone might be thinking were gone.

I need to say to that family- I love you and I am so very sorry.

And you don't have to grieve alone. Unless you need the privacy. Respect what you are feeling and be honest about what you need. We who love you can handle it.

I tend to be a dolt sometimes. Its takes a clue by four or seven for me to get it. And I was keeping to myself lately and I was feeling like I needed to be 'better' by now. "We who love you can handle it!"- my clue by four of the day.

The one overwhelming thing I have learned this year is how many of us suffer quietly and alone. We soldier through thinking we have to shield others from our pains and losses and the rawness of our living.

Fuck that! We need less concern about seeming to be okay, when we obviously are not and more safe places to express pain and loss and confusion without gut checking to make sure we seem put together and reasonable to others. Lately I've been gut checking and it's not even needed.

I love you. All the parts that make up being you right this minute. Let's love together and laugh together and cry together and whist respecting each other's boundaries support each other. You don't ever need to hold back for me.

And P.S. I really don't hold truck with astrology (probably because there's math involved) but this Grand Cross, retrograde, hey you kids get off my damn lawn crap needs to end. So much loss and heartbreak in the first quarter of the year.

2014 was to be my year of balance. Then a much wiser man than I reminded me balance is active and moves through space. It's not a static point like holding one's breath but motion forward like a tight rope walker. Constant readjustment in the moment that allows us to move forward without falling off the dang rope.

Absolutely this is my year of balance! And today I learned that my big top routine can and is making a difference for others. That notion shook my rope more than I'd ever imagined. I am humbled and honored to share my life with you this way. I never dreamed I might be benefiting others.

When you're reaching up trying to pull your head above water that other hand you reach downward to help someone else is more important sometimes than your first breath of air. My friend Jenni taught me that and much more. I simply followed her example.

Who's hands are you holding on to today? What difference are you making? Do you know how powerful the day to day living of your life can be? You might be very surprised by the answers you find.

Me & Demeter Hanging With the Dream King

This winter of discontent seems like it will never end.

The bipolar weather patterns of my geographical local are normal, 32° one day then 60°the next or 18°to 53° in the same day, for late February and early March. And we don't usually get to last frost dates until mid May. Yeah zone 6!

But this year it's like winter just can't leave.

And I am feeling it. The roller coaster temperatures are a mirror to my own temperament. Freak snow storms, torrential downpour, freezing cold and overcast skies all seem reflections of my emotional distances, sobbing bouts, rages, and exhaustion.

So as me and the family took a Saturday leisure drive these things occupied my mind as the unspring-like countryside rolled past.

I pondered snow covered hillsides when it was 55° outside and I contemplated grazing land withered and brown where grasses should be greening.

I thought where is Demeter? Like Babe what's up? Hello, Spring... Is this thing on?!

Then a thought crawled into my noggin; probably somewhere between the 100th time my kidlet told the 'banana' knock-knock joke and the 4th Erasure song on the radio; it hits me that maybe like me She just isn't ready.

Since the loss of the baby I've been feeling a lot like nothing matters. Not all the time but enough that I watch myself.

Am I depressed or grieving? And my angry at situational events or life? Can I face this happy occasion and not be Suzy Storm Cloud?

And the answers I've found so far are:both, both, nope.

It's no surprise either is that I am not sleeping. My mind runs at Mach speeds until about 4am each day. As a SAHM this stinks. And since day light savings my kid gets up two hours earlier.
And frankly for awhile there (like last week even) I was pushing as hard as I could to do the barest minimums. My house reflects this inertia or lack of REM or as I think of it my 'Ennui'.

I hate it. I hate clutter and mess and dirt.
Our home has it baby in spades. But the sheer volume of work needed stymies my efforts. I start and stop and then give up.

So what if Demeter is feeling the same way? What if the searching and hardships she's endured this year have taken a similar toll on Demeter?

How would the world look if she's been a raging insomniac with a filthy house and a preschooler who's daily life mission is to stretch her boundaries (all of them) past breaking?

How would the world look if She just couldn't give a damn about taking another step?

How would the world look if Her emotions are held in check by the thinnest of membranes?

How would the world be if she just laid down and refused to get up until the pain stops?

I think the world would look a lot like it does outside my dirty windows.

So for now if you need us, Demeter and I will be hanging with the Dream King.

I mean heck- what else can we do in the middle of the night. Blog?!

[Funny thing, as I write this in the wee hours my own Persephone began to whimper and cry. Terror shattered her sweet slumbers. I jump up and run to her. I rock her and settle her back into Morpheus' realm. And I am glad, for once, to have been awake.]

Gordian Knot

There's been a lot of 'discussion' over the last few days in the pagan community over a prominent member arrested for possession and distribution of child pornography. He wasn't a criminal hiding behind cultism. This man is a real pagan and respected artist and author.

This issue is a tricky one for me. Heck this is the second draft of my thoughts.

As an incest and child sexual abuse survivor my feelings are very complicated over these issues.

First off I never heard of the man until a week ago when exposed to his blog. I have no ducks in this race of a personal nature. But others do.

I want to discuss the community reaction as I have seen it.

And then I want to discuss the problem from my unique perspective that of childhood victim and the relative of a man also arrested, then convicted of possession of child pornography. And the abuses hurled at those around the actor.

90% of what I see commented on in the pagan forums is divided almost entirely into two rants:

1. How will this man's actions reflect upon us ("true") Pagans to the outside world

2. How furious the pagan community is and what violent actions they espouse to want to visit upon this man

Here's the thing, this man's actions are his OWN. The are not a reflection of anything but his own sickness. Period.

And he is a "true" pagan. But that's not indicative of anything but his religious affiliation not predicate to his behavior.

Pedophiles and child pornographers and those that gravitate towards such materials are found in all strata of society. It's no reflection on the races, religions, socioeconomic backgrounds, educations, or the communities in which these people self-identify or reside.

The psychology of predation on the most part shows these people as able to blend. Prodigious chameleons and pathologically able to appear as needed to feed their predation.

A lot of the time they are so good at masking these parts of themselves that they are regarded as pillars of the communities they live. They are the coach, priest, teacher, neighbor, parent, sibling, friend.  They can just as easily fool those closest to them as the stranger or passing acquaintance. They can be seen as good spouses, parents, children and friends. They can be seen as best of a community. That's how good a predator can be at masking their true nature.

Not all of these folks are good at hiding. Those usually get caught. But there are predators who can abuse for years right under everyone's noses before being caught.And some never get caught. Some never see justice due to a long line of reasons. My attackers live full lives with one exception. He died unknown to those but his victims as a monster.

In this case the man was arrested and according to the news report admitted to the charges. But he has yet to be tried. Keep that in mind in case he is not guilty. 
I personally have no doubts but I respect our process of litigation.

What has me angry is all the concern about how others will view us. Point of fact that thus far his religious beliefs seem to only be a matter of discussion with the pagan community. For now the press hasn't responded with the 'Pagan Pedophile' lead. And though it's probable his religious views may be brought up as a form of scandal. Why not disallow the fervor?

If some were to question me about pedophilia and paganism in regards to this case I would state that yes the man is pagan. That religion has no baring on his case. His arrest has no connection to our faiths or its traditions. His actions speak only about himself and his sickness.

There's been a lot of yelling about how other faiths have abusers. "Those Catholics!!!!" Stop it! Right. Now.

His actions reflect on him. Period.

And unless there is a concerted effort to hide his predation within the multitude of pagan tradition and those we then do not allow him to be brought to justice to protect those traditions your analogies are false and idiotic.

On the second point above, I get it. The anger when children are harmed is electric. I feel the rage. As a past victim I know how a child's life is shattered by abuse. The man had pornography. He distributed it. It didn't say be created it. But children were harmed and instead of reporting the abuse he shared with others. His actions, if true, are foul.

But the mob mentality, the call to violence, the comments of smug vitriol ask yourselves what good are they serving? Is it schadenfreude? Are you attempting to distance yourself from his actions by sheer force of fury? How much violence is appropriate? Who gets to decide? How do you think your words are affecting those who love him? Do care about them? Are you recognizing the pain of the family, colleagues, community in which he was a part? Are your comments doing any good for the victims? How does your voice in this problem reflect the values of your tradition?

And I swear if I hear about castration one more time! Sexual predation is about control not the penis. I was abused for 7 years. Age 2-9. There are an infinite amount of ways a predator can abuse and penetrate and never once use their sex organs. Trust me I have first hand experience. Removing testes or penises or sewing shut of vaginas doesn't do anything to stop predation. Period. So STFU and educate yourselves about the realities of rape and the minds of predators!

The second part of my reflection on this event is the utter lack of regard for the  victims. All of them.

I am not apologizing for this man. He's getting the opportunity to defend himself. But he hasn't yet been convicted. And if convicted he deserves the full measure of the law. I only care that justice is served.

My real concern is for those harmed. The children in the videos. Any possible children who he may have harmed directly. Those who were duped by him and loved and respected him.

They deserve our love and compassion and healing. Period.

As I said as a child I was vilified. Branded as a liar when physical evidence (my hymen was intact) was lacking. Some of them heard my screams saw the bloody stool watched as I deteriorated but refused to act. But they knew. I have no compassion for those people. I hold them just as responsible as my abuser.

Later in my 30's as I was struggling through PTSD, directly related to my childhood trauma, a close family member was rightfully convicted of possession of child pornography. This person never harmed me. They weren't the type one would ever expect to have such deviance. But the community blamed us for not turning them in. It didn't matter that we had no knowledge of the activities of that family member. We were held somehow accountable in the court of opinion.

Trust me I'd turn in my own child if I thought they were harming another person. No one should ever experience what I did.

See once the community rage can't be directed at the perp it goes to the spouse or parent or colleagues. I've seen it happen over and over. And unless those folks actually are accessories to the crimes (I say punish to fullest if they are) they are also victims. They've been cruelly shattered too just in a different way. But often they are ostracized not cared for.

So what am I saying?

Think about how your words will affect others.

Anger, shock, sadness, horror, rage, confusion, doubt are all normal reactions to finding out about a predator in your midst. But making healthy/unhealthy choices on how to express those emotions can heal or shatter communities.

This man's actions are his own. They are not a reflection of others no matter how they can be identified with him. (Race, religion, education, socioeconomic strata)

If you harbour a predator you are culpable in my eyes.

Words matter.

This isn't an simple issue it encircles and tightens as one investigates deeper. Respect that.

How do we minister to imprisoned sex offenders?

Do our traditions value redemption?

How do we handle people who have served their time and want to reintegrate into our fellowships?

Are these offenders able to be rehabilitated?

I have no answers to those last few questions. I am understandably conflicted. Buy we need to address them for our communities religious and otherwise.

And on a final note, if you suspect sexual abuse or crimes against children REPORT IT!

It's easier to be wrong and apologize and help repair reputations than it is to repair the souls of the victims.

I wish everyday that someone had put me first as a child.

I conclusion put away the offenders and help the victims heal.

Any questions?