Before we dive in (or maybe this IS the dive), I’d like to make mention that today is a special day in my ancestor/remembrance practice. Six years ago the world lost a holy person (a tzaddik, some might say), Rabbi Zalman Schacter-Shalomi, of blessed memory. I had the privilege and blessing (and the good sense to take advantage of the opportunity before me) of studying with him during my time at Naropa University, and even for some years after as I began planting the seeds for my own ministry. Reb Zalman was a priest (as it were) that had no trouble filling the seats in congregations because the folx wanted to bask in his unique form of kind, gentle wisdom. I’ll remember Reb Zalman as, literally, the kindest, gentlest person I’ve ever had the good fortune of meeting face-to-face. 

That being said, it was sometimes a challenge to be within his presence because, by nature, I’m an angry person… and he’d just exude calmness, wisdom, and gentleness, all while being perfectly perfect with the angry, ignorant, and ham-handed frame-of-mind in which I found myself. That kind of relationship, a sort of darshan, creates very clear and shared feelings… sort of like DreamFasting in The Dark Crystal, but only with feelings. It’s uncomfortable if you’re not prepared for the experience. I’m talking about the discomfort of being in the presence of peace when you yourself are not feeling at peace in the slightest.  I’m sure you know the feeling I’m talking about. Wise Zalman would probably say it was because our frequencies were connected, in that moment and perhaps before (who knows), in some kind of diatonic harmony, or some other such completely-accurate, uniquely-phrased Zalman’ism. 

Gods be good, I miss him. 

It’s funny to me that today is the day I choose to write about anger. On this day, when I’m so steeped in my yearly mourning for my teacher (but it’s SO ZALMAN to do exactly this). If he were here, he’d be kindly, gently laughing (I’ll tell you why by the end).

So… back to anger, and why it’s hard to be an angry priest/religious professional. 

I don’t remember being an angry kid when I was really little. If you hear my relatives tell it, they’d paint a picture of a sweet, gentle boy, who loved singing in church, dancing around the house, playing alone for hours with action figures, drawing everything that came to mind, rarely talking, and who especially loved being outside with friends… and sometimes, a boy who was helping others, often at his own expense. 

But then, life started to happen. Ever-blossoming people problems: parental divorces, bullies at school, failures, abuses; all these things happening with no safe-haven in which to hide at home, because life was happening there too, y’all.  The main model of how to be in the world, and deal with life, was given to me by my grandmother (of blessed memory) who reared me. She was an angry person, for sure. Imagine the visage of Sophia from The Golden Girls with the heart and mind of your worst bully from grammar school. Seriously. No shit. 

Not trying to blame my grandmother for my anger; however, while correlation does not imply causation, relationships DO influence all involved. 

Over the course of my life I’ve run the gamut of therapists, programs, techniques, and “cures” for my ever-present anger, and here it is, nearly fifty years later, and I’m still *#&%@?!* angry all the time. The quest for properly-managed anger feels kind of like feeding an addiction: the hunger for AND volumes of what we crave (which in my case is peace and kindness and knowledge) grows and grows… and when we’re not satiated, we’re raging in that not-enoughness of what we crave...

… and it doesn’t go away. 

Since I’ve been in full-time service as one of the priests of Mountain Ancestors Grove, I’ve seen our community, our state, our nation, and our world devolve into fear-based insularity, sycophantic despotism, and sickening divisiveness…

… and just like when I was a child, it feels as if there’s no safe-haven in which to find refuge. 

That makes me as angry as it ever has. 

Gods be praised, I’m a different person now that I’m grown, albeit still perpetually angry. I think the difference now is that I can, even in the midst of all the above-listed sufferings, find solace in the guidance and resolve that comes from a committed spiritual/religious life. 

Not because doing all the “religious stuff” makes me “feel” good, but because doing all the religious stuff gives me a fire-pit in which to hold the otherwise all-consuming fire; a foundation upon which to rest my angry spirit…

… and creating a reliable foundation takes quality material (teachers, training, ideas, values) and labor committed to excellence (disciplined mind and spirit, ego awareness and mitigation tools). 

My challenge within paganism (maybe it’s in other places, but those places aren’t mine to talk about) is that so many pagan-identifying people are more interested in “feeling” good about “religion-ing”, in the same way we want to “feel” good about being part of a fandom at a convention, than changing their perspectives, being comfortable in discomfort, or growth as a human being in a world of other human beings. 

That kind of attitude, when using the “foundation” metaphor, are the bits of wallpaper, artwork, and knickknacks that fill a house. The power of our practice isn’t in the style-points it automatically generates. It’s in the potential to self-examine and relate to the world in a more primal, lower bullshit-level sort of way. It’s in the deep lessons of interconnectedness, adaptation, and the cyclical nature of existence. It’s in the soil and rock… not the ones that adorn shelves in our houses, but the ones that uphold and support it from the Mother below, and the ones that build its very walls…

… and it angers me that so many of us pagans aren’t down for all the “material” investment (unless those “materials” generate some egoic, self-aggrandizing feelings within us) and committed labor (like actual hard work) it takes to ascend as a people; to be better today than we were yesterday, every day. 

As a religious leader, it’s a professional pain-in-my-ass to have the above feelings. Why, you might ask? They’re valid feelings, or realistic perspectives, or whatever… right? Short answer: yes. But… 

No one wants an angry shepherd. 

Folx want a caretaker, a cookie-baker, a lore-spinner and entertainer. Folx want all the religion-ing to feel good, or at least to not make them feel bad in ways that they haven’t already approved for discomfort. 

In the age of understanding and acceptance (at least from the “potential for, as a species” point of view), it angers me that there’s so much selfishness in the world blinding us to the needs of others that we fail to see that generosity and inclusivity could save us all, leaving no need for selfishness. In today’s world, we’re encouraged to be more accepting, right? 

What about accepting the fact that everything that comes to us in life isn’t going to make us feel good? Or maybe accepting an angry priest who embodies that frustration and encourages us to think about these terrible things in the world? 

It’s a challenge (read as “it pisses me off) to make relevant very here-and-now issues with a religious framework that was best functional before the next 5000 years of human evolution, global awareness, and interpersonal understanding. During a time when we, as a human species, needed different things as a species, all this worked just fine. 

Well, y’all, we, as my NOLA-kin would say, “ain’t dere no more”. 

The fact that so many of us can’t see that ALSO angers me. So, yeah...

No one wants an angry shepherd, but having one isn’t inherently bad…
 … and what we want and what we need are entirely different. 

Assess your needs accurately. 

Oh yeah… I almost forgot to tell y’all why Reb Zalman would be kindly, gently laughing at me as a live my life of perpetual seething and grumbling: 

He wouldn’t be laughing AT my suffering, or struggle, or fears… no, Reb Zalman would be laughing because he’d be filled with joy for me at such a great opportunity to practice relationship-ing with my anger. He’d very likely tell me (in between chuckles) that it’s a blessing to be an angry person. Why? Because without feeling the feelings of that great, constant anger, how would we have the opportunity to practice great, constant kindness, generosity, and love, or to develop the resilience and strength it takes to do so. 

The places where we struggle are exactly the places we need to be, if our goal is to grow, evolve, and be of use to the world. 

No one wants an angry shepherd. 
And yet, that’s who I am…

… and that might be just what we need. 

by Rev. Missy Ashton, ADF

Let me tell you a story.

There once was a young girl in North India named Gotamī, called Kisā Gotamī by her family, because she was so lean and thin. Her family was very poor, and fortune favored her with a wealthy husband. After many years of ridicule at her inability to bear a child, she brought to term a beautiful baby boy. When he was only three, the boy fell ill and died in the night. Kisā Gotamī was inconsolable, so much so that she would not let them take his body from her for last rites. She insisted physicians and healers be brought to her to bring her son back, but none were able to do so. Finally, someone suggested she go and see the Buddha at the monastery who was a great healer as well as a great teacher. 

She took her son’s body and laid it at the feet of the Buddha, pleading with him to give her back her precious son. The Buddha told her he would be happy to do so if she would only bring him a pinch of mustard seeds from the house of a family who has known no loss. The woman left her son in the Buddha’s gentle care and went door to door, asking each family if they have experienced loss. Each family shared their own story with her, because every family had a tale of woe to tell. By the time she reached the end of the village, though she had not found a single family who was spared the pain of loss, Kisā Gotamī found within herself the ability to begin accepting the death of her son and take the first steps on the path to healing. 

I share this tale with you as an example of the importance of dialogue, of sharing stories, and most importantly, of listening to others. Creating safe space for people to share, even and especially when their emotions rise up during the retelling, is an important part of building the relationships we need to change our culture. Active listening leads to greater understanding. It adds to perspective and improves our ability to feel empathy with those around us. From the vantage point of true connection, we can readily feel compassion as their stories flood our own senses, reminding us of our own losses. We may not be able to understand exactly what someone is going through, but we can relate to the need to find healing in the face of traumatic and heart-wrenching events in our lives. 

Moving through the world with compassion is a simple. Compassion derives from the Latin, com, together, and pati, to suffer, meaning “to suffer together.” When we give our undivided attention to those around us and learn to suffer with them, putting aside our desire to problem-solve as well as any judgments that arise, we connect with them on a heart-level that serves to help us all to heal together. 

by Axel Yantosca, MAGpie Seer and Secretary

Kindreds all, 
Grant me the strength to continue when all seems lost, 
The Grace to accept that which I cannot change, 
And the compassion to still love others amid a sea of chaos.

Today I did things. I finally felt accomplished. I found myself down to my last pair of clean underwear, the towels and sheets far overdue for a cleaning, and so I had to venture out into the vast unknown to the laundromat to remedy this before starting my hellishly long-hour work week. Also, my groceries were near depleted and I knew that in my outing I must also acquire the nourishments. Then there was the issue of my last pair of jeans that had finally gotten a pesky, unrepairable hole and my work boots that were so worn down I could no longer wear them for a few hours without my feet eliciting so much pain that I was glad no one could see me wince in pair because of the now-mandated PPE facemasks from work. So, I added those items to the list. These last two to-do-list items were not easy feats. 

Grocery stores have remained open during this crisis and so had the laundromat. But clothing stores and places one could obtain steel toe shoes for women? No such luck, these types of establishments aren’t really essential, even if in this moment to me they desperately were. I could order these items online to be shipped to me, praying to the Kindreds that when they arrived in a few weeks that they would fit properly. But what would I wear to work tomorrow? I had plenty of leggings, athletic pants, sweats and whatnot, but all of these pants were strictly forbidden and my somewhat sexist management people have made it clear just how inappropriate they are for the workplace. I was so lost and feeling defeated.

Then I saw it. Drive thru pants from Kohls. I had bought pants there before and so I knew what brand and size I could reasonably get away with without trying them on. I could order then online, pay for them online and I would get an email about picking them up. Then I would drive to the store wait in a designated parking spot, the lady would scan my email barcode through the window and deposit the item into my trunk without ever coming into contact with anyone. I cried tears of joy, I would not be wearing ripped pants to work. I would not be getting written up or sent home because I lacked the ability to obtain properly fitting appropriate work pants. 

My last stop was the boot conundrum. Usually we have a steel toe boot truck that comes to work once a month. I get a stipend from work every year to buy a new pair of steel toed shoes. I was cleared to do so after April 28. The boot truck announced they would no longer be coming over to campus on April 20. No May boot truck. No boots for me; I was about 20 days off from qualifying for the last truck at the beginning of the month. My options now are as stands: Order shoes over the phone that I have never tried on, wait for them to ship, and pray that they aren’t worse than the pair I currently have. Do nothing and wait for the pandemic to subside enough for the boot truck to resume. Or go to Walmart and try on whatever options I have to quell my immediate suffering. 

I opted for Walmart. My options were a pitiful three types of shoes. I found one I liked that fit okay for really cheap. We will see how they hold up to 12 hour, 10 miles a day shifts. I longingly gazed at the men’s selection; all twenty types of steel toes wishing men’s shoes went down to a size 5 so I could at least have the option of men’s shoes. But alas, I had to settle for not ideal, knowing that this small sacrifice was so small compared to the horrors people on the front lines were facing. 

I returned home and I wept. In an apartment that was a cage for my ever-increasing depression, I had felt trapped. Too tired to accomplish any Pinterest-inspired quarantine goals, barely able to function normally. Dishes often sat in the sink for far too long, vacuuming was a distant memory, any hope of “being creative” and using this downtime to “be productive” were just pipe dreams and wishful thinking. 

Today, was different. I didn’t accomplish everything I wanted to do, but it was the things I needed and it was the things that in this moment I felt like I could tackle. Sometimes we have to remind ourselves that this world is evolving and the changes are bound to knock us off our best and that’s okay. As for today, I am grateful for drive-thru pants.