Another Pagan Blog
 
You never know where the stars will lead you, or how one thing can lead to another. You never know what your god and goddess may have in store for you, or when they're sitting there laughing at your conviction knowing that one day you're going to realize...you had it all wrong.

Several months ago, I had a friend ask me if I thought I would ever date another guy. And I put on my serious face, and I gave him a completely honest answer. I told him that I didn't think I ever could date another member of the male sex. Then, I realized the addendum. I could never date another guy, unless he was someone like my roommate's boyfriend. Someone who's sweet, and goofy, and intelligent, and cares about people. Someone who probably wouldn't hurt me, the way I've already been hurt.

Because my ex? He really hurt me. He didn't just break my heart. He tried to continue our friendship, so he could wait for the opportune moment to reach into my chest and pull out my still beating heart, Indiana Jones Temple of Doom style, take a bite out of it, show me the masticated parts, then stomp on the rest of it.

But the thing is the heart (the metaphorical one, not the biological one. Duh) can heal, just like a broken bone. Put the pieces back together, and hold them there with something, and after awhile, they'll knit themselves back together. Then life goes on, and when you least expect it, life hits you smack front and center in the face with a giant stinky fish, sending you staggering and reeling...

right into the arms of one member of the sex you thought you had completely sworn off. Because life's a bitch like that.

So enough with the metaphors and the setting up. Here's the thing. Friday the 11th my friend had a birthday party. I had promised to go to this party, and I really missed her, so there was no way I was going to miss it. Then I find out that Long Beach's own Transgendered Awareness event had been changed from Sunday to that Friday. This was something that I had wanted to go to as well, and had planned on. But the change was last minute, I had no way of getting there, and I had already bought appetizers for my friend's party. So I went to her house instead. Then while I was there my friend, who was on the verge of getting sick, called and asked if I wanted to get Chinese with her. It sounded cool but I really just wanted to celebrate my friend's birthday with her. So I stayed. The party went on, and it was a blast. But around midnight everyone, including the hostess was getting pretty tired, and we all left at once. One of my guy friends offered...nay insisted on giving me a ride home, despite my being within walking distance and carrying a very large beat-em-up stick. My friend's mother agreed. I was reluctantly talked into it until I saw S. leaving with his bike. I figure he can walk me home, I don't have to get into a car...which makes me nervous every time, not to mention the car was full of people to make me feel claustrophobic.

So I walked home with S. This guy who I'd kinda talked with off and on through the evening, who I was on friendly terms with, who I'd always sort of had a casual crush on, but who I had been a little awkward with to start that day out with because it was the first time I'd seen him since another one of my friends had broken up with him. But by the time we got back to my place, there was either something new...or a strengthening of something from before. I gave him my phone number. He texted me the next day, and we chatted the whole day back and forth, until finally I asked him if he wanted to get some Wingstop with me. (Not real date food, but it wasn't technically a real date...) After dinner we grabbed coffee. After that we dicked around. We had a ton of fun. And if there hadn't been anything there the night before, there was now. A magnetism that drew us together when we hugged goodbye, and I still can't figure out how it was that we didn't kiss that night.

Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday was filled with texting back and forth. Then Wednesday, and he's had a full day, he was tired from work, and he had to go into work again bright and early the following morning. He knew I wouldn't get out of class until late, but still he wanted to hang out. So we go to a little cafe, and go back out to the car where he opens the door for me (oh yeah did I mention that? He does things like open the door for you. Talk about making me feel girly). So I reach forward and push it closed. Confused he opens it again, but I just look at him until he closes it, looking a little lost. Which just makes me smile. And I asked him to kiss me. And he did.

It's been a whirlwind week. And I know our relationship isn't going to last long...after all I'm hoping to be flying out to Spain in a couple months for about a semester. He's going to be attending flight school and working. But we're going to enjoy it while we can.

And I'm just going to enjoy my god and goddess' senses of humor. I guess the moral of the story is, never swear anything off. You may be pleasantly surprised.

--Tasho
An ex-born again, -Queer- (despite current circumstances) pagan.
 
 
Wow guys,
I feel really bad about how long it's taken me to write an update. But in all honesty I've been struggling a bit with depression lately. As a desert rat you'd think I'd have an easier time with summer, but it's never a good period for me. For one thing, unless I have a job I'm pretty much stuck with nothing to do for three months. And I haven't had a job. I keep struggling and looking for one, but it's just not a good period right now. And the longer I go without a job, the shittier I feel about myself. Plus, summer is hot, and heat makes me lethargic, and lethargy makes me lazy. And there's another point where I feel shitty about myself, when I end up lazing around the house all day.

But the last couple of days have really picked up.
For over eight months now, my Patron god Lugh has been hanging over my shoulder, minding me that his holiday, Lughnasadh, the very reason he came into my life to start with, is ever approaching. So when it came time to discuss our preparations for the holiday I stood up and took control. It was what I had been feeling from Lugh for a long time. I had been doing the research on the holiday for months, and when it came right down to it, I knew what I wanted to do.

So I did it. This last Saturday, July 30th, my group held a Lughnasadh ritual, led by myself. My part in it was calling the god, raising the cone of power, and leading the magical workings.
It was incredible. I was very nervous leading up to it, but the moment we called the god and goddess, it got better. It wasn't perfect, but it was still amazing.
Raising the cone of power was pretty incredible too. In the past when that exercise was done in our group, it had been a sort of swirling of power between person to person. I suppose I should have incorporated that a bit, but what I did instead was lead people to meditate on a stump that was on the grounds, and imagine the seed of that stump growing down and up, comparing the stump to Yggdrasil, the tree of life. I've now written that mediation down into my book of shadows, I really want to perfect it for future use.

The magical workings started with me telling the tale of Lughnasadh, how it came about and why it is so important. It really did feel as though Lugh was there then, taking pride in what I said, and laughing at me a bit too. As it turns out, Lugh seems like a rather down-to-earth god. Or maybe it's just that way with me.

Then we played a hot-potato/word association game, another thing I'm going to have to perfect. It's hard to play games without losers.

And finally we all took a beanbag, imbued it with the energy of something we hoped to come true in the coming future, and tossed it into a 'cauldron.'

All in all, it was very interesting and it has left me feeling invigorated, and better than before.

My future is still a big blurry question mark, but as long as I keep applying myself, the gods will provide. They always have in the past. Of course, a little extra magic never hurt anyone either.

I'm really going to try to start this site back up folks. Please forgive me for my absence. And I hope you all have a blessed Lughnasadh week.

Blessings on you all,
Your ex-born again, bi-sexual pagan,
Tasho
 
 
I'm sorry dear readers. I'm wonderful at multi-tasking, I do it at a level that seems to surprise people. (Am I the only one that has Facebook, Twitter, instant messengers, music/tv shows/podcasts, and some sort of game going on at the same time, while I'm taking a break from writing the paper at hand?) But apparently I am not very good at keeping a blog updated even just weekly while I'm stressing about everything that's ever going to be due for classes in the next several weeks. It's not close to Finals week yet, there's at least another week left, but that doesn't mean that I don't have a plethora of assignments due that I'm worrying about getting down now. It also doesn't help that "that time" always makes me want to curl up in a little ball with a bag of chocolate, doing nothing. So for the remainder of the school semester at least I'm calling a haitus on my blog, but I will pick it up once again as soon as I get it finished up! In the meanwhile, check for some basic layout updates, or added segments or links, which I'll be doing while I'm putting off writing that major paper on the religious aspects of poetry by William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Until then, I am Tasho, an ex-born again, bi-sexual, pagan. :D
 
 
I really hope you all hate the title of this post and are willing to argue that those are not in fact "typical high school emotions."
I was naive. I still am, but not nearly to the extent I was in High School. I felt so many emotions, I let so much affect me in a vastly negative way. I was supposed to be growing, but every corner I turned was another obstacle stunting my growth and sending me back into my shell. When I thought I had a poem published it turned out to be a scam, stunting my confidence in myself, not as a poet, but as a writer. The pieces and photos I put up on DeviantArt would get a few good reviews, but mostly resulted in insults or weren't ever noticed at all. Regardless of the fact that I had talent, anytime I ever auditioned for a solo in choir, since it was determined by democratic vote, I never got the solo. The one time I did, I wasn't allowed to take the solo for competition, only for the concert that only a handful of people who mattered would ever see. (Ironically, the girl who got the solo for the competition forgot an entire section of it, completely blowing the competition for us. We barely got an honorable mention. I remembered every word.)
My self-confidence was already battered into the ground before I ever got to High School. By the end of Freshman year I had made up my mind that I wouldn't be able to get into a University when I graduated, so I never even tried, I never even took the SAT. And it only got worse as the years wore on. From my dad calling me a satanist, to questioning my sexuality, to sitting in "church" every Sunday morning, convinced I was going to the Hell my parents and pastor didn't believe in, but still managed to make me terrified of.

It was my Junior year of High School that I really started pursuing my poetry. I think I honestly had a knack for it, and a love of exploring different forms of poetry. Most of it didn't rhyme, but rhyming has never been a problem for my poetry. My sister/best friend and I were really into Amy Brown and Nene Thomas at the time, so I had gone onto their sites and printed out several of their pictures that really spoke to me. Then I picked up a black journal and carried that around with me, the pictures taped to pages inside, and I would write poetry based on those pictures. In the front I had some kind of childish warning of horrible things that would happen to anyone who read or tried to publish any of that poetry. The poetry was for myself and those I cared about that I wanted to share it with, I never had any intention of any of it getting out to the public eye, it was just practiced to me.
One day I had left it by the computer that my family shared, probably in a pile of my stuff, and hadn't thought much of having left it there.
My dad was upstairs using the computer, and must have picked it up. I don't know if he ever bothered to look at the poetry or if he didn't even make it past the first page, but he was angry. He yelled a lot while I was in High School, nothing I could do was enough to make him happy. But that is one of the few times I remember exactly what he was yelling about. How he called me a satanist, long before I was ever even pagan. How he forced me to throw away my own poetry.
(Later that night my mom snuck out and picked it out of the trash and kept it hidden in her room for a couple weeks before she showed me that she'd saved it. I had her hold onto it for as long as she could. It still brings up a lot of bitter feelings whenever I look at it, and I certainly never could pick up the poetry again.)

My dad and I fought a lot. Nothing terribly different from other families, everyone has arguments with their parents when they're teenagers. But I never tried to rebel in High School. It was always over some shoe I'd left in the living room, or dishes I hadn't washed. He would be angry, probably because he just got home from work after a two hour long drive through rush hour traffic, and I would be angry that he was getting so upset over something so small. Words would be exchanged, but I would try so hard to turn the other cheek. Whenever I felt like I was getting to a point where I just couldn't say anything that wouldn't dig me further into the hole I was try to walk away, but he wouldn't ever let me. He'd get upset that I was walking away from him. The fight would continue. I'd eventually get sent to my room, which was what I was trying to do in the first place.
I used to be a Daddy's girl, and I think it killed both of us that we'd grown so far apart. I know it kills him. He feels like he failed as a father to my sisters (his step-daughters) and tried to make it up to himself by being a good father to me, but the harder he pushed, the further we grew. The closer I grew to my sisters.
I started talking to them a lot. L had just moved back to SoCal, and J and I were finally in a spot where we could have civil conversations. Most of which were about our home life, about dad. And I would sit there and look at my sister (J) who'd just had a baptisim and wonder what in the world my father could have wrong with her life choices.
Then there was L...who started attending a Unitarian Universalist church on a regular basis, and no longer believed in Jesus. (Even though I was still a devout little Christian girl I remember looking at my mom when she told me that L didn't believe in Jesus and just thinking 'so what?')
And looking at L and J, I began to realize something. It didn't matter what I did, or how hard I tried to make Daddy happy...I would never be good enough for him, because I could never be THAT untrue to myself. I couldn't believe that there was something wrong with a man and a woman living together before marriage, or indulging in drink occasionally, I had to question his political beliefs, which led me to questioning his religious beliefs.

I spent a good chunk of those years, Junior, Senior, and my first year of College, entertaining thoughts of suicide. Nothing I ever acted on, but I don't think it was just a cry for attention...because it took me a long time to bring it up with anyone. I'd written notes that I hid in journals, I'd stared at the blade of my razor, wondering how I'd even go about getting it off. Even after I had folded and confessed to my mom and my sisters, I'd still have moments while I was in the car, at the front of a line stopped at a busy intersection, and wondering what it would be like if I just stepped on the gas and drove out into the middle of all these cars racing past me. The excuse I used at the time was that I could never live up to the expectations of one person, but looking back on it, I'm sure there was much more to it. Spiritual dissatisfaction, sexual confusion, low self-esteem, and the verbal abuse of my father. I was an incredibly unhappy person.
 
 
Sorry about the hiatus last week folks. As previously mentioned I was in a pretty dark headspace that took some wiggling to get out of. Even when I was feeling better by Wednesday I didn't really get back to myself until Friday evening. It's good to be back though.
I gotta make this short 'cause I need to go post some questions regarding Rime of the Ancient Mariner before I go to bed on the class forum.

High School was a brand new experience for me. I had discovered the Internet in Jr. High and had already been role-playing for about a year and a half. I was a dice away from D&D when I started High School. Not only that but the Internet gave me a whole new view of the world that not even my few years in public school had prepared me for. The Internet started a very long process of leaving me jaded, of showing me all that is wrong with humanity. In essence, the Internet introduced me to the vilest of enemies towards the Christian religion: Philosophy.

Wait, hold on...let me back up a smidge. A couple posts back I mentioned the two books that most influenced my young childhood. Well not long after I devoured Chronicles of Narnia for a second time I discovered my mom reading an old book she'd picked up at a thrift store. The book was a black paperback, tattered and worn and very well loved. The cover of it had some elegant scrolling words in a script I didn't recognize arranged on an arch. And beneath this arch was a crouching old figure at the edge of an underground lake clutching a fish.
The first time I read the Hobbit was in fifth grade. A year later I tackled The Lord of the Rings. And even though I wouldn't complete it right away, when I did finally finish reading that fantastic trilogy, Tolkien had won over a devoted fan for life. In seventh grade I saw the trailer for "Fellowship of the Rings" and though I was skeptical of how the movie would turn out I was finding every Lord of the Rings related site on the internet, some movie related, but most developed my Tolkenites long ago. And by eighth grade, that roleplaying I discovered was on a web-forum called Entmoot. Out of utter embarrassment at my early attempts at the game I will withhold my username and the forums I was in, but the fact is the roleplaying started a stream of writing. And it had me relating elves to men in Philosophical statements only my mom could pretend to understand...

Freshman year of High School was not a whole lot of revelations for me spiritually. I sang in choir, I got my first ever class grade "F" (In an English class no less!). Nothing terribly life-changing. Well, I did start reading Robert Jordan's "Wheel of Time" series which introduced some new, vaguely pagan concepts to my blooming mind. And I did meet the Bane, a boy who would much later end up becoming a major part of my life, and a cause of a lot of life decisions for me.
But because I'm not like other kids and I didn't rebel until College, that's not till later.
By Sophomore year of High School I do start to notice some more jaded factors of my life around me. The strongest and most personal of which were the gradual introduction of cuss words into my language, and some questioning of personal life choices.
About the first. Growing up in the household I did, the very utterance of a fowl word resulted in punishment. We couldn't even talk like we grew up in the Beaver household. "Well gee pops!" Obviously "gee" is a bad word because it's "G" which is the first letter of "God" thus taking "God's" name in vain. I exaggerate, but not much. I think it was "Bullshit" that was my first word...but I don't really remember the word. I just remember the look of shock and pride that crossed the face of one of my Jr. High friends when I finally cussed.
A big event that happened that year was when I sat down with a guy, a senior guy, before class, and he was admiring my rings. I proudly held out one, a golden ring with a sapphire gem, and told greenish-gold grape leaves on either side of the gem, and told him it was my promise ring.
Not a ring saying I was promised to another person. A ring promising to stay abstinent until marriage. He actually had me questioning why I had the ring by the time the bell for first class rang. Questioning, but still firm in my belief, for a little while longer at least. And around the same time, I started realizing how superficial all my friends in AWANA were acting. How some of the kids would blatantly torture this boy with Asperger Syndrome, who didn't even realize he was being taunted. How much they would cuss whenever an adult wasn't around. How they would memorize their Bible verses and be good little Christians for their parents and yet outside of Church acted the opposite. One of the boys was even the first to set off my gaydar, a problem that, believe me, would have been a horrible problem in that church.
Sophomore year was also the first year I ever celebrated Halloween and Christmas. Halloween wasn't much, just dressing up at school and going from class to class. Christmas was different. I was invited to my best friend's tree trimming, just her, her parents, her dog, and me. And then, her family's Christmas party, with her mom's whole side of the family there, some of whom were already welcoming me into the family. I spent three Christmas's with that family before our friendship exploded, each more wonderful than the last.

My roomie just came in, and I checked the length of this post. While it could go on for quite a bit longer, I think I'll leave the chaos and the turmoil of the last two years of High School for the next post. That's bound to be pretty long anyway, and like I said, I gots homework still!
So until next time,
I am Tasho, an ex-born again, bi-sexual, pagan.
 
 
Hello beloved readers...
I'm sorry, there's no real update this week. It was my intent to give you a normal post this week, but I'm honestly not sure I could do it.
It takes a lot out of me to write these posts about my past. And I think I just exhausted a full week of emotional exhaustion on the phone call I had with my sister yesterday. So the post is not just late this week, there is no regular post this week...just this one.
I called my sister on Sunday morning. I had this great idea to write a short story in the form of a food diary, based off of her experiences with anorexia, but also delving into the issues that in it's way led to the illness. So I called her to ask her some basic technical questions on the topic. The illness happened some four or five years ago...so emotionally she was fine with that conversation.
However, as time went on, we started talking about some more of our lovely family issues. By the end of the conversation my sister was feeling pretty upset.
I'm a very empathic person, and the link I had built with my sister over that hour-long phone call was pretty strong, and regardless of her being on the other side of the country, I could still feel it after I hung up. But I wasn't just feeling her pain, I was feeling my own in a very strong manner. I can't really go into it. I still haven't found a word strong enough to express how I felt.
To make a long story short, I can't go into my past this week. Not without being hit by a pretty heavy bout of depression. I need to just settle down and get out of my own headspace for a little while. I need to meditate, commune with the goddess, or just veg on TV, because my own headspace is a pretty dark place at the moment.

If you can spare it, please send a little healing energy my way.
Thank you for understanding,
Tasho
 
 
Where do I go next?
While my education started in Homeschool, it didn't stay there. The three years following my break from Homeschool were the most tumultuous of my young life, filled not just with the awkwardness of learning how to be social and fit in, but also with budding pre-adolescence. The first awkward almost-boyfriend, life-lessons about what kind of people make good friends, and my first period.

It's rather long-winded and not much related to my spirituality, with the exception of showing how unprepared I was for the real world as a preteen, having been raised under the shelter of my parent's Christianity.
 
 
First off I must apologize for missing my update last week. Aside from being drugged up on medication for the cold that had swept me off my feet on the third of February, and working four days in a row despite being sick out of my mind, Sunday had also been my Initiation/Completion of my Year-And-A-Day dedication (And then I worked right after. And then I came home at 1130 to a house full of drunks).

Sunday was amazing. Despite being drugged and having a fuzzy memory I will try to recount it to the best of my ability.
It was supposed to start at about 1:30, but we probably didn't really start planning the ritual until then, and we had to wait for our friend Walrus to show up. "We" here is, if you remember, myself and Wolf. Several of our friends were there, including my roommate Rain, and my sister (I'll just use "L" for my sister, for the moment). There were also several of Wolf's friends there, many of whom I hadn't met before. And of course Walrus was there as well.
We started with casting circle as always. I called the Goddess, in my case Cerridwen, and Wolf called God, in his case Thor.
Then Bear and Glory, as our circle Elders, created a boundary within the circle. We started with Bear addressing myself, ("Who approaches?" "I Tasho." "How do you come?" "In perfect love and in perfect trust." "Who are you honoring today?" "The goddess Cerridwen and the God Lugh.") Then I crossed the border and turned to address the rest of the circle.
I tried to parallel my Pagan life to my Christian life, but somewhere it all got lost in a medication-induced ramble. (Or a Tasho-induced ramble! I'm quite good at it...) I mentioned my 18 years as a "dedicant" to Christianity, and I mentioned how it filled a hole of spirituality which I'm sure I would have otherwise felt empty without. I told of how I knew that there was something that I was meant to serve, but that eventually I came to realize that the Christian faith was just not right for me.
Then I think I mentioned something about my family...or not...but I did certainly go on to mention that I was there that day to make a vow to serve my god and goddess, and in so doing to also serve my friends, family, and my pack. I wish I could remember all of what I said...or that someone had had a video camera. It was apparently very touching.
Then I turned back to Bear and Glory, and hugged each of them. They spoke privately with me for a moment, and I walked deosil around the circle back to my spot next to L.

Next Glory called Wolf, and he surprised us all a bit when he named his patron goddesses, none of whom he had really known before our Thursblot ritual. Then of course he stood and orated a magnificent speech...or at least I felt moved, but I don't recall at all what he said! After he walked deosil back to his spot we closed circle and the four of us (Wolf, Rain, Walrus, and I) all hugged our little brains out.
It was an absolutely magical day. I only wish I hadn't been sick at the time! I think I may do something private here at home, once I truly get back to 100%, something between the gods, goddesses, and I.
But I certainly have been seeing things in a new light since then.
My only regret is that my dear Dragonwolf could not have been there.

Since this is an irregular post and a week late, I would still like to get out another post continuing my story. I will do my best to get this out soon, hopefully before Wednesday.

Until then, I am Tasho Sparkwolf, an ex-born again, bisexual pagan!
 
 
I hated learning how to read. I struggled and fought against it as long as I could. Reading meant sitting down with a book in hand, and who wanted to do that when the sun was shining outside and there were so many fun games to play. It was probably because of this that my mom always thought (and in later years I'm inclined to agree) that I'm a tad ADD.
But the older I got the more of a refuge my books became. In them I was able to escape the mundane, the complete ordinaryness of the world around me. So when I found two books with the feel of a fairy-tale but with something more...something fantastical, I fell in love.
I don't remember which of the two books was first. I do remember my first encounter with each of them.
The first was a series of books. The Chronicles of Narnia. Particularly the first book, "The Magician's Nephew" was the one that really struck a cord in my starved soul. Imagine, slipping on a ring and being transported to another world. Nevermind the depravity of a man expirementing on his own nephew and another young girl. I wanted to change places with those kids, to be able to walk the halls of a dieing world, wondering what it would feel like to have a sun beating down on me with the strength of ten suns, feeling my skin burn but knowing that I was somewhere Else, somewhere that was not, (as I would come to call it in High School) Mundane Earth. And then there was Narnia. A New World. A world that anything planted would grow, be it a seed or a light-post.
Magic called my name, and it spoke with a Lion's roar.
And the best part was, I couldn't get in trouble for falling in love with this series, for wanting to go back and read it again and again. It was a Biblical Analogy written by one of the most prominent Christian writers of his time.
The first time I stepped into Narnia was in my first experience with a school outside of Homeschooling.
My mom had started a job at the public library, and couldn't homeschool anymore. Some friends of ours owned a private school. It was a very small Christian school, just one step up from the old schools where every age of student would be taught by one teacher. In this school there was four or five grades taught by one teacher, and a T.A. once in awhile. We were given assignments and expected to sit quietly and work on them on our own. If we had questions we could ask, but the teacher rarely addressed the class as a whole.
After lunch was typically agonizing. After lunch was when the teacher would read to the whole class. I hated this because I've always had a problem following what someone else is saying if all they're doing is reading out of a book.
But I was lucky in the second semester. The books were of Narnia. And not only did they open a new world for my imagination, but they opened a new world for me spiritually. One I wasn't entirely aware of at the time, nor would I become aware of it for another 5 or 6 years.

The other book I discovered at the library. I've known the children's librarian there since my mom had worked there, in about sixth grade. She recommended a few books for me, which I take home, and get into reading. One of these I read in about a day, the first kind of book that I've read that I can't put down. (Not Harry Potter, that came out the following year). It's a book called Moorchild, about a changeling who grows up with human parents convinced she herself is human, except she never really fits in. Once she reaches 12 she starts to remember and to see the wee folk again. Basically it's a coming of age novel, but with fae instead of a person. It was a fantastic book, and stuck with me for-ever-after. For the first time I started to doubt the convictions that had been drilled into me that there was only one world, one direction. I began to think, in a fashion, like a Changeling.

Until next week I am Tasho WolfSpark. An ex-born again, bisexual, pagan!
 
 
So I wanted to make a brief announcement, even though it is out of colet me make a little announcement about the present day.
Next Sunday, Feb the 6th, my friends Wolf, Songbird, and I will be completing our Year and a Day and celebrating our "initiation."
I'm still not really sure what this means for me. For Wolf it's a sort of Priesthood. And the ceremony seems to be largely celebrating him anyway...but for me...for me it's just the first day of the rest of my years and years of learning.
For us initiates, in our group, the Year and a Day was supposed to be about learning, plain and simple. There's nothing regimental about our makeshift "coven" so it wasn't the typical Year and a Day by a long shot.
I learned a lot in my Year and a Day. But looking back on it, it wasn't anymore than I would've learned anyway. I think about it and I realize I didn't do anything special in my Year and a Day, or anything significant to make it stand out from any other year. Some pretty special things happened to me, but it wasn't because of anything that I did. Because I'm already learning. And I will always be learning. Just like in every other aspect of my life, there is no ultimate, no time when I will ever be done. I will continue to move forward, to study, and to learn.
So in a way, I don't really feel like my Year and a Day is over...because it never really had a set start, and it will certainly never have a set ending.
So next Sunday, Feb the 6th I will attend a bar-b-que in a park that will commemorate my choice to continue to learn about what it is to be a Pagan, a daughter of Cerridwen and a niece of Lugh.