Two weeks ago, I wrote about the Shema: the twice-daily declaration of faith. This week I’m going to describe the rest of my daily devotionals. I love reading about people’s daily practices, and I want to add mine to the mix with the thought that, as we all rebuild this big, messy, beautiful thing called Paganism, it’s better for everyone to have more access to diverse devotional practices.
There’s actually more to the Shema than that one line. The rest of the prayer consists of a few key passages from Deuteronomy and Numbers. Here’s my version, very heavily adapted from Marcia Falk’s Book of Blessings:
I will do your work, my Goddess, throughout the cycles of the day; I will mark you in my mind and on my hands; I will teach you to my children; I will remember you in my home and on my journeys.
For awhile I fretted a little about the nature of the work–what exactly was I promising to do?–and at one point I even tried to define it myself, but gradually I learned to let the work reveal itself to me. It pops up in little, unglamorous ways: giving a spontaneous offering to a deity or the fey folk, sticking up for someone who’s being bullied, showing compassion to a difficult person at work, cleaning up litter. The constant repetition every morning and evening (or, at least, that’s what I aim for) helps me remember to keep my eyes open for ways to serve. Once, my phone rang a second after I said the word “work,” and it turned out to be a wrong number. Still a little high from my prayers (I got into a real groove that night), I wished the person a good night. He paused, seemingly surprised, and then said it back. Did I make some tiny difference in his life? Or was it just a coincidence, his surprise a figment of my imagination? I’ll never know. Such is the humble nature of the work.
Which isn’t to say the work is never exciting. I serve on the ritual planning circle for Reclaiming LA and priestess at public rituals. Right now I’m writing a series of hymns to the Morrígan. The more exciting work requires constantly distinguishing genuine service from my own ego (“Lookit me, I’m a priestess!”), but when I do it well, I enjoy it.
My devotionals have a structure loosely based on the elements: my declaration to the Goddess, followed by devotionals to the deities I’m working with (both temporarily and on a long-term basis), then a hello to the fey folk and ancestors and spirits of the land, a lovingkindness chant, and finally a few moments of silent meditation. The latter three always feel pretty straightforward, if sometimes a little challenging; my devotion to the land and all its people is at the center of my Witchcraft, and Buddhist meditation is simple, yet profound.
The deity devotions tend to give me trouble, though. I still find it hard to break away from a monotheistic mindset that dictates that one god should be able to give me everything I need spiritually. I still have trouble with the idea that I can work with Deity A without Deity B automatically getting offended. Part of the problem, of course, is that the Morrígan is very big and very strong and demands a lot of attention. A friend of mine who started working with the Morrígan around the same time I did told me that she periodically has to put away her statue because the energy is just too much for her. I’ve found myself in the same boat more than once. Recently I had to take my Morrígan totems off my altar because she was swallowing up my entire practice, and my spirituality was suffering for it. I hesitated because I was afraid of pulling a Cu Chulainn…but then I realized that any devotional practice based on fear is a practice that will benefit no one. Now my devotion to her consists of writing her hymns while I try to build up my daily practice with Cernunnos again. I’m slowly learning that you can love and serve a deity while being clear about your boundaries. And despite her reputation, I think a goddess of sovereignty understands that.
Also, last weekend I took an Aphrodite intensive workshop, and I’ve started doing devotionals to her. I’ve never really felt like Aphrodite and I had much to offer each other, but that may be all the more reason to approach her. The knee-jerk reaction I’ve always had to her–“Love and beauty? Yuck! Frivolous! Not for me!”–is, I know, a veiled expression of a void in my life. I won’t get into the particulars; suffice it to say that I have a lot of work ahead of me that neither Cernunnos nor the Morrígan can help me with. Aphrodite is a power every bit as big and deep and ancient as the more “serious” deities.
My daily practice takes other forms, too: drumming, singing, running the Iron and Pearl Pentacles, aligning my triple soul, reading the cards, or aspecting. Sometimes sitting at my altar and performing formal devotionals feels right. Other times, I’m called to take my drum out to the patio and sing. And still other times, I just want to whisper to the plants in my garden. When I took my first Reclaiming class, one of the teachers advised us to “hold it lightly.” Don’t let your practice get dogmatic and joyless. Don’t start believing there’s only one right way to do it. That way of thinking will never pay off.
May your devotionals, if you perform them, be light as a feather and deep as the ocean, as bright as a flame and dark as the earth.
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