The Call of the Maenad

I ask you,

Are you willing to let your hair down and run barefoot in the wild?

To take pleasure in the feeling of your bare skin in the sun?

Are you willing to free yourself to soar like the falcon

as you rise higher and higher above the clouds?

I ask you,

Are you willing to crawl across the earth on your belly like a snake?

To feel the heat of passion as the wild rises from within?

Are you willing to touch the sensual flame of desire

as you face the wild beating of your heart?

I ask you,

Are you willing to swim fearlessly into the dark waters like a shark?

To venture far away from the shore and deep into the abyss?

Are you willing to return to the surface as a nymph

as you ride the tides of powerful ecstasy?

I ask you,

Are you willing to move freely in the trees and howl into the night?

To stalk your prey with hunger as you leap from rock to rock?

Are you willing to let your tongue taste the fruits of the wild

as you accept the guilty pleasures offered to you?

The Goddess of the Wild beckons 

do you answer her call?

The Number One reason I dislike camping (and there are many reasons) is because there’s really no way of knowing what type of nasty spider will hitch a ride back to my house. Like the one who introduced itself to me this morning

After returning home from our most recent camping adventure, I began to clean up some of the campfire cookware. While washing out the dishpan and daydreaming about a luxurious bubble bath later, I see the nasty beast crawling across my hand among the soap bubbles. I didn’t have time to be jealous of the fact that it was getting a bubble bath before me because I instantly flung my hand causing the sudsy creature to plop onto the floor before I ran screaming to the bathroom, jumped up on the counter and planted my feet on the opposite wall (so they weren’t dangling where something else might get to me). I’m nearly hyperventilating while at the same time couldn’t help but be quite impressed with how fast I could move. That would come in handy in the event of a zombie apocalypse.

My children come running from all corners of the house to see me in a wild panic. My 9 year-old daughter took one look at me and nodded her head sagely, confirming ‘it was a spider, huh?’ She’s smart, that one. My youngest said he thought I had chopped my finger off. Finding out it was nothing but a spider, he quickly became uninterested and wandered off. My oldest son sighed and went to smash it with his giant Romeo work boot.

After a while, I slid off the counter and went in search of my son; the hero for the day. I asked him for all the gory details. Was it a clean kill, or were there spider bits still in the sink? If so, would he wipe it clean with a disinfectant wipe?  I wanted to know what he did with it. Was it in the garbage? If so, was the garbage full enough that I could possibly see its crumpled body when I scraped the dishes later? Or did he have the nerve to use one of my good tupperware containers to catch the thing only to toss it at me later while I’m in bed winding down with a good book? (I know this from experience, which seems to be quite amusing to everyone but me)

Hi, my name is Luna and I am an Arachnophobe.

There, I’ve said it.

This insanity has got to stop. This fear has gotten progressively worse over the past few years, and quite frankly I’m tired of it, and as entertaining as my family finds it, I’m sure they’re tired of it too. We live in the Pacific Northwest, a temperate rainforest, we are going to have lots of spiders. In fact, they are pretty much everywhere on this planet, so unless I plan on moving to Antarctica, I’d better get a grip.

But how can I get a grip when I don’t even have a handle? Just recently I dropped a can of spider spray in the grocery aisle because I saw the legs from the picture on the label peeking out from behind my hand.

I didn’t buy the spider spray.

So why my irrational fear?  How did it get like this? What’s the deal? When did I lose control? Why just spiders? Hell, I don’t mind snakes, in fact I think they’re pretty cool and I even say hi to them when I come upon them while gardening. My husband has hissing cockroaches as pets in his classroom and I get a kick out of them with no problem. Lizards and salamanders? Bring ‘em on. Really, I can tolerate a lot of little scurrying things that give other people the creeps.

Just. Not. Spiders.

However, I’m not heartless. I’ll admit I have issues while reading Charlotte’s Web to my children, but I always end up bawling like a big baby at the very end.

Maybe we carry the same funny bone around with us through all of our lifetimes, and when we hit that certain nerve, sparks go awry and things get funny, but not in a good or beneficial way. Meaning, there’s a link to the madness, a certain trigger to karmically deal with or a life lesson to overcome.

The initial onset of my phobia occurred simultaneously with my twentieth birthday, so perhaps that’s the age when one of my previous lives came to a horrifying end as I was found guilty of something insane, tortured, bound, and buried alive in a coffin full of spiders.

The concept of transmutation between species never quite gelled with me, but maybe lifetimes ago I was a cute little ladybug happily munching away on aphids when I snagged the silk tripwire.

Some researchers say that the fear of spiders is genetic. Spiders of long ago were highly more venomous and could easily kill or render a person so sick they became helpless and more susceptible to other dangers. Still others claim it’s social conditioning. Neither of my parents suffer from arachnophobia, but plenty of people do. Thankfully my children show no signs of it.

I think it may be a variable combination of these things that can cause slight dislike to downright incapacitating fear of things that can potentially harm us. I don’t really know my spider story, but I am slowly finding myself slightly intrigued. Sort of.

The interesting thing is that the more I write this post, the more I’m understanding that my issue with spiders may be because they are things that I cannot control. The creature in my kitchen sink this morning is a shining example, what nerve! He has (well, had) a mind of his own. His own agenda. Spiders are insidious little critters that lie in wait for their prey (okay, snakes do that too…) So even though I have entertained the idea that my fear of spiders may be connected to a past life trauma, it may actually be caused by my fear of not being able to control my surprise encounters with them, their bites, and the nasty fact that they crawl into our mouths and noses while we sleep. (shudder) I understand that like other living things, spiders merely do what needs to be done in order to survive. But I feel encroached upon. They invade my personal space. Every once in a while one will crawl across my arm, or hide in my shoe, or bite my leg while I’m getting out of the shower.

My phobia is not out of the norm. It’s very common just as acrophobia and claustrophobia are, to name a few (there are are hundreds upon hundreds of known phobias out there) These are phobias that I can totally understand, but heights and small spaces don’t send me off the deep end like spiders do. To me these are manageable fears because I have control over whether or not I take the stairs or elevator, and I consciously choose not to skydive or go and stand near a cliff’s edge to get a “better view.” Heights and small spaces can at times make me uncomfortable, but do not incite panic attacks. I think about how much I love to scuba dive, but I can see how some who are claustrophobic wouldn’t be able to tolerate the combination of the mask and mouthpiece very well.  But don’t ever put me in a submarine because I don’t know how to operate one, therefore I give up control, more than likely triggering a sense of panic being trapped in a sinking saltwater blimp. Throw a spider in there and my heart would immediately stop.

There’s really only one thing about spiders I can control, and that’s my reaction to them.

Easier said than done, my friend; easier said than done.

Today was the first time I thought seriously about finally getting over this phobia, or at least how to alleviate my fears. Interestingly, I was recently given a glazed clay spider pendant from one of my pagan spirit sisters. She joked about using it as the start of my immersion therapy. I laughed it off, brought it home and gingerly set it on my altar without actually looking closely at the design. It’s a very beautiful blue color and the spider itself is a subtle imprint design, and by placing it on my altar, I can control my level of interaction with it. Changing the way I think about spiders will be a long, arduous task, but I’m willing to try it if it means only a little improvement here and there. I think I’ll begin by taking the spider pendant from my altar  every morning and holding it, for just a few minutes. A week later maybe I’ll be running my fingers over the spider imprint, picturing it in my mind’s eye, seeing the joints in the legs, feeling the shape of its body. I’m looking forward to it like dental work, but as such, it’s gotta be done. Then, eventually an acceptance ritual.

So Arachne, please be nice to me when I invoke you. Let’s smoothe things over. We can start fresh. You know, clean the slate or clear the cobwebs. (too much?) If not, can we at least co-exist on relatively good terms?

Many Blessings on Your Journey )O(

Just merrily bobbing along with the current, like a glass float near the shore.

Nothing new here. No new tale to tell.

And I like it that way.

Everyone’s life is an evolving story, full of chapters designed by us, and it’s our job to turn the pages, to get to the next chapter and to hopefully, with any success, finish the book.

It’s a suspense novel, unpredictable, full of nice, and sometimes not very nice characters (who without these unsavory characters there would be no point to the story, now would there?) There’s really no fun in long term predictability either. Predictable people, places, or things can be rather boring. But boring is a very welcome thing for me at the moment.

After a particularly long month with a lot of traveling, my patience had worn thin. I became grumpy, and depressed. I felt overwhelmed by the weight of something (not just the accumulated laundry pile) that I just couldn’t seem to put my finger on.

I fall into the category of those people who spiritually believe that we decide on our life’s lessons before we incarnate. We, as stupid, ethereal souls cook up these grand ideas-adventures-learning experiences-which really means piles of shit to deal with,

But, I am at the beach with my husband, sitting on the bed in the hotel room listening to the waves crash and someone’s children playing on the sand below. It’s an absolutely beautiful, warm sunny day, and to be perfectly honest, I’m quite comfortable and content with where I am at this moment.

Like one of those Japanese glass fishing floats, buoyant, just going along with the ebb and flow, nowhere we have to be, nothing in particular we have to do. We just are.

No, I’m not out wandering along the shore, letting my toes sink into the soft wet sand. I’m not fighting off seagulls or wondering when the next high tide is. I’m not walking into the wind nor am I walking away from it. And I’m not squinting at the sun.

Instead I choose to sit here on the cushy hotel bed propped up with a nest of pillows all around me. Of course we’ve been down to the beach several times and have wandered around for a few hours between yesterday and today, but the best part for me is sitting in this hotel room listening to the surf and wondering when we’re going to break into that strawberry cheesecake we had bought at the store on our way out of town.

We brought a couple of movies with us to watch at our leisure and after an afternoon of wonderful romps (and a favorable romp last night) we are completely content in staying inside-sliding door open of course, but both of us in companionable silence. And there’s a true beauty in the simplicity of it.

There’s no need to wear ourselves out taking long drives along highway 101 to discover a hidden cave or an untouched private beach. We did that sort of thing more than a decade ago and let me tell you, there’s nowhere that is as totally private as we would wish it would be…

No sanctuary like the one we have found in our hotel room. Our own little glass float.

So here I am, perfectly content to waste away the weekend shacked up with my husband, looking forward to another walk on the beach at sunset, dinner of lobster macaroni and cheese, and then later, a fluffy movie (Pillow Talk with Doris Day) in bed while sharing a pack of peanut m & m’s. Laughter. Teasing. Relaxing. And horribly unhealthy junk food. Then maybe another romp.

For the past several months I have been working on a Lammas weekend campout for women’s group gathering. The moment I was offered the opportunity to create a women’s group ritual for Lammas, I knew instantly what I wanted to create and share. My vision was one of letting go in order to take back control of our true selves.

My inspiration for this ritual came from a period in my life that was crucial to the development of my spirituality in terms of self-awareness, and most importantly self-esteem.Many years ago I became a Maenad, an initiated Priestess of Dionysos. I look back fondly at those wild rites of drunken ecstasy with laughter and joy, exploring free expression with beautiful fellow Maenads.

My inner Maenad is the wild, uninhibited part of me that I allow to emerge from time time. When the pressures of day to day life begins to crush my spirit with its weight, I invite my inner Maenad to come out to play (at the right time and in private sacred space of course). Over the years I have learned how to achieve trance and ecstatic states without large quantities of red wine, and invoking a separate male deity, which only added to my feelings of liberation from expectations and silly rules.(further below is my recent experience as a Maenad, becoming the catalyst to the creation of the ritual)

I’ve named the developing ritual The Beating Heart of the Wild. It will be a Lammas Full Moon Celebration embracing the wild, uninhibited parts of ourselves by freeing our stifled spirits and connecting to the primal energy of the ancient Greek Maenads.

It will be a Maenad celebration, focusing on our inner Wild-Child (a.k.a, Dionysos) with a touch of Shamanic Journeying through the form of ecstatic Dance.

The Story of the Maenad

Every month during the Full Moon the Maenads of Ancient Greece joined together to honor Dionysos their inner-Wild Child. With the light of the full moon to guide them, women from all walks of life ventured from their homes to meet with others at their sacred gathering place to escape their mundane life and the pressures to ‘behave’ that society placed upon them. Their private sanctuary was a safe space that allowed them to fully let go of all the societal inhibitions that stifled their Spirituality.

As the Ancient Maenads of old, we too are free to unlock our imprisoned pleasures and and ultimately unleash the Divine Madness that beats in the hearts of all women. This is the Center of our healing and the core of the Sacred Feminine.

My Journey as a Maenad

Since becoming initiated as a Maenad well over a decade ago, I have evolved both as a Woman and a Priestess. During these years of contemplation I could feel a slow-budding awakening but it wasn’t until about a year ago that I began to understand what my feelings were telling me.

This shift in perspective came about naturally as I was preparing for my solitary Full Moon Ritual. A voice inside me whispered, “Bring forth the Maenad within you.” This gave me pause because it had been years since I had worked with that part of myself, but at the same time my heart screamed, “Oh how I have missed her!”  But how would that work? Dionysos had always played a major role during Maenad rituals, but over time my spirituality had grown far apart from that aspect. Yes, I am a heterosexual woman, but the state of arousal went well beyond that. There had to be a way for me to take on the challenge of unleashing the Divine Madness of the Maenad. So I took a deep breath, trusted my intuition, and reworked my Full Moon ritual to awaken my inner Maenad and to give thanks to the Goddess for inspiring me to do so.

When it came time to raise power, I took my own journey into the ecstatic trance state. I built power by the light of the Full Moon and then raised that power by dancing to the rhythm of my own heartbeat. I was able to bring forth the liberating feelings that come with intoxication, but without the wine. I held onto the magick and revelry, and embraced the ecstasy of the moment. I transcended my chronic pain by allowing the frenzy to take me twirling naked in the full moonlight, laughing and spinning until I felt the reawakening and collapsed from the mystical dizziness of it all. The Maenad from within had been reborn, and it felt absolutely amazing beyond words.

Occasionally I will post new developments in my progress as I develop the ritual. I hope you follow my journey as I prepare for this event. 

Many Blessings on Your Journey)O(

While standing at the kitchen sink rinsing dishes, I gaze out the window and find myself easily lured into a simple yet wonderful daydream. I’m outside sitting beneath the giant cedars at the end of the stone path that leads to my art studio. I’m enveloped in the shade, feeling protected and safe while I sit at the little iron bistro table on the studio deck. I take a sip of fresh lavender lemonade then I close my eyes and just let the tension go. I breathe in deeply. I’m listening to the birds, the blue jays in particular, and the soft sound of cooing doves from time to time. The breeze whips my hair around my face and it tickles my nose before I can tuck it behind my ear.

This peaceful scenery within my mind leaves me asking myself the same question that I’ve asked myself most of my adult life: Why don’t you take advantage of more moments that are available to you? Why not accept a pause in life, so that you can have the opportunity to enjoy simple, uncomplicated things like walking down the stone path to be alone with your thoughts?

It’s difficult to explain the exact circumstances behind all the missed opportunities, but there’s no shortage on the list of excuses that dart around in my head, bumping into each other and becoming a chaotic clump of reasons.

Like most people, I’m easily distracted, and of course distractions are everywhere, acting as constant companions in the personal daily grind. It’s hard to switch gears in the middle of a hectic day without causing more stress, worry, or guilt for not staying ‘busy’. For every opportunity to unwind, I can give 5 excuses why I can’t or shouldn’t. I can prove there’s constant laundry, people to feed, volunteer work to catch up on, kid stuff, yard work, housework, time for friends. time to get a handle on things…You see, people depend on me.

But right now it’s quiet in the house and that daydream calls to me. The spicy scent of cedar beckons. I look longingly out the window. This is an opportunity presenting itself. So what do I do? I’ll tell you what I do; I pour myself a glass of lavender lemonade and grab my laptop; That’s what I do!

I accidentally glance at the clock on the stove as I pass by. It’s getting late and I still need to start dinner…the laundry needs to be rebooted too…oh and the plants are probably thirsty…wait, did I get the mail? I sigh heavily, and just as I’m about to set my laptop down I stop myself and say out loud, “Oh no you don’t! Get your butt out there now or you’ll never make it out there at all!”

Hmmm…I make a mental note. New mantra; Get your butt out there now or you’ll never make it out there at all! So with full resolve I keep the laptop tucked under my arm and the glass of lavender lemonade in my hand and announce, (I suppose to no one in particular) “I’ll be down at the studio!”

I wait 3 seconds. No response. So I shrug my shoulders and quietly ( & hurriedly) leave the house through the back door. I walk down the shaded stone path to the here and now as I sit in the shade beneath the cedars listening to the birds sing (especially the blue jays) and occasionally hear the mourning dove’s coo. I close my eyes and feel the breeze ruffling through my hair and caressing my skin.

I take a sip of the lavender lemonade and it tastes positively marvelous!

I smile while sitting alone in this little wonder-corner of my world, appreciating this little window of opportunity to reconnect with myself by slowing the pace. Besides, I know that no one in this family will starve to death if dinner is 30 minutes late.

It can wait.  I’m worth it.

And this lemonade truly is delicious.
Curious? Here’s the recipe:.

Lavender Lemonade  

makes 8 servings

Ingredients:

2 cups boiling water

1 cup lavender flowers (we respectfully harvest from our herb garden)

1 cup fresh squeezed lemon juice

1 cup of sugar

2 cups cold water

lavender sprigs for garnish
Place the lavender in a glass pitcher; carefully pour the boiling water over the lavender; cover with plastic wrap and allow to steep for 10 minutes. Strain and discard lavender. Return strained lavender water to pitcher and add the lemon juice and sugar. Stir until sugar is dissolved. Add the 2 cups of cold water and mix well. Refrigerate until serving. Garnish with a fresh lavender sprig if desired.