Complex Numbers

That's Funny - You Don't Look Druish

Normally, I pick things kinda randomly from my list of potential subjects, but as the solstice was at just 11:20 pm yesterday - not that long ago; in fact, it hasn't even happened yet as I start writing this - I wanted to do something appropriate for the season. The article is a couple of years old now, and then some, but it's still timely.

https://narratively.com/meet-the-modern-day-pagans-who-celebrate-the-ancient-god...

Meet the Modern-Day Pagans Who Celebrate the Ancient Gods

I mean, really, I thought pretty much everybody knew about this sort of thing by now, but apparently not.

First thing you see at that link is a photo. They're wearing nametags. For some reason I find that hilarious.

It is high summer, and we are at White Mountain Druid Sanctuary in southern Washington State. Under the immensity of the mountain, a couple of ramshackle barns stick up from the hayfields. Our priest, a straight-backed, snow-haired man, is delivering a homily on the attributes of the thunder god. Taranis, a powerful thunderbolt-tossing deity, is being honored at today’s solstice celebration because of his association with light, weather and sky.

To be fair, I hadn't heard of Taranis, and I've spent a good bit of time learning about different deities of different cultures. As with food, I suppose, there's always something else to learn. I like that.

There is a large wooden lodge with bed-and-breakfast facilities, meditation huts, and a stone circle straight out of Stonehenge, where, upon my arrival, about fifty people were pouring whiskey into deep wells and speaking Gaelic.

I understand the "sacrifice" aspect of modern Druidry, but I still gotta hope it was cheap whiskey.

The Druids I've known were obsessed with mead. Fine individuals, all of them, but as a dedicated aficionado of all things fermented and distilled, that was some of the worst mead I've ever had the dubious pleasure of sampling. I hope they didn't sacrifice that to the gods. I mean, if I were a god and had to drink that mead, I'd be tossing lightning bolts willy-nilly.

Loosely overseen by a central office – set in a back room in Thomas’ old house in Santa Fe, New Mexico – Ár nDraíocht Féin (ADF) is a polytheistic neo-pagan religion that draws its inspiration from ancient Indo-European traditions. It’s organized into local groups, called groves, and was founded in 1983 by a charismatic man named Isaac Bonewits, who, after completing a self-study program at UC Berkeley, earned a bachelor’s degree in – yes, really – Magic and Thaumaturgy.

True fact: I've met Isaac Bonewits. "Charismatic" is a decent adjective, but I have to raise a bit of an objection; that word is often applied to certain religious figures that have done... questionable things. Like start cults. So the implication is misleading. Bonewits wasn't a cult leader. In fact, he developed the best - in my humble opinion - system for identifying a religious group as a cult rather than a simple religious movement.

If you're interested, the framework he developed is here  .

This doesn't mean there aren't issues with Bonewits. I just wanted to dissociate what he did from any implication of "cult."

More and more in America, religion is something people choose (or don’t), rather than inherit. According to a 2015 study by the Pew Research Center, “As the Millennial generation enters adulthood, its members display much lower levels of religious affiliation, including less connection with Christian churches, than older generations.” However, the report also finds that many millennials remain spiritual in a broad sense, expressing “wonder at the universe” and an overall feeling of “gratitude” and “well-being.”

Here we go with the "generations" crap again. But okay, fine, I'll allow that there are differences between younger people and older people. Always have been. It's kind of our thing as humans.

It hits me that I am standing with a bunch of people I don’t know in the middle of a dark and remote farm being asked to drink unmarked liquid by a dude in a long white robe. The Water of Life shakes between my fingers.

Okay, I don't want to minimize the fears that people, perhaps especially women (like the author is, apparently), have in strange situations, but knowing Druids, she was probably safer in that circle than she would have been at, say, the supermarket.

Also, what is religion if not a way to address one's fears?

The diverse pantheon doesn’t phase anyone.

O Editor, where art thou? (It's "faze," not "phase." And yet she probably got paid for that article, while my lifetime sum total of income from writing is exactly 0, unless you count GPs.)

Still, there is tribalism in Druidry. Many of the practitioners I spoke with had the awkward, sharp, smart humor of the nerdy kids in middle school, which they wielded at me like little pikes, prodding and jabbing to see if I would laugh. Dr. Magliocco says this is partially constructed as a part of pagan identity. “Humor is a way that we mark insiders and outsiders,” she says. “A joke is a spell. Jokes clearly mark the boundaries. We can all laugh because we’re unusual, but we also draw a firm circle of who we are.”

Between all the drinking and joking and general nerdery, you'd think I'd make a perfect Druid. And yet I never quite fit in with the local Druids. I was more comfortable around Wiccans.

Another true story, then, concerning some local Druids. The grove I knew was based in Lynchburg, VA, about an hour from where I live. You may have heard of Lynchburg: it's the home of Liberty University, founded by professional asshole Jerry Falwell, and Falwell's Liberty Baptist Church, both of which are now headed by his son if I recall correctly. In other words, it's a major Southern Baptist center and the last place you'd expect to find Pagans, and yet, there they are.

I don't know how many states do this, but in VA, they let different groups "adopt" stretches of road, and the groups go out, like, two or four times a year and just pick up litter and whatnot to keep the road clean. It saves VDOT (and thus, taxpayers like me) money and brings the groups some exposure and the feeling that they're doing a good thing, so it's a win-win all around. Being a government run thing, they let pretty much anyone adopt the road, with certain exceptions for known hate groups and whatnot. So one time, a few years ago, these Druids noticed that the road past Liberty Baptist Church was up for adoption. And they started cleaning it up.

I still have the yellowed newspaper article discussing this magneted to my fridge, because to this day that situation gives me the warm fuzzies and cracks me up.

Anyone who's been following along with me here knows that I'm not a religious person. I find my meaning in the cycles of nature, in the vastness of the cosmos, in the rabid curiosity of science, and sometimes even in booze. But I also have a steadfast belief in freedom of religion: that idea, woven into the fabric of my country, that a person should be free to worship - or not - as one's heart dictates.

The solstice has passed now, and we are, as they put it in what has become my favorite Doctor Who special, "halfway out of the dark." To mark this occasion, I've been drinking beer. Quelle surprise, right? Point is, if I had a point when I started writing this, I've gotten sidetracked. We've completed another turn around the Sun. The Darkness is conquered, the Light once more prevails. It doesn't matter what you call yourself - Pagan, Christian, Muslim, Ba'hai, atheist, Hindu, animist, Druid, Jew, pantheist... the list goes on... what matters is that we're still all in this together, and we've done it. Another cycle.

Halfway out of the dark.

Well done. Well done.



Come on. Where else are you going to start with Druids and end with Doctor Who? Here. Only here.

Vale Sol Invictus!