Blog Archives

A Love That Motivates

We are all of us pushed in ways that make us grow; whether we know it or not even the things that we come to detest are motivating factors and actions in our daily experiences.

However, when the motivating factor is a nonracist world; the motivation has to come from a place both within and withOUT. The problem with that is when I tell people what my motivating factor is, I get ridiculed.

What motivates me to try and educate and teach and urge others? Love. Love is what keeps me going. Love is what pushes me to stand up and be a voice against all the other voices I hear because if I am a being inherently capable of love than that love has to expand and be expounded upon.

That love has to push me to see better in others. That love has to be something that others see in themselves.

I love the idea of people struggling and working through their privilege; it’s a beauty to see that struggle and realization on the faces of people who appreciate the work they are doing.

I cherish the opportunity to remind myself that racists and bigots are deserving of love. Because, they are.

We all are.

However, as much as that love can instill in me a sense of wonder and awe at a world that creates order from chaos (eventually), I also have to keep in mind that what I love about the person isn’t their belief system that says I am lesser than. What I love about them isn’t their mindset of bigotry and misogyny; it’s their flawed humanity that I love. Not the concept that creates that flaw.

It’s a difficult mindset to cultivate, and there are days when I wish I didn’t have to do that. There are days when the pain of staying that open to the world leaves me weak and unable to get out of bed even when I should be up and moving. Those days. The days of exhaustion and fear that the ridicule I perceive will lead to more actions by people who choose to be anonymous… Those days matter to me.

But not enough to keep from doing what I do.

Not enough to stop me.

The few months since I last wrote have seen great losses in the ability of people in this world to let each other’s humanity shine out. The more I struggle with it, the tighter the bonds of love that trap me. Until I finally surrender to them, to letting the love of humanity’s ‘humanness’ fall over me and remind me that flaws and all warts and all, love remains.

A very flawed, pathetic sort of love. Because sometimes it’s reciprocated. Sometimes.

We each of us struggle to find something to love in ourselves from time to time. We live in a world where only the perfect is loved; where the flawed are hidden and only by some strange hope get to reach out to the warmth of the sun that shines on all of us. But, even that has it’s problems. That ‘perfection’ we claim to seek has at its heart only fear. Fear of ruining the view of perfection it creates. Fear of being seen as ‘inadequate’ debilitates the opportunities that can be created and cultivated in letting that perfect persona crack and fall away.

But for the people whose shield and cloak is racism and its ilk, that fear motivates. That fear is what lands people in hospitals and morgues; and that fear has fed all kinds of laws and strictures on the social fabric in our lives. That fear of “Other” is so entrenched and seen as the way that self is defined that the love the individual is capable of, and the love that they themselves carry forward in the world is lost and left sorely lacking.

I try to remember that my motivation is to make their love shine forth.

This, this is good.

What is a “Godphone”?.

I can’t even begin to state how great it is to get a better idea of this term that I’ve been using since my baby-pagan days.

Big thanks to Del for laying down some of the history and providing your perspective!

Starting in Ordeal (Or How I Learned to Love the Pain)

For Ordealists, one of the big discussion topics centers around knowing when.  When did you know that Ordeal was for you?  When did you decide to mix kink with spiritual practices?  When did you do this for the first time?  One of the things that has always come naturally to me is answering not just the when, but the why that attaches to it.

Why I started in Ordeal is more about where my path was going (and what it’s start was) then anything one person/deity/spirit said or did to and for me.

I grew up Catholic (that’s a common enough start for many pagans, isn’t it?) with a strong cultural tie to the Church.  However, I also grew up with a lot of superstitions and beliefs that weren’t taught at Sunday school or from the pulpit.  A lot of my early childhood memories are of sitting with my mom and staring at the angels and saints and the Crucified Christ and the statues of Mary and ‘talking’ to them.  It was one of those things that one shares in the enthusiasm of youth, yet, my mom always made sure to hush me about it.  The less I said, the better in her book.  That attitude forced a lot of my ‘incidences’ to be spoken to no one.  I spent years cultivating an understanding and a spirituality that connected me to Saints that had strong experiences with the Holy Spirit.  Teresa of Avila and her physical experience of the Holy Spirit was a strong motivator for me and still is.

It is this moment; sublime and humble together.

In her own words, ‘I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron’s point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the body has its share in it. It is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may think that I am lying.’ – The Life of Teresa of Jesus, autobiography

My early encounters with angels, saints, Mary, and Christ Crucified were solidified when I turned 13 and experienced the pain of crucifixion in my own body.  The agony of a crown of thorns, lashes to my body, the piercing of nails, and a spear into my lung at such a young age, marked me as a stigmatist, but left no discernible physical symptoms.  It is the one quiet secret that I have kept for a long time; that I belong to this small group of people, and yet have no desire to speak of the experience, for mine is nothing compared to others.  For I am made nothing when the pain and agony of Ordeal happen.

When Ordeal happens, I simply cease being for me, and AM for something outside of me; stronger, larger, more powerful but infinitesimally present.  These quiet stillnesses that come over me, that are distinctly not me, that is why I’m willing to do Ordeal, to use it (wisely and conscientiously), and to enjoy the process.  That is my first step in my own start towards Ordeal.