I didn't really get to celebrate Samhain this year the way I wanted to. In May when I finished graduate school I eagerly looked forward to an open fall season -- one without classes and papers clogging up my life. One where I could be relaxed, social and creative. But the Universe had other ideas for me. I would be social and creative, sure, but "relaxed" never entered my lexicon. Instead, Wedding Palooza '09. Suddenly I was dashing about, camera glued to my face, pockets full of media cards and film.
The Luke and Leslie's wedding occurred on Samhain itself, preventing me from attending both my normal open Samhain ritual as well as an impromptu ritual hosted by friends. Towards the end of the day, exhausted but happy, I was slouched at the end of the table, looking through the photos other people had taken when I came across one someone took of me at the reception. I was looking harried, my mouth half open, most likely directing people where to stand for portraits and my hair was plastered haphazardly across my forehead from when I had come inside from the rain. I felt it was truly an unflattering picture, and I asked the owner of the camera to delete it, lest it appear on Facebook in a few days. It was at this point Renee got up in my face. "You're always doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Saying you look terrible in photos when you don't."
"But--"
"NO. SHUT UP. You are constantly doing this. You always putting yourself down, saying you look bad. Or worse, hiding behind the camera so we can't take your picture at all. I'm sick of it. You look fine, you look better than fine."
"But I'm all wet and my--"
"It was raining, all of us were wet. You know what you look like in that picture? You look like a photographer doing her job. So shut it. I don't want to hear any more. I'm sick to my back teeth of hearing you hate yourself."
I couldn't really argue with her anymore, both because she now lives in Chicago and can kick my ass and also because she's right. It's a problem I've struggled with for a long, long time. If you've read this blog at all, you're familiar and sick of this problem too.
The week before Samhain The Swell Season released their new album, Strict Joy, and I splashed out for the deluxe version, which contains a bunch of live tracks. Glen Hansgard tells this story about a medium who helped two spirits cross over after wandering in the dark for hundreds of years because they had been told they were evil, when in fact they were just wrongly killed for having physical disabilities back in the Dark Ages. You can hear a version of the story here. Right before launching into "Drown Out," Glen explained he wrote the song for anyone doing penance or carrying guilt or self-hatred around with them, asking them to re-examine why they were feeling that way and if it wasn't worth carrying around to "Fucking shed it, man."
I'm not doing this story any justice with the way I'm telling it. The listening to the version on the album, I got chills up and down my back.
Which, really. If that's not the Universe telling me something, sending me this song and story right before Samhain, then I don't know what is. Talk about apt advice.
I've spent the past week sharing the song and the story with everyone I come in contact with, all "Listen you need to hear this one story and this song that goes with it." Sort of like my passing Samhain onto all of my Judea-Christian friends in mp3 form.
It's not just about me shedding my insecurities (although that's a classic and easy example for me to use in this case), but I think, all of us, Pagan or not, embracing change and transformation at this time of year.
Even before I started identifying as Pagan, the fall has always felt like a time of new beginnings for me. Part of it is obviously the beginning of a new school year (say it with me now: NERD), but more than that I've always felt the need to change gears from the lazy days of summer to full active days of the fall before shifting down into quiet reflective days of winter. Just like the leaves take this opportunity to be the brightest and most colorful before shedding themselves and releasing to the wind, so must we. May the wheel ever turn.
(You can hear "Drown Out" here. May you shed whatever it is that's weighing you down.)
The Luke and Leslie's wedding occurred on Samhain itself, preventing me from attending both my normal open Samhain ritual as well as an impromptu ritual hosted by friends. Towards the end of the day, exhausted but happy, I was slouched at the end of the table, looking through the photos other people had taken when I came across one someone took of me at the reception. I was looking harried, my mouth half open, most likely directing people where to stand for portraits and my hair was plastered haphazardly across my forehead from when I had come inside from the rain. I felt it was truly an unflattering picture, and I asked the owner of the camera to delete it, lest it appear on Facebook in a few days. It was at this point Renee got up in my face. "You're always doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Saying you look terrible in photos when you don't."
"But--"
"NO. SHUT UP. You are constantly doing this. You always putting yourself down, saying you look bad. Or worse, hiding behind the camera so we can't take your picture at all. I'm sick of it. You look fine, you look better than fine."
"But I'm all wet and my--"
"It was raining, all of us were wet. You know what you look like in that picture? You look like a photographer doing her job. So shut it. I don't want to hear any more. I'm sick to my back teeth of hearing you hate yourself."
I couldn't really argue with her anymore, both because she now lives in Chicago and can kick my ass and also because she's right. It's a problem I've struggled with for a long, long time. If you've read this blog at all, you're familiar and sick of this problem too.
The week before Samhain The Swell Season released their new album, Strict Joy, and I splashed out for the deluxe version, which contains a bunch of live tracks. Glen Hansgard tells this story about a medium who helped two spirits cross over after wandering in the dark for hundreds of years because they had been told they were evil, when in fact they were just wrongly killed for having physical disabilities back in the Dark Ages. You can hear a version of the story here. Right before launching into "Drown Out," Glen explained he wrote the song for anyone doing penance or carrying guilt or self-hatred around with them, asking them to re-examine why they were feeling that way and if it wasn't worth carrying around to "Fucking shed it, man."
I'm not doing this story any justice with the way I'm telling it. The listening to the version on the album, I got chills up and down my back.
Which, really. If that's not the Universe telling me something, sending me this song and story right before Samhain, then I don't know what is. Talk about apt advice.
I've spent the past week sharing the song and the story with everyone I come in contact with, all "Listen you need to hear this one story and this song that goes with it." Sort of like my passing Samhain onto all of my Judea-Christian friends in mp3 form.
It's not just about me shedding my insecurities (although that's a classic and easy example for me to use in this case), but I think, all of us, Pagan or not, embracing change and transformation at this time of year.
Even before I started identifying as Pagan, the fall has always felt like a time of new beginnings for me. Part of it is obviously the beginning of a new school year (say it with me now: NERD), but more than that I've always felt the need to change gears from the lazy days of summer to full active days of the fall before shifting down into quiet reflective days of winter. Just like the leaves take this opportunity to be the brightest and most colorful before shedding themselves and releasing to the wind, so must we. May the wheel ever turn.
(You can hear "Drown Out" here. May you shed whatever it is that's weighing you down.)
Labels: Fates, Religious Natterings, Zen Moments
1 Comments:
Interesting song, not sure I'd put it on my Ipod, but worth listening to so thanks
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