A year and a day is the standard for exploring most pagan paths, it seems. Standard usually equates to boring for me, and I'm a chronic overthinker, so I spent well over a year in study before even thinking about converting. (Not gonna lie, most of that year was spent seriously weighing the odds, just in case the Hell I grew up hearing about was real.) Then there was the year and a half of very private practice AND study. And then there was last weekend, when in the middle of a political discussion, I said to my mother, "I'm pagan, by the way, and tomorrow is our Easter."
Well, okay, nature worship is all well and good. She's as fond of cute chicks and bunnies as the rest of us, pagan fertility symbols or not.
Tonight, though, I mentioned the name of this blog. She wrinkled her nose up a little at first. "Witch" is a more controversial word than "bitch", in a lot of ways... especially in a small town. I went into the lecture about ethics that I've had ready for months now. Let's keep it simple: right-hand path, white, fluffy. If I stray into gray, that's between me and the Goddess.
Goddess... another loaded word. Especially in a predominantly Southern Baptist town where the women marry right after high school and instantly pop our babies--or vice versa. The country club hosts largely ineffective abstinence balls. The men over sixty are either Masons or Klansmen. Publicly supporting a democratic candidate around here is a great way to get shunned. Now imagine being out as a pagan and a witch. They're not synonymous, but that doesn't matter in this area: either way you're asking for a burning cross in your front yard.
Because I actually do revere Jesus, I've made up my mind to participate in any Easter celebration my family has. I feel like a shitty pagan for it, like I should have spent last weekend gardening naked instead of having a quiet Ostara ritual and planning for Easter with the family. It's some comfort knowing that my ancestors basically did the same thing. Syncretism works for a lot of people, but when it's mostly coming out of fear (Jesus was a teacher and prophet, not a god!!!), it sucks ass. I just wonder how many people around the world are inwardly cringing at the thought of lying their way through a sunrise service.
I'm sure that someday I'll be out more or less entirely, simply because I have a big mouth. Right now, though, I'm genuinely worried. Look at the presidential race. If a certain side wins, the country's going to be a lot like Germany in 1939, and we all know how that went for minorities. And martyrdom is just... so unappealing. I certainly wouldn't fault someone else for hiding their religion from people who might hurt them for it, but when I do it, it feels gross. Conformity disgusts me, at least in myself. (Sometimes in others, too, to be honest. Like, damn, why does everybody have to wear all the same shit?)
Maybe Easter candy will reconcile me to my apparent fate as a shitty pagan. I'm used to being a shitty Christian; fundamentalists used to love to inform me of that. For now I will secretly light incense to my patronesses and eat ham with the family to celebrate Jesus.
Wait a minute, that's messed up.
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