What Would Sequoyah Do?

Just like every other white person in America, I'm Cherokee. My family is from Tahlequah, Oklahoma. Well actually Scraper which is where the allotments were and Chewy where the Stomp Dance goes down.

We were in the civil war, the Cherokee Mounted Volunteer Cavalry. My ancestors fought under the direct command of General Stand Watie.

When I was growing up, anytime I did anything good, Mom said it was because I was Cherokee. "It's in the blood" but my Dad claimed it was German blood that produced so many positive traits, but I think now it was both.

I studied our language, history and culture. But I loved our magic. The Cherokee Ah-Da-We-Hi has some of the coolest magical technology I have ever seen. And the written language doubles as a nice looking magical alphabet too.

Sequoyah has always been a personal hero of mine. He was an amazing man, who single-handedly changed history or rather Saved the history of an entire culture. Literally. He invented the Cherokee Syllabary, the Cherokee writing system. This is Amazing for a few reasons. First, he didn't read or write any language at all, he simply saw what the whites were doing and understood the concept.

Second, he is the only human to accomplish this task within his own lifetime. All other writing systems have been the product of literary evolution, and developed over hundreds of years. He did it in Twelve. But to me the most amazing thing about it all is the obstacles he overcame.

Namely, his own people. Sequoyah was repeatedly accosted by his own friends and neighbors, his own people, his own tribe. They burned down his home several times, with him in it. Destroying his work, he just started over, every time.

They threatened to kill him and tried a few times, he had to relocate for his own safety. But he finally did it, and it worked. He taught it to his daughter and they went to the Tribal counsel.
They wanted to burn him for Witchcraft (hahahahaha) but with the assistance of his daughter and a few others they were able to demonstrate the system publicly.

Someone, whispered into his ear, he scribbled on a piece of paper (talking leaves) and it was carried to his daughter some ways away, who recited the whispered words. Within a few years the entire tribe was reading and writing in their own language. As a result they were able to record and save their own cultural history.

So yesterday I posted a comment on Facebook about receiving a letter the the CDCR requesting my assistance. I have been requested by another prison, they enclosed all the paperwork required to get started. And naturally this got some attention, mostly from close friends who were happy and proud of me.

But as I have written about in the past, there are many of my own own people, my own tribe, who are not happy about my success. I have received a few massages from a few people who keep nay saying. I was told I am not qualified to do what I am doing. But they don't know what my qualifications are or are not, and they don't know what I am doing or not doing.

So what are they really talking about?

The ones who can't do what I do, accuse me of being either a sell out or a mindless puppet of the evil conspiracy to screw them out of a job they couldn't do anyway.

So it times like this, I have to ask myself...

What Would Sequoyah Do?

Blessed Be.

The Other Time Has Come

In the forward of my book I wrote this:

I served on active duty in the U.S. Army for almost ten years, and I am a combat veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom. But it seems like just yesterday when I was ushered through the assembly line of basic training, where we're systematically stripped of our individual identities, re-made and re-labeled.

The bottom line on your Dog Tags is used to indicate your religious faith. Mine was stamped with a word that would change my life forever. "Other"

Other, because there was a very small selection of official faiths to choose from on the paper taped to the wall next to the machine, some if which had been "crossed out" . Yeah that's a pun.

It was in the military that I first began functioning as a lay leader, a religious volunteer who functions as clergy when official priests are not available. There are not Atheists in foxholes, so I was always needed most during overseas deployments.

The religious discrimination witnessed and suffered by my brothers and sisters, and myself as Pagans while serving our country in combat has served as the catalyst for what has become my personal campaign for religious purism and tolerance.

Since then, I have become the first state recognized Minority Faith Chaplain for the California Department of Correction and Rehabilitation. As a volunteer, I provide and facilitate various religious services to those "Other" inmates, and I will continue to do so until such time when those religious need are met by the state institutions themselves.

My daughter started attending military school her freshman year of high school. It is so much different than regular schools, no cell phones, Ipod, Nintendo pocket gadgets. No fancy name brand clothes, jewelry, makeup, no hair do fad peer pressure teen age teeny bopper crap to deal with.

They take that all away, hair in a bun, no makeup, no jewelry, everyone's in the same uniform, and it gives away no hint of form, which my girl has developed an excess of lately. In the old school she was judged by what she looked like; she's Black, she dresses VERY GOTH, and doesn't wear anything that isn't bought at Hot Topic. And likes skinny white boys, like her Mom. Which places her in a very very very very small peer group.

At the Military School she met her boyfriend, he looked her in the eyes when he spoke to her. He listened to her and liked her for who she was inside. He never saw anything else. This had a profound effect on her and they have been dating ever since. She has brought him to rituals, of which his aunt and cousin have been long time attendees.

Since that time he has begun his own Wiccan path. We held a blessing for him before he left for basic training last month, we sent him off with a few items enchanted by an old vet (grin) and a Cunningham book. I had so much to tell him. I was jealous.

She's been ok so far. We were worried she would get depressed or an attitude or both. But her spirits have been unusually high and shes been unusually helpful which has made me unusually suspicious. She's been positive and when she's not, she curls up with me or Mom. I take her for rides on the Harley, for things we don't really need and we just cruise.

Today she got her first letter from him and even I was excited. Tears ran down her face as she read it. She told me, his dog tags say "Wiccan", and tears run down my face as I write it.

Now I know why the hanged man smiles.

More Strength

Strength is a funny thing.

We men are conditioned to be strong and tough. Don't be a puss, don't cry. While the women are supposed to be weak and emotional damsels in distress.

It was almost a year ago when I first wrote about the Strength card. I was pretty proud of that one, and still am. Mostly because I have come so far, I have made progress, I have gained strength.

But not Arnold strong, or John Wayne strong. The weird kind that's difficult to describe. The peaceful strong. I have been "battling" Post Traumatic Stress Disorder since the day I got home.

Its a hard and scary thing to fight against, just like Iraq. We're were not fighting a uniformed army across the battlefield. We were fighting one single civilian with a grenade, within a crowd of hundreds. You never knew who. You never knew when. But you knew it was coming. You could never drop your guard.

That's how PTSD works. You never know whats going to set it off. You never know whats going to set you off. Not having any control over something like that is terrifying when your trained to react with force. You can never drop your guard.

So I learn and remember what to watch out for, keeping my finger off the trigger.

I have used Witchcraft to heal myself, I have made my own magic, developed my own craftwork. Not just for me, because sadly, I am not alone. But what I am doing is working, on me and those who use it. And she is with me, and she works her magic too.

We live next to the city baseball park. She keeps the schedule on the bulletin board and highlights the nights they're going to set off fireworks. She keeps a close watch on me and the clock and always finds new and creative ways to occupy my attention. She talks about how good popcorn would taste and how bad she would love to have some straight out of the microwave all hot and steamy. Can you hear it?

I don't hear AK-47's anymore, I hear a bag of Orville Redenbacher's kettle corn.

Tonight, the first time in five years, I celebrated the 4th of July.

For the first time in five years, I wasn't hiding, I was outside watching.

I did good, I had fun. She held my hand, and I was strong.

Yeah, strength is a funny thing.

The Knight of Wands

I've come so far. I motto is "I've done so much, with so little, for so long, now I can do anything, with nothing"

There was a time when I was the Page of Wands, young and passionate, full of ideas, aspirations and lots hot air. But to me the wands are just that, the passionate communication of thoughts and messages. Speculative mechanics.

But I am an air sign several times over, so it all fits together quite nicely. In the Native path I am "Ah-Ga-Lv-Ga" the whirlwind, it is the equivalent to a zodiac sign. Blessed with the spirit of air, this is very amusing to those who know me, because I never shut up. Blessed with the spirit of hot air.

But that's what I do well. I talk. Just talk. But talking can be a powerful thing when your speaking magic words. As a knight of Wands I have waged war against religious discrimination. I have rode into battle alone, armed with a message. We are not what you think.
My crusade has been to change their minds, to show them, and so far I have won.

Today at the Prison I started my fifth program. They were all very new, and I felt like His Gal when she said she was jealous. I enjoyed seeing the newness of it all in someones eyes again.
The passionate reunion with a lost birth rite, homecoming. It renews my own faith every time I see it.

On the way home I made a stop at a State Hospital. They are in need of some assistance with their Wiccans and though some networking made contact with me. I received a very warm welcome and enjoyed a great talk with staff there. While in that talk a man joined the conversation and turned out to be the husband of a friend and chaplain at my prison. We all hit it off quite well and may be expanding my ministry.

I am the Knight of wands, and this is my new steed.

I love my wife, so much. She knew how much I missed riding.

She pushes me, she encourages me and she enables me to do what I do.

Without her I would not be who I am today.

And I wouldn't be doing it on my new Harley. "The Nimbus 2007" HD.

Thanks Mama, Blessed Be.

The Infamous Mr. Anonymous

It all started so slowly, so unnoticeable, insignificant. The way a pebble is the humble beginnings of a snowball, that starts an avalanche.

My Coven mates began encouraging me to write out an explained version of our Book of shadows, stereo instructions for the uninitiated. I admit that it did shine my ego to be told by a large group to write it all out, in case I was lost.

Then conversations with friendly publishers at Pantheacon, asking for a book no one else can or will write. Another cup to intoxicate the ego.

Several months ago I was given "blue prints". I built the Gates to specifications and began opening them. Within the first one I learned the necessity of a Virtuous Purpose. Its funny how you can experience something yet not be conscious of it, and visa versa. Then I opened the second door and got lost...

I went thought several phases, while working on my book. The first was what should be included and what should be withheld. Didn't want to give away any of the good stuff.

Then I started questioning my writings. Not the grammar, sentence structure or syntax, but content. Maybe they wont want to publish a book that tells them to stop buying magic books, maybe I should leave that out, and that, and that. I replace it with the good stuff.

Yeah that will sell. <-------- (red flag)

One of my friends said getting published with certain houses was, selling out. And I thought well that's easy to say when you've never been published, I bet he'd change him tune if they made him an offer. But now I am seeing what he meant. Getting published isn't selling out, but changing your message, and twisting it into something more marketable, is.

But its ok, I had a virtuous purpose so its different, its ok. Right? I wanted to write a certain book, but they said they wouldn't publish it because they wouldn't make enough money with it, the market for it is not big enough. So I thought I would write what they wanted and use the money to self-publish what I wanted.

Yeah that will sell. <-------- (red flag)

Then an amazing thing, well several synchronized amazing things happened. I read a book that changed my life, again. It was written by a guy like me, who wrote it for the same reasons as me and for the same people as me. He showed me everything I needed to know, thanks Bo.

You get lost when you are not were you think your supposed to be. I was lost because I thought I was within the second gate when I never made it out of the first one. I had to experience the loss of a virtuous purpose in order the experience and appreciate the gain of one.

I had to loose my balance, in order to gain a better sense of balance. Wisdom is the proper application of knowledge. "Proper" only comes from experience of falling on your ass a few times.

I realized I got sucked in, I wanted to "be" someone. Apparently it can only be achieved through getting published. This promotes one to a higher station, or at least ones ego. And it has been my experience that such a station is usually beyond the authors merits.

May my virtuous purpose assist in the dissolution of my ego.

So I will write two books. One which will be self published, and free for the precious few who ask for it. The second, I will write but never finish, I will leave half blank, for my kids, Grand kids, and so on. I will live and die a husband, a father and a Wiccan.

Sincerely,

Mr Nobody.

Even More Fruits of Labors

Wow, I can't believe it's been a year already. I have been a Wiccan Prison Chaplain for nearly two and half years, but it was a year ago this month that I got my ID card and began my Carcer Via Program exclusively at one Prison. I've been going there multiple times monthly since I got my ID.

It's been a hell of a year, so much has happened.

I remember when I first started there; Mid-Summer was my first appearance on the yard, alone. It's not difficult to pick out the Pagans on a Prison yard on Mid-Summer. When I approached them and waited my turn to enter the circle they "closed the door" in my face, as it turned out they thought I was the Catholic Chaplain, its all a long and very entertaining story.

We had fun re-telling the tale to the newer inmates last Friday as we celebrated our first anniversary. To my surprise they held a formal ceremony, to honor me.

They made me cry, those hardened criminals.

In the beginning there were some minor difficulties, I blogged about them here, here, here, here and here. We have come so far in such a short time, and the tides has changed very dramatically. I have come under fire, I have been threatened, I have been lied to, I have been bullied and harassed. But this probably doesn't surprise you, after all were Pagans, it comes with the territory right?

But what if I told you this has all come from my fellow Pagans? Yes, my would be friends and colleagues. Apparently I am doing to good of a job and others in our field are not happy with my success, which really makes me question their motivations and their priorities, which in theory should be the inmates... right?

Last month I was asked to speak at the Prisons new employee orientation. I gave a crash course in Paganism and Wicca to nurses, counselors and other staff who will have direct contact with inmates. My job was to teach them in thirty minutes what it took me almost a year to teach the administration, that we are not Devil worshipers. I was introduced as "one of his Chaplains", it's amazing how vailidating something so little like that can be.

When I was applying to the Chaplains academy, I was unable to obtain the required letters of recommendation from those Pagans who woulda' shoulda' coulda', instead I was threatened and chastised for trying. As it turned out, I got in, but it was the Prison that wrote me two of the most amazing letters of recommendation I have ever received. "...an asset to the Prison, the Department and the State..."

When I refused the ego appealing offers he made, it was a Pagan who threatened to discredit me. But to who? The Prison? The inmates? To you?

Last Friday they renewed my security clearance and issued me a new ID for another year. I am treated with dignity and respect. I am acknowledged by friendly staff and appreciated by inmates, and most of all, I am openly accepted, as a professional Wiccan chaplain, clergy in a State Correction Facility.

I have done so much, with so little, for so long, that now I can do anything, with nothing.

These are the Fruits of my Labors.

Proof that it can be done.

More Fruits of Labors

I have on many occasions mentioned how blessed my life has been. One on my greatest blessings has always been my Dad(s).

On at least two occasions (here & here) I have shared about my Father(s). My biological father was around during my early life. I knew him, but due to his lifestyle I distanced myself from him. Fortunately I had another one.

They both served as equal and opposite examples, of how to be and how not to be. I really wanted to be like him, he was cool like the Fonz. He always rode a motorcycle or drove some kinda hot rod car, when he had a car. He got lots of chicks, a different one every time I saw him and always lived in really cool places, a different one every time I saw him. I went to visit him every time he was in jail.

I was just like him, I had wrecked a few bikes and been through a few cars too. I had lots of girlfriends, they loved my bike. I moved around a lot, and even lived in an abandoned KOA lodge by the ocean for a while. I could drive my bike right inside the back door so no one could see it, and I lived upstairs in the loft and I was cool, just like the Fonz. When I got sent to jail for being just like him, I even got the same cell. Aaaaaaay...

That was the day I realized I was idolizing the wrong one. I had often joked that my other Dad was like Ward Cleaver, straight and narrow. Square. He worked over time, double time, night school, weekends, and still had time to throw a ball at my face and teach me how to tie my shoes and to aim when I pee. He put up with all my crap, all my phases, all my mistakes, all of my teenage angst, animosity and arrogance. Golly Geez Pop' howja do that?

We went camping last week, we do now every Mid-summer just before Fathers day. We talked and smoked cigars, it's our thing. We talked about life, kids, grand kids and "step-kids". He told me how proud he was of me, for what I had done with my life and who I had become. This kind of compliment was NEVER given, it was earned. I am the fruit of his labors, which is the best fathers day present a son could ever give or receive.

and that was the best dam cigar the Beaver have ever had...