Coming Home

We fight many battles in our life; sometimes the price seems more than anyone could bear, but we do it anyway.  Today the U.S. flag was lowered in Iraq, the battle mission complete, and I personally say thank you to all of the troops that served, their families that served with them and most certainly to those that paid the ultimate price.

Today I received an email from the office of the President, a mass mailing type email to be sure that encouraged everyone reading it to take a look at the image and the timeline of the Iraq war since he took office.  It also encouraged everyone to take a moment to say thank you to the troops and their families.  And so I opened the link to the timeline and the images, but I didn’t really care about the timeline I just wanted to look at the images and remember.  I wanted to remember because something as horrific as war should never be forgotten so that it can be repeated again.  But I have to say that I found more in those images than I thought I would.  I found a very small symbol that change is happening albeit slower than what we sometimes want.

What did I see?  I saw the gravestone of a fallen soldier, a fallen Pagan soldier.  How do I know this?  Because on this stone was a pentacle to represent his faith.  Sometimes we forget what we have fought for and what we may have to fight for in the future.  This was a reminder of why it is I do what I do.  So may the gods bless this fallen soldier who reminded me and may the gods of those who fought with him bless them as well.  I encourage you to take a look at the images regardless of your belief and remember it is the freedoms to be who we are openly that so many have paid the ultimate price. 

You can find the images at the following link:

http://www.whitehouse.gov/iraq?utm_source=email137&utm_medium=image&utm_campaign=iraq

 

 

Samhain Blessings

The Wheel of the Year has turned once again and we find ourselves facing the new year.  The harvests are in, more or less, the fires are lit, and it’s time to honor those that have gone through the veil before us and to reflect on what lies before us in the coming year. For many the road is clear and direct.  They know where they are going; the path in front of them was set long ago.  But for many there is uncertainty.  The loss of work, a place to live, health care has happened to someone you may know and/or love.  Heavens, it may have happened to you.  It is important to reflect on what the Wheel means now more than ever.

As we leave Samhain behind us we enter the darkest time of the year.  But we do so with the understanding that the Goddess is resting, her womb expanding, waiting to give birth to the God once again at Yule.  It is only out of the darkness, the chaos of the primordial sea, that order and light are born.

But for tonight, honor those that have passed this last year.  Light a candle, place and extra plate at the table, go outside and whisper their names – honor them through remembrance.  Do this and they may just help guide you through the dark.

A Pagans “Halloween” Poem

Its been a while since I posted.  Life has been busy and sometimes those things that are near and dear to your heart drop to the wayside.  Well, life truly has been full, but with the new year coming it is time to start writing again.  So much has happened, so much to talk about… but first I thought that I would begin the year by sharing a poem that was posted by a friend.  I wish I could say that I wrote it, but I didn’t.  Please enjoy and share.

A Pagans “Halloween” Poem
Author Cather Steincamp

‘Twas the evening of Samhain, and all through the place
Were pagans preparing the ritual space.
The candles were set in the corners with care,
In hopes that the Watchtowers soon would be there.

We all had our robes on (as is habitual)
And had just settled down and were starting our ritual
When out on the porch there arose such a chorus
That we went to the door, and waiting there for us
Were children in costumes of various kinds
With visions of chocolate bright in their minds.

In all of our workings, we’d almost forgot,
But we had purchased candy (we’d purchased a LOT),
And so, as they flocked from all over the street,
They all got some chocolate or something else sweet.
We didn’t think twice of delaying our rite,
Kids just don’t have this much fun every night.

For hours they came, with the time-honored schtick
Of giving a choice: a treat or a trick.
As is proper, the parents were there for the games,
Watching the children and calling their names.

“On Vader, On Leia, On Dexter and DeeDee,
On Xena, on Buffy, Casper and Tweety!
To the block of apartments on the neighboring road;
You’ll get so much candy, you’ll have to be TOWED!”

The volume of children eventually dropped,
And as it grew darker, it finally stopped.
But as we prepared to return to our rite,
One child more stepped out of the night.

She couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen.
Her hair was deep red, and her robe, forest green
With a simple gold cord tying off at the waist.
She’d a staff in her hand and a smile on her face.
No make-up, nor mask, or accompanying kitsch,
So we asked who she was; she replied “I’m a witch.

And no, I don’t fly through the sky on my broom;
I only use that thing for cleaning my room.
My magical powers aren’t really that neat,
But I won’t threaten tricks; I’ll just ask for a treat.”

We found it refreshing, so we gave incense cones,
A candle, a crystal, a few other stones,
And the rest of the candy (which might fill a van).
She turned to her father (a man dressed as Pan)
And laughed, “Yes, I know, Dad, it’s past time for bed,”
And started to leave, but she first turned and said

“I’m sorry for further delaying your rite.
Blessed Samhain to all, and a magical night.”

Alternative Religion

I read a recent post by my friend Patricia Lafayllve that said:

“For my ‘alternative’ religious friends – I hope some of you had a good Palm Sunday, and that others have a good Passover. (Well, what? You’re alternative to me in the way I’m alternative to you All respectful comments intended.)”

How perfect is this statement? It reflects the sentiment of true interfaith understanding. We are alternative to each other. It makes no difference what religion you claim; someone is practicing an alternative religion to yours. This includes not just interfaith but also intrafaith differences. That’s right, intrafaith differences are just as important to recognize as interfaith differences. So how do we work through the differences and begin to accept one another. By understanding that we don’t need to all be the same, that’s how.

Interfaith so often focuses on what the similarities are, what is held in common. But it is just as important to accept that there are differences between belief systems. They are not the same. That is the beautiful part, no one has to be, nor should they be, the same. So the next time you think of someone as holding strange beliefs or practicing an odd alternative religion, think twice. They may think the same of you.

Home

It has been a week since we arrived back from our adventure in England and it seems like we should be going back to see all that we weren’t able to. But I suppose that journey is yet to be. It also seems as if we have never left and are still there. I know at least it is that way for me, I know that I both left and took away something from my time on the Tor, my time in the stones.

I’ve seen all the students that went during this past week, some in passing and others for hours of deep conversations. I would say that we were all changed in deep and profound ways that have yet to be revealed. When we finally do find the moment to look back and see the changes that occurred it may be 5 or 10 years down the road. That is okay. As a very brilliant man said, the truest, deepest teaching is that which comes back far down the road as a revelation and a memory all at once. It isn’t the quick assessment at the end of the term. No, we are all still transitioning from who we were, to what we gained, and then on to what we are to become because of our experience.

I just want to thank everyone who helped both with energy or funding, in making this extraordinary experience a reality. Home is not what it used to be, it is something greater. It is the web of connection between all of us who participated including the sponsors. It is finding that there is something greater than the self, greater than the differences, greater than the inadequate words that we use to express ourselves. So, home that is where I am at. I am at a placer greater than I can imagine and I am there with all of you and then some.

Day 7 – Sacred Stones

Claire

The day started early; we were on a bus headed for Avebury and I could not have been more thrilled.  The ride would be long compared to our other adventures.  Most of them had been in London and we took the Tube, walked, or a combination of the two in order to get to our destinations. But today would begin about an hour and a half to the west of London.  Thankfully we had Claire and Zah Rasul from SU London with us as our hosts.  They have been with us since the beginning and have become like family to the group. 

As we moved forward to our destination the country side revealed a beauty not seen in London.  Rich, green rolling hills and buildings that spoke of centuries gone by.  During

We met our tour guide in the parking lot – a delightful woman with a good general knowledge but definitely not pagan.  She guided us to the gate where we gathered before entering the fields.  She explained that we might see some “kooky new age types” because it was a special day; it was the equinox.  It was at that point that the Dean introduced me, the Pagan Chaplain for the University, and then we began.  The stones were magnificent and we were given the opportunity to use divining rods to locate energy points and see how the stones affected the rods. 

Avebury

The energy was high, so very, very high I could feel it course all around me.  Everyone was enjoying themselves; the size of the stones and what they represented was not lost on a single person.  We were given free license to move about as we wanted and not in a group.  So I and one of the students took off to a secondary field.  This field had the stones that lined the avenue leading up to the stone circle and trench.  All I could think of was “these were the maiden gates,” this is where the ancestors walked to come to this place.

We talked a bit, but soon returned to where we had come from.  The students had scattered but I was told that the guide wanted me to join her at the moon circle.  I was given directions and off I went to find her.  What I found was not the guide but a ritual circle being set up; a hand fasting would be taking place there in a few hours.  It was the re-commitment of a couple already married several years – their children would be present to witness the ceremony.  What a wonderful way to spend the equinox. I didn’t linger here though, it was not my place.  So I moved on and found the rest of the group.  It was time to begin gathering ourselves to move back to the bus. 

Back on the bus, our next stop is Glastonbury.  We are going to the Tor.  First, however, was the experience of the town of Glastonbury itself.  As we drove into town metaphysical shops lined the street.  Almost like Salem but very different in its feel and energy.  I was home.  We stopped at the Glastonbury Abbey; its ruins are all that are left.  Magnificent in their own right, the ruins spoke of a time when churches and Christian faiths fought amongst themselves.  Destruction of such a beautiful place can only come through fear, greed and hate.  I’m glad that some of it has been preserved for us to see. 

We began to ascend the “hill”, a steep climb to say the least, and I begun to worry that not all of our group would be able to make it to the top.  A couple of people in the group had physical limitations and it could have been tricky for them.  But we all went slow, deliberate, but slow.  Each of us would stop on occasion, catching our breath and taking in the view.  Personally I would look back to those behind me to see if we were all making it; to my delight all were.  When I finally made it to the top emotions flooded over me.  This truly was the peace that I was looking for; this is where I was meant to travel to.  Tears welled up in my eyes and the words formed in my head – never shall I ever hide nor deny who and what I am.  I walked across the top of the Tor, through the tower that Christians had erected so many centuries ago, and to the other side.  I could see why the ancestors would see this as the place where sky meets land.  Most of the day I was quiet, very quiet; now was no different, but I had ritual to perform.

I spoke with the Dean about where I had chosen for us to gather and soon we were all collected on a flat spot just below the top.  I had placed a few objects in the center of what would be my circle and let everyone else know that if they wanted they could place anything there as well for a blessing of energy.  The many items that joined mine made a wonderful collection of personal belongings.  As we began the ritual I had everyone join in the casting of the circle, hand to hand and heart to heart.  The ritual was simple and so was its message: balance.  Each person blindly selected a stone from a pouch.  It was smooth and full of color and meaning – represented their individual traditions and the knowledge that they brought with them to this trip.  I asked them to close their eyes and feel that core bit that the stone spoke to them about.  When they opened their eyes they were instructed to also open their bottles of bubbles, yes bubbles.  The bubbles were used to places wishes and thoughts on the wind, to allow the energy of change to be given life and flight so the gods could take them and work those wishes through.  So on the Tor

Tor

our entire group held up their bubble wands to watch the beauty they created fly away.  After this another pouch of stones was passed.  It was full of small, rough clear quartz crystals.  They represented the clean slate that each of us now have.  It is ours to smooth out, ours to add color too, and ours to mold and make decisions on how it will look.  No one needs give up their traditions, they should hold on to them, but now is the time to integrate those traditions into the greater world in understanding and cooperation.

We ended with cakes and ale, or in this case a loaf of fresh bread and bottled water.  It was time to enjoy the energy and peace of the place which had become very quiet during the ritual.  You see as soon as we began a hush had come over the Tor.  There had been several people there when we arrived and when we started the ritual most of them were still there, but it was as if they all left right after our ritual began.  I looked around and found out that they hadn’t left, everyone was still there; but our small microcosm was a world all unto itself and everything outside of it had seemed to cease.  Now we were back on this plane, in this world, and the rest of the bubbles were being used.  The descent from the Tor began and our trip back to London was quiet.  I will never forget this experience, it was a place I needed to be.

Day 6 – Familys that play together

It was a day of rest, which means I got to sleep in without any wakeup call to disturb my slumber.  The rest was necessary.  We have been going at a fast pace without much time to just sit back and enjoy the city of London and that is what we did yesterday.  For me that meant waking naturally, a hot breakfast and then an adventure with friends to explore the sounds and foods that are around us.

We started off walking to Coven Garden.  There are a couple of metaphysical shops I wanted to explore and besides I needed some supplies for ritual at Glastonbury.  I found my supplies and much to my delight I also found an old-fashioned hour-glass.  Well, a 15-minute timer, but hour-glass sounds better.  Once that task was done and all three of us (yes there were three of us) had made our purchases we decided to figure out how to get to Camden Locks.  Now, this adventure started much earlier at the hotel; we had looked at the computer, the maps, and even discussed what all the information meant.  We had it written down, thought about, and remembered (but not necessarily memorized) so we wouldn’t get lost.  Even if we got a little lost we were good with that; we would get a cab if need be to get us home.  But we figured it out and stood there, compass in hand, deciding that we were at the correct bus stop.  That was our first mistake. As we boarded the bus one of us (not me) had the foresight to ask if this bus went in the right direction – it didn’t.  But the bus driver was kind and told us that we were only off by which side of the street we were standing on.

Across the road we go and soon our bus arrives.  We board, swipe our cards, and find seats on the top-level of the double-decker bus.  A minute or two pass and a “bus officer” comes up the stairs checking tickets.  As it turns out we were riding illegally – our Tube/Bus passes had run out of money.  Well that was a shock.  He explained that it was a £50 fine each for the two of us (I would be one of them) that hadn’t paid for our trip.  We were in shock and he could tell.  We explained that we had no idea that our passes had no money on them and that honestly we had no clue what we were doing!  He sat down with us and inquired about our trip, where we were staying, when we were leaving and then he smiled.  He explained he was a reasonable man (at which point I was trying to figure out how to explain that one of our party was given up as bribe to the bus police) and suggested that we get off at a particular stop and replenish our bus cards.  He smiled and said he would be visiting the States this coming summer and hoped that he would find people as generous as himself if he needed assistance.

We thanked him profusely and did as we were told only to find out the station he had told us to go to was the one we actually headed for.  Kindness was the beginning of the adventure.  We walked the streets with tattoo parlors and punk shops all around.  The imagery was amazing and unfortunately I’m not going to put up pictures, I don’t have time.  But let me say, purchases were made, beautiful things were seen, and street vendors making crepes that you could walk away eating were the focus of our day.  As time progressed we knew that we needed to return to the hotel after all it was Purim and we would be heading to the West London Synagogue to celebrate the holiday in the evening.

The trip to the Synagogue was quick and even the walk from the Tube was short, but we still ended up getting a “little lost” trying to find it.  The map directions were good, but the opening to the Synagogue was truly not evident.  After about 5+ minutes of looking we found it, but only because we saw people in costume entering into what looked like a club with bouncers.  As we spoke with the security we told that the congregation was a Reform Jewish Synagogue and asked if that was okay.  It was, and honestly I had no idea what to expect based on what that meant.  Once again, like at the Hindu temple, our bags were searched prior to our entering, but once in the fun began. 

Children, young people and parents were everywhere.  A table filled with food of all kinds was laid before us; this was for the celebration after the celebration.  The costumed people were all entering the main room of the synagogue so we hung up our coats and followed. We had been told that the service was going to be done in the manner of “Grease”, yes the musical, but that did not prepare me for what was going on.  I had two Tele-Tubbies sitting behind me, a watermelon man across the way, Pink Ladies and T-Birds in full costume, children in batman suites, and noise makers given out to participants – us included.  One of our group had received a king’s royal cape to wear.  And now it began, the Purim ritual – the story of Ester.

It was wonderful and we were not disappointed by false advertisement.  The celebration was a combination of Hebrew and English, proper Queen’s English that is, with the female Rabbi leading the way.  When it came to telling the story of Ester families came forward to take turns reading the narrative. I thought it was over, but no, it has only just begun.  The group dressed in Pink Lady and T-Bird jackets got up and performed (with modified words) the musical Grease in order to once again tell Ester’s story.  What a treat, we all laughed, clapped and sang along.  At the end I understood the need for costumes, everyone who was dressed up danced around the temple together including our student.  It was fun! I can see how families would enjoy being in this place of worship.  By the time we were leaving we all had smiles on our face and laughs in our hearts.  What a wonderful way to end a beautiful day.

Day 5 – Hindu Temple

The most amazing place in all of London is where we visited yesterday: the Hindu temple. Unlike anything that you would expect it is a wonder to behold.

We took a coach to get there and out of the busy commute traffic we began to see it – the bright white domes of the temple, flags on each point. A wall separated us from see all of it, but there was no mistaking that we were about to move into a world of awe. As we turned the corner the wall was still separating us from a full view; but that didn’t matter, there was still excitement. It was drizzling, so the world around us was gray yet the moment we crossed the street and walked through the gate we were impressed even more. What we hadn’t seen before was even more magnificent.

Carved wood, limestone, and marble surrounded by beautiful gardens. We had literally stepped out of London and into a place of peace and beauty. I wish that I had pictures, but we had been instructed that is was necessary to leave our bags on the coach – no photography allowed in the temple, and only a designated location outside was available for photography. It is okay, this will never leave my memory.

The smell of incense as subtle and soft, this was a place sacred in so many ways I can’t describe it, but the students all felt the same. There was a hush that fell on all of us and it stayed the entire time we were there. Our guides led us upstairs, and as they did we all marvelled at the carved stone and wood. We were being allowed to view the statues of the deities in the prayer area. We could touch nothing, not the stone or wood of the walls, the deities were protected behind fine gates, so taking in their presence was all that we were allowed.

Time seemed to slip by unnoticed and yet it was time to move forward, a video and then a discussion regarding the temple where we could ask any questions we wished. It was an interesting education – this temple took only three years to build. An amazing feat since the stone and wood had to be shipped to India to be carved and then shipped back for the actual building of the site. People of the community volunteered their time and finances to build this sacred place, no outside funds were used. The reason for the wall, to allow you to only see the top and forget the outside world, then once you see the gardens, you forget the domes, once you see the inside you forget the gardens, and once you see the deities your total focus is on them. But I had a question to ask, something that bothered me from the moment we arrived.

The only disturbance to the peace that I felt was at the moment we passed through the gates into the courtyard and when we physically entered the building. At each point there were guards with bullet proof vests. I didn’t notice any guns, so I don’t know if they were armed. And as we entered the temple we had to pass through the same metal detectors as you would in a government building. I asked why? If this sacred place is open to all and a place to welcome everyone why the security? Scotland Yard has required the security; the temple has no choice in the matter. How sad is that. But the temple is safe and anyone is welcome to this sacred place. I only hope that someday we will live in a world where such security is not necessary.

Day 4 – Conflict and Resolution



Freedom Press

Yesterday found us in East London, Whitechapel and Brick Lane areas specifically. So if you are a Jack the Ripper “fan” you know where we were. It was a wonderful tour of the area by a local gentleman who had grown up there. We travelled past the Freedom Press offices, down alley ways and tiny streets. Frying Pan Alley that Jack London wrote about was on the tour as well as the preserved Soup Kitchen for the Jewish Poor. In our travels we were fortunate enough to run into a gentleman that took care of the oldest remaining synagogue. Scaffoldings were all about it, repairing and reconstructing the building. He told us we couldn’t enter but after conversations and familiarity with the group was gained, he allowed us to come in and “take a peek.” There was as much construction inside as there was outside, in a way reflecting what has been happening on the trip with each of us. The history of the building was given and a few questions asked; the building had been used by several religions over the years, Jewish being the current one.

During the time spent in this sacred place, the same thought occurred to many of us. Can we help? He talked about waiting for grants and funding to finish the refurbishing and it collectively dawned on us. Many, not all, gave a donation to aid in the project. This facility was not scheduled and this gentleman gave of himself, it was the least we could do to give back.

East London

We moved forward to Brick Lane, a place that has seen different immigrant communities come, flourish, and leave. Since the early 1970s Bangladeshi immigrants have called this area home. Our guide explained to us the tension and violence that occurred then: skin heads marching down streets and breaking windows of businesses. The image is a far one from what exists now. Today the area is known as Bangalor City, a thriving area of business known for its curry and the markets that surround it. The conflicts have ended; resolution has been found. The place that was once where Methodists could receive communion is now the mosque. Like the synagogue before, new uses for older buildings are found. The sacredness of the place remains the same even though the people occupying it have changed.

Our afternoon was free and so adventures began. For my friend and I we decided to find the White Hart pub: the oldest licensed pub in London. But we got lost. When we realized this fact, it was too late, we knew we were not in the right spot, or were we? A small sign caught my eye and I wanted to investigate further so I moved a little ahead. Well there it was: a metaphysical shop! That’s right; the gods gave me what I had been asking for – a place where I could get some supplies for Sunday’s ritual at the Glastonbury Tor. I’ll be going back to this shop for a few other things, but most importantly my friend got directions to the pub! So in honor of St. Pat’s day we had Guinness to quench our thirst.

When we got back to the hotel it was time to gather and leave for St. Patrick’s Church in Soho. It was St. Patrick’s Day after all. We have one Catholic in the group and she was looking forward to celebrating her faith. But the evening took a twist. When we arrived at the church it was under construction. Mass was to be held in a small room only able to accommodate 35 people – we had 17. The priest acted as if he didn’t know we were coming and told us we were “welcome but it might get tight”. Tight is an understatement. I ended up in the hallway not able to even hear and I’m truly glad for that. It isn’t that I didn’t want to be there, I find the Catholic mass beautiful. But what the priest said in his sermon was hurtful and cutting. The Pagans were under attack, our Catholic was embarrassed. The mass ended.

Guardian of the Park

When were finally got outside I was told what the priest said, it was hurtful, it didn’t matter, I’m glad I didn’t hear it. But now was the time to take what was done and negotiate the territory of when faiths collide. At some point this was going to happen between groups on the trip, I just didn’t know which groups. We decided to do the day’s reflection right away. And so the discussion began. I have to say that the tension was great, but the ability of our students to work through the histories of persecution/persecutor was amazing. Tears flowed, the feeling of being “less than” and under attack were expressed. A woman in the congregation had been less than understanding when she saw the small Thor’s Hammer on one girl’s necklace. Another could barely express how she felt about the hostility directed towards the group. The realization that not all churches/priests practice in the same manner was a shock to another.

In the end, the sea of emotions that could have divided the group ended up giving birth to new understanding of how we need to negotiate the differences between us. Not only to understand that there are differences, but that we also don’t need to carry the guilt of our tradition’s past. There will be others of our faith that we don’t agree with and that’s okay. It is what we do with our faith, how we present it, and what we do to help others understand that in order for traditions to survive and flourish they need to learn to coexist with one another.

Difference is the reason we continue to exist, not the downfall that we all think it is. Isolationism and blind dogma is the ending of any tradition, it makes no difference what that tradition is. Only through understanding that we don’t all need to be the same can we begin to understand that our faith traditions reflect who we are as humans. Helping others through practice, dialogue and example are all ways that we can bring differences to light in a positive manner and understand we don’t have to look at any one else as inferior or wrong. Remember in my previous post on Day 2 the picture of the Berlin Wall? Only through reconciliation with each other did the wall come down. Let it serve as a reminder to build on relationships rather than hanging on to separation.

Day 3 – Muslim Communities

I should have stated from the beginning if you wish to read the students views you can find them at http://onehumanity.syr.edu.

A slightly slower day and for me a relief that was the case. Jet lag is a horrible thing and I’m just finally beginning to feel like I’ve caught up on my sleep. Anyway, on to the days events. We spent the day in Muslim communities; two very different and distinct communities. The first was the King Fahad Academy, a school founded the “with the objective of providing schooling of the highest standards, equally acceptable to both Saudi and British Authorities for the children of Saudi Diplomats, Arab Muslims and the local community in London. At its inception, the Academy provided a comprehensive education from kindergarten to university entrance.”

We were greeted by our guide and taken to an auditorium to begin our tour of the school. As it turned out what our guide had planned for us, working directly with students, had fallen through. Like in any setting unforeseen issues and requirements of the students to complete exams had arisen and therefore they would not join us. Instead, dialog between our host and the students began. We talked about how the school came into being, what type of community it served, and how current events affected the school within the greater UK society. In turn our host was surprised to find out that America has the same issues and that religious prejudice, conflict and isolation is the same as it is here.

We were given the opportunity to observe/participate in mid-day prayers; unfortunately we had been misinformed that we would not need to cover our heads. Well, the ladies at least; but we made due with what we had and were loaned a couple of scarves in order take advantage of the offer. Maha and Meena, two of our students, helped the rest of us properly wrap the scarves properly. What a different feeling that was, at the same time confining and liberating. Each of us having a somewhat different feeling about what it was like to be covered the discussion ranged from extreme comfort to one of respect for another religions tradition. The reaction of the non-Muslim male students was just as fascinating; they complimented how we looked when covered. For whatever reason and I don’t know what it is, that made me uncomfortable.

After prayers a literal feast was presented to us for lunch. Pita bread, hummus, kabobs, beef, chicken, falafel, and plenty of other things for our eating delight. It was wonderful! As we ate the more relaxed conversation ensued and our host, Sef, and I began to converse. He was curious about pagans and paganism. All he has known is what he has seen in the UK, he wondered if Druids and Wicca were considered pagan and I began to explain to him that yes, they were and that paganism is only an umbrella term. That allowed him to “connect the dots” and understand greater. But he then had several other questions regarding pagan practices and ritual. His curiosity was genuine and it was a delight for me to talk with him about all of this. The seeds of understanding are planted.

Our afternoon took us to the Islamic Cultural Center for London. This is a beautiful center built in an old theater with the main gallery space converted to use for prayer. I’m not sure whether or not to call this space a mosque. I admit I am ignorant on what constitutes a mosque and what does not. This is where we would the rest of the afternoon with time to relax before the end of the day prayers. These prayers we participated in. Once again our heads were wrapped, but this time the experience was different. Not the wrapping, but in how we participated in the prayers.

At the school the women were separated from the men by taking our place in a balcony where we could observe through a heavy screen the Imam and the other men praying on the lower level. Here we were separated by a solid wall. Granted it was a movable wall, a partition if you will, but still a solid wall. There was no ability to even slightly glimpse the Imam or any other male on the other side to understand when we were to do the bows or kneeling. The other women helped us, adjusting scarves, helping us to cover skin, and smiling a lot, but there were no words spoken to indicate when we were to do anything. It was just try to feel or sense movement and then follow suit.

As it turns out this was a Shi’ah center, the Muslim students on our trip are Suni – two distinctly different groups. The prayers are different, the center and its focus are different, and everything else is different as well. Our Muslim students felt the disconnect too; I was not alone. We talked about his later in our reflection group and I must say that it raised my own awareness of the intra-religious differences that we all experience. Not all pagans are the same, why should I or anyone else expect the followers of another faith tradition to all be the same?