Fun OCW Classes at ND

Did you know Notre Dame has a free, non-credited, online class in Creole Language and Culture? Or one on Reinveting the Fairy Tale?  Crime, Heredity and Insanity in American History could be fun, too.

I find these ... intriguing.

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Musings On: Haiti Fascination

Notes on Haiti.

Quick and easy donation methods -- because donations are dropping as the story begins to fade from media focus:

• SMS text “YELE” to 501501 to Donate $5 to Yele Haiti’s Earthquake Relief efforts. Yéle Haiti is a non-religious charity founded by musician Wyclef Jean.
  
• SMS text “HAITI” to 501501 to Donate $10 to Yele Haiti’s Earthquake Relief efforts.
  
• SMS text “HAITI” to 90999 to donate $10 to Red Cross relief efforts
  
• Gamers, pay attention: DriveThruRPG is offering over $1,000 worth of PDF product for a $20 donation through their site.
  

Yéle Haiti posted some interesting numbers regarding the current situation today. The numbers are daunting, in so many ways, but they do drive home the fact that this will be a long-term effort.

Haiti has fascinated me since 7th grade, when I first stumbled across a Zora Neale Hurston book lying out on a table at the IUSB library (it was Tell My Horse: Voodoo and Life in Haiti and Jamaica, by the way). Someday, I would love to see the waterfalls at Saut d'Eau, visit the Citadel, and spend a week at a Vodou peristyle, feeling the drums and chants pound through my chest, and marveling at the delicate lines of a vévé drawn in cornmeal or rust.

It's sad that the artistry is almost always overshadowed by stories of corrupt politicians and our modern cultural myths about the depravity of Vodou. I always find myself pausing with envy when I come across sites featuring those amazing flags of the loas. I have a calabash decorated with Erzulie's vévé on my cabinet at work (one of the student organizations was selling trinkets from Haiti a few years ago, and evidently thought either the heart was merely harmless decoration, or chose to believe it represented one of the loa's many Catholic analogs). I also have a candle with Papa Legba's vévé on my shelf of treasures, although I can't remember where I got that. (Funny, about that -- I was actually looking for one dedicated to the Baron or Maman Brigitte, but somehow the gatekeepers and keepers of crossroads are always the ones I find first.)

Why the fascination with the culture inspired by what many see as a "primitive" religion? Haitian Vodou and it's diaspora cousins (Candomblé, Obeah, etc.) are living, breathing religions -- blood and bone and earth and spirit. They are ecstatic spirituality at their core, visceral, immediate and pervasive, and they have absorbed and adapted in ways that should (IMO) make the Big Monotheisms seethe with envy. (Well. I suppose some monotheists are seething, but most definitely not for the right reasons.) I strongly believe faith ought to be a mixture of learned information (from teachers, books, other practitioners, etc.) and personal experience. If I adhered to anything like a traditional religion, it would probably be one of these.

On a related note, I find the sheer arrogance and stupidity of Robertson and his ilk infuriating, to say nothing of the opportunistic scavengers scrambling to ship Bibles down to Haiti for all the poor souls "hungering for the Word of God," or putting together aid to be exchanged for conversions of convenience. I'm sure they think they're bringing comfort to those who need it, when they're only adding insult to injury -- literally, in this case. And yes, this is a particularly sore spot with me. My father's church made great use of convenient conversion tactics -- they were exceedingly proud that their "Feed the Hungry" program only fed Christian children.

So. Vodou gets a lot of flack and disrespect from the missionary contingent, but the reality is that it's a religion of hope, community, and honoring the spirits and those who have gone before. Contrary to popular belief, Vodouisants do, in most cases, believe in a single creator god; it's just that the loa are a few levels closer to us. They're the ones who actually Pay Attention to the little people down here on Earth; they're the ones dealing with the day-to-day work. Which is why their mapping of loa to Catholic saints seems to be pretty spot-on to this non-Catholic girl, IMO.

In any case. I continue to watch the coverage because I can't look away. It's heart-wrenching and sad, and yet ... there's a chance, here, for Haiti to remake itself. I sincerely hope they can do so, with the world's help, and still dance to the beat of their own drummers.

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The Kindness of Strangers

I loved Johanna Eurich's blog post on Alaska Dispatch today (courtesy of WitchVox). It's a rare piece that managed to inspire simultaneously a gleeful giggle, a touch of jealousy, and even some small bit of pity for the poor, protocol-laden Catholics of her area. I hope her article gives those church-folk a much-needed poke in the ribs.

I know it poked at mine. In some respects, I've not been very charitable lately, so it's good to be reminded of my duties now and then.

Last week, I had my own encounter with a stranded foreigner. When I boarded the shuttle bus to our parking lot at the end of the work day, there was an unfamiliar young lady sitting near the front with a huge backpack that was itself about half her height. With a lovely Irish accent, she asked if any of us had any water -- unfortunately no one did. By the time we reached the last stop, she and I were the only passengers left.

The young lady had a rather forlorn look on her face as we disembarked, clearly searching for something, so I asked if she was lost. Apparently our kindly shuttle driver had told her she'd be able to catch the city bus near that stop; however, to do so, she'd need to hike over to the library, which doesn't precisely look like a library -- and anyway the bus stop isn't visible from the far corner of the lot, where the shuttle drops us.

I offered her a ride to the bus station, and she crumpled into my car after stowing that huge pack in the back seat. As we chatted, I managed to glean that she was ultimately trying to catch a train to Chicago. After a quick stop at a gas station to get her something to drink, we skipped the bus stop and drove to the airport on the other side of town, where she could catch the South Shore train to Chicago -- or if that had stopped running, one of the Greyhound buses.

It was a pleasant ride. We chatted for a bit about the immigrant waves of the area, South Bend's adopted affinity for the Irish, and her looking forward to coming back to town to see a friend perform at Fiddler's Hearth. We didn't discuss religion, although we did find some amusement in her assurance that her grandmother would've been waxing poetic about the rewards I'd surely receive in Heaven for my kindness. Like Eurich, we agreed it was far better to enjoy the tiny contentments of this life rather than to hold out for mansions of gold.

Heck, I'm pretty sure Maeve -- a self-confessed "itchy foot" -- would be off in search of more interesting venues within days of finding herself holding the keys to such a celestial abode.

Maeve, it turned out, was an actress and director, mostly of small stage productions; she had been in Paris before coming to the US. She'd just come from New Orleans, and was planning to spend a little time in Chicago before heading back to NYC to work on a new project with some friends. I was honestly (and pleasantly) surprised, though, when she said that she loved America. Apparently she'd been impressed by the kindness of strangers during her travels, and declared she'd happily dispute any snarky comments about American hospitality once she headed back to Europe.

I'm okay with that plan. I imagine we Americans need all the good press we can get, these days ... though I'm wondering whether we're currently ranking higher or lower than the Brits in, say, Latvia and Greece.

In any case. As Maeve struggled to pull her enormous pack from my tiny backseat, I invited her to stop by my office if she found herself on campus again -- to refill her water bottle, if nothing else. She agreed that she would, and stowed her bottles of water and juice in the pack, and disappeared into the train terminal with a cheerful wave.

I hope the strangers she meets -- Christians, Pagans, or whomever they may be -- continue to treat her well. And here's hoping, too, that there will always be another Maeve (or perhaps a stranded Polish priest, or a sassy Alaskan journalist), the next time I need a reminder that a little kindness goes a long way.

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The Pagans are coming ... oh, wait ...

"I think this is one of the most critical moments in American history. We are living in a period where we are surrounded by paganism."

Gee. For some reason, I think Mr. Newt Gingrich considers that a bad thing. And his buddy Mike Huckabee and the other pious attendees of last weekend's "Rediscovering God in America" conference most likely agree.

What's interesting to me is that rather than being outraged by the comment, I find myself in a strange simultaneous mix of amusement and frustration, pity and chagrin, instead. He's the curmudgeonly old geezer muttering about hoodlums on his lawn.

Then again -- this is why I don't like most sitcoms. Watching self-absorbed, self-righteous people make fools of themselves just makes me uncomfortable. Hm.

Granted, the comment was a cast-off, meant to pander to his audience in that lowest sort of insular fear-mongering over the vaguest of nebulous threats. It was undoubtedly meant to get his Christian brethren fired up and active in politics again. Perhaps, say, frantically protesting equal marriage or camping out at abortion clinics. It wasn't meant as an insult to an actual group of faiths -- in fact, I'm betting the idea that there are more and more people out here who happily accept that "pagan" accusation never even occurred to good old Newt.

I feel like I should be able to muster up more amazement that he really is so oblivious. But ... nope. Mild surprise is all I've got.

There's been much discussion about this in the Pagan blogosphere, of course, ranging from the obligatory outrage to outright laughter. Outside the PB, not so much, yet. Although I must say columnist Tony Norman over at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette had an interesting reaction to the comment. First, he contrasted the comment to one of the themes of Obama's Cairo speech -- strength through religious pluralism -- and second, he expanded on the appearance that Gingrich seems to consider "pagan" a catch-all for anything that might possibly be a threat to his entrenched right-wing fundie agenda. "Pagan" is the new "liberal;" a code word for domestic terrorists and anti-religious vandals, traitors, marriage-mockers and war apologists.

Now that I think about it, I'd probably feel even more sorry for the barmy old fool if I could be sure his ignorance and spite existed in a vacuum. Alas, quite the opposite is true.

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Sita Sings the Blues

Sita Sings the Blues is fabulous. Aside from being based on the heart-wrenching tale of Sita told in the Ramayana, I love writers and artists who are able to bring modern relevance to the old stories, and Nina Paley managed to do that both through interweaving a modern-day breakup tale with Sita's story, and by using Annette Hanshaw's jazz vocals as Sita's modern voice. (Also: Todd Michaelsen's three Indian-flavored electronica pieces are awesome. Must download those.) The three shadow puppet narrators manage to be informative (for those who don't have a clue about Indian myth or The Ramayana) and also hilarious at the same time.

The only complaint I have about the movie is that it's too long ... and by that, I could have done without a few of the Hanshaw songs without losing the fun and flavor of the story. They all fit eerily well, mind you...

Apparently there will also be a hi-res download of the film in the archives beginning March 7. Good to know.

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The Issue of Prayer

The Indiana House of Reps. has reinstated the tradition of prayer before its sessions. Apparently the ACLU's taxpayer-led case fell through; they're now looking for an involved party such as a Representative or Senator, who would be required to subject themselves to the prayers because they are members of the assembly. (Well, theoretically ... it seems they've switched the presentation around so dissenting members can skip the prayer and then show up for roll call.)

I have mixed feelings on the issue of prayer before convening a governmental session. I can see the argument that allowing someone to express their faith does not necessarily constitute an endorsement of that faith. Rather, it is an endorsement of their right to express that faith -- essentially, a mark of freedom of speech, and freedom of religion.

However, I know how Indiana rolls, as they say. The vast majority of these prayers are of varying Christian denominations, with perhaps a few scattered Muslim or Jewish nods here and there so they can claim diversity while still keeping it in the Abrahamic family. While Rep. Bauer and the others profess to be open to prayers from leaders of all faiths, I have serious doubts regarding their willingness to accept a Hindu presenter, for example, let alone a Druid, or a Wiccan, or an Asatruar. How about a solitary asking for the guidance and blessing of Melek Taus or Inanna? I have to wonder whether there are credentials and requirements necessary in order to secure an invitation in the first place. And let's face it, modern Paganism is a movement that is largely comprised of individuals and minor groups such as groves/covens/throths, etc., who don't necessarily practice a formal ordination or adopt a hierarchy that would be recognized by one of the mainstream religions.

And what happens if an atheist wants to stand before the assembly and asks not for the blessing of the gods, but for compassion and common sense from their fellow men and women? Would they be given the chance to express their lack of faith in the divine? To keep things equal, they should be. And yet ... I can't see Rep Bauer endorsing that right, for some reason.

I suppose it boils down to the familiar old "religious decorations on public ground" example -- to be fair, the rule will have to apply to all or none. I'm not holding my breath.

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The Path: Musings on Eclectic Panentheism and Faith

I've been having an interesting discussion with someone who contacted me out of the blue after seeing my profile on a Pagan site (which I'd completely forgotten about, naturally). He's a Buddhist and a seeker; currently non-religious, if I'm reading his tone right, but with a Christian background. He's also curious about other people's religions -- what they believe, and why. Lately it sounds like he's been talking to people of varying Pagan bents about their paths, and asked me to explain mine: eclectic panentheism.

I don't think it's a concept I articulate very well to other people, unfortunately, so this was a good excuse to ponder the meaning of it all. I first came across the word "panentheism" (as opposed to panthesim) in Pagans & Christians: The Personal Spiritual Experience by Gus diZerega. A few years ago, I'd read that and Michael York's Pagan Theology: Paganism as a World Religion in the hope that I'd find some clues that would allow me to talk to my mother about religion again -- no luck in that, but they did cause me to re-evaluate and re-define my own path, so I consider it a win.

Here's the gist of my original reply, tweaked slightly after some rethinking.

Panentheism, as I understand it, is the concept that the Divine is both immanent (pervasive within the material world) and transcendant (above/apart from the material world) at the same time. Which sounds contradictory, but ... take this example. I look around and see a beautiful lake, surrounded by trees and rocks and ducks. The wind blows, clouds dance across the sky, and the sun beams down on me and five of my closest friends. As a Pagan, I see my gods and goddesses as the core of being within all of these things. Sometimes I may think of that infusion as Spirit; other times, just the subatomic attraction that holds molecules together. For all I know -- or care, honestly -- they're the same; in any case, that connection is a thread of the Divine; the common element that runs through everything in creation. It is the gods, inherent within nature.

At the same time, I also pray; when I pray, I'm not addressing my prayers to that common binding thread that runs through the lake and the tree, but to specific deities who are individual faces of the Divine. They have personalities, and duties, and power to shape this world. We learn from their stories just as we learn to respect the forces they represent. Oya may be the storm crashing down on me, but she's also the wife of Chango, and a mother, and a psychopomp, and so on.

I think the concept is pretty familiar to most Pagans, it's just that, for the most part, we understand it intuitively without bothering to pin it down and define it in theological terms.

There's a dearth of scholarly writings on modern Paganism, as far as I can tell, but that's slowly changing under the guidance of writers like diZerega and York (both on the faculty now at Cherry Hill Seminary), Chas Clifton, and a handful of other names and publishing houses (e.g., AltaMira) that escape me due to the vagaries of this allergy-med fugue. For me, that's a welcome change from the over-abundance of books on witchy spell recipes, dream interpretation, past lives, crystals and astrology that currently make up 90% of any given bookstore's "metaphysics" section. I still rely on the anthropology and sociology shelves for most of my purchases, since I'm more interested in the history and mystery of Paganism (ancient and modern) than in recreating someone else's ritual. 'Cause honestly, let's face it -- how many stores actually include Paganism in their Theology section?

In any case... As mentioned above, it was diZerega's book that initially helped me re-evaluate and better understand my own approach to spirituality, as well as the approaches of others -- for example, how panentheism differs from pantheism, polytheism, etc. I suspect the distinctions are largely of interest to scholars and geeks, but it seems reasonable that anyone who follows a particular philosophical or religious path should take the time to think through the whys and hows of their beliefs and practices. Not only for the purpose of intelligent discussion, but also for your own personal understanding. Faith is an intensely personal aspect of a person's worldview-- or at least, it should be, in my opinion. I still can't help but cringe inwardly when it appears to be an excuse for lemming behavior or willful ignorance.

Mind you, I know I don't have all the answers -- and neither does anyone else, as far as I can tell. But faith, to me, does not mean you check your brain at the door. It should not be blind, nor should it be unyielding. What it should be: an evolving understanding, tempered by experience, evidence (when available), perspective, and a willingness to question and re-evaluate.

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