Sycamore Circle: Visions of the Grove

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In a previous post I introduced the new study group, Sycamore Circle, that Jeff and I recently founded for Druids and Pagans in the Pittsburgh area. And then I spent some time waxing philosophic about (read: anxiously worrying over) issues of group politics and member dynamics. If you thought this was a bit premature, considering our "circle" currently has all of two members and two prospectives, well... I can't disagree. But you know me, I can't stay pinned to mere reality when possibility beckons so seductively. So on that note, I wanted to explore a bit about my vision for what I hope Sycamore Circle can become, what it can offer to myself and to others, and how, and why. This isn't the final word on the matter, or even a manifesto for the group--just my personal dreams and hopes. Consider the following a kind of creative exercise, getting a handle on things, exploring options, and articulating potentials with the hope that maybe the Universe is listening and wants to play along.

Autumn is creeping in around the edges once more, gold and russet seeping along the veins of leaves and the sky trembling through moods alternately blustery and bright. Always this time of year brings with it the energies of renewal. Not the renewal of spring, with new life bursting forth from every crevice in the sidewalk, but the renewal that comes from release, letting the fecundity and lushness of summer die back to discover those things which persist, the bare bones of what matters most and the fruits that contain within them what seeds may grow in warmer months from now. I think again how appropriate it is that we get to celebrate Sycamore Circle's founding around this time of year, when the busyness of back-to-school has died down into routine and the coming dark reminds us to value those lights in our lives that will sustain us through the coming winter. I position a few more candles on the mantle and make sure the bowl of apples, the pumpkin cookies and the box of assorted teas is set out so folks can help themselves when we return. Then, I shrug on my thick sweater, wrap the blue scarf close around my neck and head out to join the rest of the group gathering on the front stoop, laughing and chatting and sharing the latest news.

This new moon, it's Jeff's turn to lead the meeting again, and we've been brainstorming guided meditations and discussion topics for the past week in preparation. There are several group members who have been through TDN's Perennial Course in Living Druidry three or four times by now, and have taken their turns leading group discussions and writing rituals as well; but one or two others have joined us in the last year and are still finding their grounding in the local landscape of this City of Steel intersected by three rivers in hilly Western Pennsylvania. As the group of us head to the wooded park nearby for our usual hillwalking, I smile at Jeff's second-oldest daughter, accompanying us for the first time now that she's reached an age when her curiosity in her father's spirituality has blossomed into a personal commitment, and meditation and long discussions don't tire or bore her. Few of Sycamore Circle's members grew up Pagan as she has, but things are changing. One young woman walks more slowly than last year at this time, now carrying a bulging belly and holding to her partner's hand firmly in hers. We'll have to start thinking seriously about planning regular family events pretty soon. But first, there will be a Naming Rite to celebrate, probably before Alban Arthan comes around.

Jeff leads this gaggle of Druids along familiar paths, and I hang towards the back of the troop, listening as conversations fade into silence and each person's attention hones and then expands in the dusky light. Someone near the front lets out a startled gasp when some leaves rustle by the side of the trail, and we each pause for a moment to silently greet the brown, lumpy toad hunkered down in the debris before we walk softly on again. This group practice of contemplative hillwalking has remained one of my favorite parts of the new moon meetings. As the years have passed, together we've watched the landscape dance through its changes during these walks, always repeating and yet never exactly the same, until even the flux and subtle shifts in light and weather feel comforting and home-like. Somewhere a cardinal chirps, not even ruffled by our presence, and I smile to think it might just be some old companion come to say hello.

It took a long time to get to this place, a place of trust and intimacy.The members of the grove, too, have changed with the years--a few joining only for a time before moving on again to follow the promptings of their own unique soul-songs; others remaining, returning month after month, year after year, always growing, searching for a deeper authenticity, a more poignant longing for Spirit along the Druid way. This misty afternoon of the new moon, as we trudge through the woods towards our usual gathering spot on the hill, I'm surrounded by the warm bodies of a dozen or so folks as close to me as family, perhaps even closer. Up ahead, I see one of Sycamore Circle's first members, my anam-chara, soul-friend and student, a young man who began this path full of eager skepticism and humor, so anxious to be counterculture that sometimes the desire drove him away from himself. He has settled gently into a quiet confidence these past years, though with the same warm laugh as ever, and he walks beside his own anam-chara now, mentoring one of our newest members, sharing those long, intense discussions on theology and magic theory, ecology and justice, that I remember the two of us used to have. Sometimes, he still calls me up for coffee and we sit in the local cafe, now more truly soul-friends than mentor-student to one another, sharing stories about our work, or just relaxing and catching up. A small ripple of gratitude runs though me as I think about these bonds interweaving among us all, each member seeking guidance from a mentor, becoming in turn the anam-chara of another. It has taken a long time to build this community, but there is real trust and intimacy here, and so is there honesty, questioning, uncertainty and integrity.

Of course, there are always some members who only ever make it to our major holy day rituals, living out their paths mostly in the mundane world of business and education and politics and family. But their enthusiastic presence lends a celebratory air to the solar and fire festivals nonetheless, as we see our modest circle suddenly expand with newcomers and old friends alike coming together to honor and remember our stories and the gods. This afternoon's meeting, beginning as it always does with our hillwalking, will also include some final planning for the Samhain ritual, only a week away by now. Jeff's daughter has been working on a song to perform for the rite, and a few others have perfected their drumming for the guided meditation. Though each of us in turn has the chance to lead ritual or take on one of the more active roles, my own real joy has always been writing the chants and group prayers, or sometimes sharing a poem or two. This year one of the younger members will be leading the Samhain ritual as priestess, but I still look forward to that moment when a chant I wrote from years ago begins to thrum again in the throats of all the participants of the grove, our voice lifting up above the trees, carried on the wind. Ritual as living poetry, enacted stories in honor of Spirit--we have had some dreadful flops, and some hilarious accidents, but the longer we work and pray and practice together, the more moving and powerful even the most familiar rites become.

I bring my mind back to the present moment. The hilltop is in sight, and as the group makes the final climb and begins to lay out blankets for sitting, Jeff pulls the small candle and box of matches from his pocket and stoops to place it on the flat center stone. Without a word, we all settle down in a lop-sided circle around the pale, flickering flame as he begins with some simple breathing and centering exercises. His voice is calm and smooth in the silent afternoon. After a time of quiet meditation, he'll lead the group discussion, inviting thoughts and stories about each person's individual work over the past two weeks, prompting observations of the season's changes, encouraging new members especially to share songs, poems or other works of art or craft they have brought along. By the time dusk has truly fallen, we'll have passed around the thermos of cool spring water, quietly making libations as we whisper our own personal prayers and gratitude to the land. But for now, I close my eyes and breathe deeply and slowly, feeling the lumpy earth beneath me, the breeze carrying the smell of rotting leaves from the surrounding woods. Nearby, sharing this hilltop with us, a sycamore reaches its thick branches upwards, its bark fading from patchwork to skeletal white high among its wide, browning leaves. It rustles and lets a leaf or two fall, twirling their way down under a gray sky. I breathe again, and then again; I keep breathing.

How to Save the World: Seven Pillars of Vegetarianism

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So the title of this post is a bit grandiose, but we're talking about climate change here today, because it's Blog Action Day 2009. Think thousands of bloggers sitting in front of their computers can't change the world? Well.... you're probably right — but! That won't stop us from trying. My goal here today is not to convince you climate change is real and caused by human activity (it is), or to lecture you about the evils of modern consumer-based society and why a market system based on consumption will never, truly actively support a reduce-reuse-recycle model (it won't). My goal here today, friends, is to give you an excuse.

Actually, seven. Seven excuses, seven reasons to give up meat, to go vegetarian; seven excuses to save the world. You see, according to current studies on global warming and its major contributors, one of the most effective and easiest ways for ordinary individuals to fight global warming and help the environment is to reduce their consumption of animal products. Steve Pavlina notes in an article earlier this year:

A 2006 United Nations report found that the meat industry produces more greenhouse gases than all the SUVs, cars, trucks, planes, and ships in the world combined. [...] In terms of greenhouse gas emissions, eating one pound of meat is equivalent to driving an SUV 40 miles.

Reducing our reliance on and support of the environmentally-devastating meat industry by cutting meat and dairy out of our diets has more impact than switching to that hybrid car or buying those energy-efficient light bulbs. Eating a vegetarian or vegan diet, especially one of mostly locally-grown organic foods, might just be the single best thing you can do to help restore the natural ecosystems of this planet, ecosystems human life evolved within and on which we depend for our future survival. And you can make the change immediately, starting today, at your very next meal. That's your first excuse.

But if that's not enough, I have six more. Vegetarianism isn't just about the environment, though that is an essential pillar in support of this lifestyle. At every level of our personal and social existence, we find compelling reasons why a vegetarian diet is not only a good idea, but a deeply meaningful choice to live with respect and gratitude as part of the natural world. The seven pillars that support this view are: biological, historical, environmental, political, ethical, psychological and spiritual. And each pillar has tied to it a strawman argument against the vegetarian diet, set up like a scarecrow to frighten people away from examining their choices too carefully. Well, consider this post a kind of Bad Wolf essay, panting and prowling through the temple, ready to blow those strawmen down.

Biological

The first pillar of vegetarianism is biological: as a species, we have evolved biologically to eat plants, not other animals. Recent discoveries in anthropology and paleontology provide evidence that our closest ancestors are not aggressive, omnivorous chimpanzees but "peaceful vegetarian" apes such as the gorilla and the bonobo. Our teeth are shaped primarily for ripping and grinding plant matter, rather than gripping and tearing flesh, and recently uncovered fossils of our earliest ancestor, Ardipithecus ramidus, has teeth much smaller, flatter and less protruding than predicted by earlier "killer ape" theories put forth by scientists. Our immune system is built to handle a vegetarian diet, as well — if we fail to cook our broccoli long enough, all we risk is slightly crunchy broccoli, and not potential deadly infections such as E. coli or tapeworms that can come from eating contaminated meat or foods cross-contaminated through animal feces. Our senses have developed to aid us in determining which fruit is ripe or rotten, whereas such discernment of meat is usually much more difficult. Furthermore, our digestive system is not physically capable of digesting most animal flesh, which must usually be cooked first to render it even remotely palatable; the sight and smell of raw meat sickens us, while fresh fruits and vegetables are inherently appealing to our visual and olfactory senses as well as our culinary tastes. Consuming even cooked meat puts unnatural strain on our bodies that can lead to digestive problems and heart disease, while eating fruits and vegetables provide us with the appropriate balance of nutrients, vitamins and minerals as well as the sugars and carbohydrates we crave and the fiber and water necessary to keep our bodies running smoothly.

The argument constructed against all this biological evidence is that we are not meant to be vegetarians, but omnivores, and thus eating three meals a day based primarily around a meat main-course is not only perfectly healthy but necessary to meet our nutritional needs. Besides taking for granted that the farm-raised, hormone-injected animals we eat today are in any way comparable to animals in the wild (to be dealt with later), this argument ignores the fact that most omnivores in the animal kingdom with similar teeth and digestive systems to our own (as opposed to, say, bears and other mainly-carnivorous animals) use meat only as an occasional supplement to a plant-based diet, rather than a staple food in itself. This meat is usually in the form of insects or scavenged carrion. It is true that we have certain minimal requirements for protein and fats that must be met, but studies have shown that eating a diverse diet of fruits, vegetables, grains and legumes more than adequately satisfies these needs (almost all cases of protein deficiency are, in fact, cases of starvation, not an imbalanced diet). Indeed, most Americans eat far too much protein, and health problems from heart disease to cancer can result. Stop for a moment and ask yourself where herbivorous animals such as cows, sheep, gorillas, and elephants get their protein to begin with. Their bodies, like ours, naturally manufacture protein out of the amino acids found in abundance in plant matter. When we eat animal proteins, in fact, our digestive system must first break these down before it can obtain the amino acids it needs, putting it under unnecessary strain.

Of course, as a species we are capable of eating an omnivorous diet, and this is one (of several) reasons why we have survived and managed to populate vastly different environments the world over. However, this does not mean that a meat-based diet is ultimately the healthiest or the best choice, especially for those living in circumstances which offer many ready alternatives. We should seriously question the practice of taking emergency survival techniques (such as eating whatever is available in harsh environments with few alternatives) as a foundation for ordinary healthy living. We should also remind ourselves that we are not defined merely by our biology; we can make lifestyle choices informed by other aspects of our social and personal lives as well, while still respecting our biology and physical needs. For instance, although the female human is capable of reproduction at as early an age as 12 or 13, few people today would argue that teen pregnancy is a good idea, let alone take it as an imperative to impregnate young girls as soon as possible.

Historical

This leads us to a consideration of our history as a human species, and how we have traditionally dealt with the question of diet. Long ago, our species evolved in the tropics of south-west Africa (this is why, incidentally, the colors, textures and tastes of tropical fruits are so particularly appealing to us); from there, we eventually migrated and spread to Eurasia and other climates where such foods were not as readily available. In response to changing environments, we found new alternatives provided by the indigenous flora and fauna, eventually establishing traditions of agriculture to supplement and then eventually replace a hunter-gatherer lifestyle.

Studies in archeology and anthropology show us that in ancient as well as modern day hunter-gatherer tribal societies, hunting and fishing rituals centered on showing respect and gratitude for the sacrificed animal and a promise or prayer for the continuation of its species. These rituals were sometimes so elaborate and lengthy (Joseph Campbell reports a three-day ceremony for the killing of a single stag) that they rendered frequent or mass-scale hunting simply impractical, which in itself insured a limited diet of meat and a restriction on just how quickly a species of animal could be depleted. With the introduction of agriculture and the domestication of livestock, the balance of plant- and animal-based food in the diet varied depending on a person's individual wealth and social class. Animal domestication on a large scale in Europe tended to have certain unhealthy consequences for the surrounding population, giving rise to epidemics and a general increase in disease and unsanitary living conditions for both humans and animals (Europeans brought these diseases with them to the New World, and the result was devastating to the native population). Meanwhile, agriculture and domestication alike contributed to the quickening process of deforestation and the homogenizing of ecosystems through controlled cultivation.

The historical support for vegetarianism is not so cut-and-dry as the previous biological arguments, precisely because for the most part humanity has survived by eating a combination of plant- and animal-based foods. What is clear is that our species has a history of adapting to local environments and finding or creating alternatives to support our lifestyle choices. History also provides us with evidence that the kind of large-scale animal consumption that our culture relies on today has traditionally had negative consequences for both human beings and the environment, while the hunting and eating of wild game in hunter-gatherer cultures has been healthier for both and tends to include natural limits that help to mitigate negative consequences. This evidence does not make the claim that eating meat is physically or ethically worse (see above, and below), but challenges us to question our ability to do so without putting strain on our relationship with the natural world on which we rely.

The historical objection is simply that "we have always eaten meat" and if our ancestors did so, then it certainly couldn't be wrong for us to continue the practice. There is no real need to bring up the myriad examples of horrific, unethical and generally unhealthy practices once embraced by human beings in the past that we have thankfully left behind us (or in some cases are still working to overcome). It is sufficient to point out that our ancestors themselves set a precedent of adaptation and change, rather than strict adherence to past lifestyles; if such were not the case, our species would still be nibbling fruits and crunching on ants in the African tropics. Furthermore, most objections of this nature focus on the generally healthier and more respectful relationship of the tribal hunter with his prey, and skips over the several thousand years of less idyllic agricultural practices that are our more immediate heritage. Certainly invoking the rituals and restrictions faced by hunter-gatherers to justify today's meat-based diet is not enough to overrule the reality of modern factory-farming and animal abuse.

Environmental

And so we return to the contemporary concerns of environmentalists today, and the role that the modern meat industry plays in contributing to the global warming and environmental damage more generally. We have already touched on a few of these concerns in the introduction to this post, but just for fun, I'm going to quote two more statistics from Pavlina's essay:

To produce one pound of meat requires, on average, about 5000 gallons of water. Compare that to 25 gallons for a pound of wheat. To produce their daily food, a vegetarian needs 300 gallons of water per day, while a typical meat-eater needs 4000 gallons. It takes energy to transport all that water too, and this means more greenhouse gas emissions.

and this one:

The EPA reports that the run-off from factory farms pollutes our waterways more than all other industrial sources combined. Food animals in the USA produce 45 tons of animal excrement per second. That’s 130 times as much excrement as our human population produces. Some farms have so much excrement to deal with that they actually liquefy it and spray it into the air, so it gets carried away by the wind.

What these two tidbits effectively illustrate (and his article is full-to-bursting with similar facts) is precisely that those problems which were negligible on a small scale at the beginning of the agricultural revolution fester and grow into hugely wasteful, damaging practices when allowed to proceed unchecked and unquestioned. The modern approach to factory-farming, reliant on hormone injections, genetic modification, and the assembly-line rearing, slaughtering and processing of animals, consumes more energy and produces more waste than most people can even conceive of when they chow down on that mass-produced burger from the local fastfood joint. Once again, this pillar of vegetarianism does not insist that eating meat is inherently wrong, but points to the pervasive systems of meat production and processing today and asks us whether we can really turn a blind eye to their consequences every time we crave a porkchop.

It took me a long time to come up with any possible objection that could be propped up against this pillar and used to argue that, despite all evidence to the contrary, "eating meat is actually better for the environment." Only one has come to mind, and its approach is twofold and somewhat self-contradictory. On the one hand, I have often heard modern-day hunters argue that hunting and killing animals is necessary for their population control and more humane than allowing them to starve during the winter or risk being hit on the highway (this argument is more about killing than eating, of course, and in any case does not directly address the question of domesticated animals). On the other hand, apparently some individuals argue that the domestication of certain animals protects them from extinction and preserves their species (albeit in subservience to human need) into the future. So bizarre are both these claims — and so limited their understanding of "environmental benefit" — that I can hardly bother to deconstruct and reject them. Needless to say, both aspects of this argument rely on a kind of anthropocentric arrogance that assumes our right as well as our ability to control who gets to live and die, while ignoring our own role in eliminating the natural predators and destroying the habitats that would have kept the populations of these animals in ecological balance.

Political

As we move from pillar to pillar in support of vegetarianism, we find ourselves moving from the more objective realm of fact and evidence, to the increasingly subjective realm of personal and social choice and relationship. Politics is the first pillar in which we find the consequences of meat-eating echoing beyond the biological and environmental effects, to the nature of manipulation, misinformation and monopoly.

Current models of factory farming, together with corporate pressures from international giants such as McDonald's, render the meat industry especially prone to monopolization. Currently, the majority of U.S. meat production comes from only a handful of key corporations, who can quite effectively exert huge political influence on government legislation and regulation through lobbying and financial support. They utilize this influence to secure government subsidies which artificially lower the prices consumers pay for products to well below their actual monetary (not to mention environmental and social) costs; meanwhile, regulatory agencies run by former CEOs of the industry are effectively impotent to enforce what few regulations manage to pass into law. Lobbyists of the meat industry continue to fight against informative labeling regarding nutritional value, and the use of hormones, genetic modifications and dangerous chemicals in the production and processing of their animals. The general lack of regulation and information makes possible gross violations of basic human rights and worker safety, as well as jeopardizing general consumer health.

Perhaps none of this bothers you; perhaps you are content to be misled and manipulated by callous corporate giants, as long as you can get that steak dinner for cheap. But personally, as someone fundamentally against manipulation and abuse on principle, I find it impossible to ignore the role that my dietary choices play in the existence and continuation of this industry. When considering the wide-spread social implications of such a choice, reducing or eliminating my consumption of meat and other animal products becomes not just a personal matter of health and environmental awareness, but a political statement against the tyranny of greed and the inhumane, almost sociopathic priorities of corporate interests. Refusing to eat the byproducts of such a corrupt industry is surely not the only way to fight back, but it's one that I can enact, publicly or privately, on a daily basis regardless of other circumstances.

Objections to this pillar of vegetarianism include the rebuttal that factory-farming practices for produce and grains are just as bad, environmentally and politically, as those of the meat industry, as well as the insistence that the meat industry is a thriving business that is necessary to employ and support certain sectors of the domestic and global economies. It is true that factory farming is damaging in general, and that this includes the produce industry's use of petrochemical fertilizers and insecticides, as well as the genetically-modified monoculture crops that sprawl across much of the midwest. On the other hand, a huge portion of these farms' harvests go not to feed human beings, but to support the meat industry itself. Furthermore, when it comes to resisting the potential monopolies of the industry, it becomes much easier to seek out local, organic farms to provide yearly produce, or even to grow your own vegetables and fruits in a personal or community garden. I know of few people, however, willing to take on the task of raising and slaughtering their own cattle. As far as the argument that meat-eating is "good for business," I can only point out that industries founded on abusive and unhealthy practices deserve to flounder and fail, so that new, better alternatives can be found. Would anyone seriously argue, for instance, that the reliance on slave labor to shore up the cotton industry in post-revolutionary America could possibly justify slavery as a necessary and valuable practice?

Ethical

We are now approaching the final three pillars of vegetarianism: ethics, psychology and spirituality. Each of these topics is so complex and interwoven that it really deserves its own full-length essay, but for now I want to summarize some of the main points, and the various objections they tend to raise.

As we turn to the question of ethics, we are forced to confront the very notion of a "meat industry" as an industry like any other capitalist industry in the modern world. Whereas certain objects and items can (perhaps) be produced, exchanged and consumed without any inherent diminishment to their existential meaning or value, the fact that we feel comfortable as a society approaching other living, clearly sentient beings with this attitude raises serious ethical implications. What lines do we draw that separate some living creatures from others, and are these lines justified or even upheld in actual practice? The very notion of "animal rights abuses" may be controversial in some circles (though certainly not here in this blog), but human rights abuses seem much more widely acknowledged as worthy of condemnation and resistance; and yet, the very industry that provides you with sliced, plastic-wrapped deli meat in the supermarket aisle also treats its workers, as well as its consumer base, in abusive and manipulative ways. When we subject one part of the community of life to a model of lifeless consumerism, it seems an inevitable consequence that the rest of that community soon follows, and human beings as well as animals are reduced to mere numbers to be crunched, or gears to be turned.

There is also the ethical question of integrity, and the extent to which we can justifiably pay off others to do the "dirty work" we would rather not confront ourselves. When asked to explain my vegetarianism, this is the first point I make, as it seems the one to conjure up the fewest objections. Certainly, there are myriad unpleasant jobs in the world, but few are as dangerous, humiliating and psychologically traumatizing as the work of a slaughterhouse employee. Although perhaps this is not an inherent aspect of meat processing and packing, it is certainly an undeniable reality of our current system and must be acknowledged and dealt with as such.

Objections that animals just aren't as valuable or important, ethically, as human beings often rest on flimsy or arbitrary quibbling over definition. Not only because any consistent definition of personhood must either include some animals, or exclude some human beings who suffer from physical or mental handicaps, but also because of the diversity of social definitions which attempt to draw lines between animals themselves, designating some as food and others as pets. The argument that plants have been shown to experience a form of pain or survival instinct when threatened (besides deserving careful scrutiny itself) certainly cannot justify an ethical nihilism which declares that, if we can't help causing harm, we might as well not bother to mitigate what harm we do cause. Instead, it challenges us to think more deeply about our relationship to all living beings, sentient and non-sentient alike, and to consider the spiritual implications of relationship with both living and non-living things.

Psychological

The ethical pillar of vegetarianism rubs up against the psychological in many ways as we come to questions of personhood, harm and respectful reverence for fellow beings. Our psychological relationship with the plant world has traditionally been one of quiet cultivation and mutual nourishment, often involving community cooperation to ensure the planting, growing and harvesting proceed smoothly through the seasonal changes. Plants — both wild and human-cultivated — seem to us to more readily accept a symbiotic relationship with humans (as well as other animals) and offer up fruits, seeds and other parts of themselves in their own time. A ripe apple that falls to the ground in autumn can hardly be a traumatic loss for the tree, and on some emotional and psychological level we appreciate this aspect of our reliance on plant stuffs for food.

In contrast, hunting is roundly understood to be an act of potential harm, bringing about a death that the animal may not willingly accept, and one that many traditional tribal societies dealt with through rituals of petition and penitence, seeking forgiveness and cleansing of the "blood guilt" individual hunters themselves inevitably took on for the sake of the community. Rites of a son's "first kill" as an initiation into manhood were once understood as the willful taking-on of a burden or unpleasant task; modern back-patting for such an accomplishment are much more likely to be celebrations of intentional violence as symbolic of a macho-patriarchical conception of desensitized, power-oriented masculinity.

These broad portraits of our relationship to the plant and animal worlds are, of course, not nearly as subtle and complex as any given individual's experience are likely to be, but that does not diminish their importance in shaping the social patterns that influence how and what we share together at meals. Despite all of the above arguments of the previous pillars, it's still possible — in theory — to acknowledge the eating of animal flesh as potentially ethical and healthy, posing no inherent threat to social or personal well-being and being done with respect and reverence for the animals sacrificed. But we must not forget that we are ourselves psychological beings. We may strive for this ideal, but in our strivings we can also willfully ignore the harsh reality of our current meat industry, which rejects and undermines health, ethics and reverence at almost every turn, precisely because our psyches jar and balk at the disjoint.

I know full well that not all of the fruits and vegetables I eat are grown, harvested and processed in environmentally-friendly and respectful ways, yet the strain of this disjoint is not so great because I also know that seeking out organic, local produce is a very real possibility, as is someday growing it myself. On the other hand, commitments to only eat organic, abuse-free animal flesh put a much greater strain on the personal psyche, not only because such commitments are much more difficult to keep (and more likely to be bent or broken in the face of social pressures, for instance, at community meal-events), but because few people can conceive of the real possibility of raising and slaughtering their own food in a way that still feels respectful and emotionally-satisfying. I know myself well enough to know I am not a person who could kill an animal, especially one for whom I had developed respect and reverence through attentive care. Perhaps, under different circumstances, I could become such a person, but I see little point in supposing a reality that posits such a drastic change to my psychological being.

There may be some objection that eschewing the violence and pain on which our existence is inevitably founded is somehow weak-minded or even an unhealthy form of denial. I have addressed in the past my response to this conflation of violence and destruction, so I won't spend much time now responding to such an objection. But I will point out that, psychologically speaking, it becomes much more difficult to argue that vegetarianism is a symptom of weak-mindedness when we stop to consider the enormous social and personal pressures in place that must be overcome in order to make and maintain such a choice. (Anyone who can write an almost 5,000-word manifesto on the matter surely can't be too horribly weak-minded, in any case, if I do say so myself!)

Spiritual

At last we come to what, for me, is the crux of the matter. Scientists, nutritionists and historians may eventually chip away at the first three pillars with new discoveries and more reliable data; society may someday become more just and people more decent to one another and to those with whom they share the world, as the last three pillars wear away to dust. But even if this might one day be the case, even then — this final pillar will remain, not so much a support structure, as an altar. And upon that altar I rest my hands, my lips, and sometimes my weary head, in love and gratitude and praise.

For, to me, abstinence from animal flesh is not just about the ethical and social implications, not just about respecting ecological balance and upholding human and animal rights. It's an act of ritual and worship, an act of communion, surrender and grace as well as intent and creativity. In a consumer culture that has trained us to shovel food down our throats as carelessly as we pump gas into our cars (next time you're driving down the highway, notice the proliferation of gas stations and fastfood joints at all the same exits), my commitment to vegetarianism is a spiritual commitment to approach my daily meals with mindfulness and reverence, as a thrice-daily meditative rite. It's an act of acknowledgement that I am not, in fact, at the top of the food chain, that my body is fragile and, like my spirit, dependent on the mud and the rain and the sunlight, intimately tied to those things and reliant on the simple, quiet subtlety of the lush flora that thrive in every square inch that earth and sea and sky allow them.

In the end, it is a personal choice to shape my spiritual life through my own creative self-will, to become the person I want to be. And I can think of few relevant objections to that.

Sycamore Circle: A Study Group for Pittsburgh Druids

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I might as well come out and admit it--ever since Jeff moved out here to Pittsburgh, I've been secretly plotting. Until now, I've been primarily a solitary practitioner, cultivating my own Druidry as time, energy and interest guided me, but over the past year or so I've also noticed a growing desire in myself to seek out spiritual community as well. This blog has been one forum for that sense of community, but there are limits to internet media. Discussion, challenge, inspiration and even comfort are here in abundance, but I long for people with whom I can practice, who can share with me a real living Druidic spirituality--people who will walk with me in the forests and share a drink with me over conversations about ritual and magic and the gods. And so, ever since Jeff moved to Pittsburgh, I've been reveling in the company of another real-life Druid, sharing times of meditation and prayer with him, walking through the forest with him, and plotting. If there were more of us, more inquisitive, contemplative types, more folks who loved music and poetry and art as inherent aspects of their spiritual lives, just a few more people who understood the potential power of authentic, organic ritual and saw in the natural world the beauty and rhythms that those rituals echo and invoke remake... if there were more of us, perhaps we could have a Grove.

Well, we're not there yet. But together, Jeff and I have taken the first step and officially announced the formation of an informal study group called Sycamore Circle (the group can be found on facebook, and perhaps eventually we'll have some other webpage for it as well). At the moment, the study group is not affiliated with any larger Druidic Order or organization, though it will be largely informed by our experiences in Revival Druidry and the slightly anarchistic mud-and-blood approach of Emma Restall Orr and The Druid Network. When I first conceived of the idea back in February 2008, I wrote a brief description of the group as "embodying a tradition of inclusiveness, for those with interests in: art, music, poetry and other sacred expressions of Awen; regular meditation and contact with nature as essential aspects of the spiritual life; scholarly study and intellectual integrity; exploring experiences of Spirit and encouraging personal growth and community evolution..." (If any of my readers live in or near the Pittsburgh/Allegheny County area, I invite you to explore the group page on fb or contact me for more information.)

Back at the end of August, Jeff and I began to set aside times during each month as "meetings," in order to establish a routine into which we might be able to introduce new members. We've been following TDN's Perennial Course in Living Druidry for the past month, holding informal meetings in the local park on the evenings of new and full moons, and occasionally times between, and these have already become very special and sometimes intense times for me, and I think for Jeff as well, as they've sparked experiences of the sacred and moments of connection as well as fascinating discussions that spill over into our mundane lives. True, with just the two of us, we make more of a line than a circle, more of a Sycamore Twig. But it's a start, a way of getting our feet wet.

Then, just this past week, two people from my work noticed the group announcement on facebook and approached me with some vague, hesitant interest. I was surprised, and a bit embarrassed, frankly. When I'd posted the announcement, I'd thought perhaps we'd eventually get a few strangers, people already involved in Pagandom in one way or another and who were looking for a local group... I never expected interest from anyone I already knew. I'm not sure why this caught me off guard, but I suspect it was just that it helped to bring home the reality of the thing, the very real potential that soon I would have to start navigating the complicated world of Group Politics (cue doomsday music). I've heard a lot of scary things about Witch Wars and Pagan Standard Time and other generally petty, irresponsible and power-hungry behavior from adults who should really know better. I want to strive to avoid these things, to cultivate a group atmosphere based on trust and mutual respect as well as shared interests and community practice. But I'm not usually a big group-joiner, let alone a group leader. So it's going to be a challenge.

Pondering Group Dynamics

My brief moment of panic has led to some deep thought and long discussions with Jeff over the past week about what we hope this study group will become, what we're looking for and looking to avoid. This discussion was helped along by a post to a Druid message forum recently that included questions about group politics and preferences. Some of the issues brought up were:

Size and Boundaries: A difficult issue for me as an introvert, as I often find large groups of people intimidating, not to mention clumsy to manage. Small groups can provide a sense of intimacy and trust, while large groups can too easily give rise to social pressures to play-act one's Druidry to impress others or go along with the majority. On the other hand, large groups can build momentum and embrace a larger diversity of talents, interests and personality types, ensuring that the group won't falter after a single falling-out between two people or the retirement of key active members. The question of how porous and open the boundaries of such a group can or should be is another challenge. I have joined larger Orders precisely because their espoused openness and tolerance appealed to me, only to discover that within such groups natural cliques sometimes form that can be just as disheartening and alienating, if not more so, for going unrecognized or unacknowledged by official group policy. On the other hand, a firmer boundary which asks newcomers to study the group's established focus and dynamics before they can enter as full members may be more honest and forthright, as well as protecting against the group being hijacked by those prone to egoism or melodrama, but it can also place real limits on membership that may not always serve the community and might leave some people out in the cold.

The Nature of Leadership: Another thorny issue, and I think probably the one that will cause me the most trouble, philosophically-speaking. My natural antiauthoritarian leanings, compounded by my strong (sometimes too strong) self-will, naturally leads me to dislike most forms of authority, while my introverted nature means that I rarely like to take on leadership roles myself. I'm much more inclined to forms of shared responsibility among equals, with respect for those who have areas of expertise and experience, and appreciation for the enthusiasm and creativity that the neophyte can bring. However, it seems pretty clear that plenty of Pagan groups fall apart or stall out precisely because of an impractical or overly-idealistic commitment to a false democratic "equality"-as-sameness that squashes down some and demands too much of others. My approach to leadership is more a pragmatic one, in which those "in charge" function more as managers than dictators and work primarily to give group members the freedom and opportunities to take on what roles they would, where their passions and interests guide them. There is a very real need for good leaders in the Pagan community, people who have the skills and talents it takes to manage the mundane practicalities of a group as well as inspire its members to participate and contribute and make it their own.

Member Relations and Mentoring: The means by which new members may be introduced into the group is another challenge, and one that I feel needs to be flexible depending on how the group grows and evolves over time. It's also probably the most pressing at the moment. Creating an environment of trust and respect that will encourage exploration, growth and openness among its members is essential, but part of me feels that conceiving of such an environment as one in which "we're all friends" is a bit impractical and leads to problems of its own. Friendship-based member relations can open the door to interpersonal conflicts that distract from the purpose of the group and can end up undermining or sabotaging personal and community growth, especially if new members feel they won't be as valued if they cannot establish themselves as part of the core circle of friends. When members instead understand their relationship with other members as a "working relationship," I've found that this sets natural boundaries that help to minimize bickering and melodrama, but I wonder if it also requires that members be motivated largely by personal interests and less by social needs, and if this is perhaps an unfair requirement or one that can render the group a mere convenience or superfluity (Hermits of the World United, so to speak). One-on-one mentoring is a potentially invaluable process that can introduce new members as well as give established members the opportunity to teach (and to continue to learn and refine) from their own experience. On the other hand, I haven't seen many mentoring programs set up in larger organizations that work effectively, often because only a few members pursue mentoring and end up taking on too many students.

Other questions regarding particular topics and practices, how group meetings are run, how often the group meets, and so on, are also essential, of course. But I feel as though, if we don't first think carefully about some of the above issues, these other concerns don't make much difference.

In a post next week, I'm going to outline a "vision" for this new group, a personal exploration of what I hope Sycamore Circle can become. In the meantime, I would really appreciate feedback on some of these topics. What are your experiences in groups (Pagan and otherwise)? What were some of their rewards, things that kept you coming back or really helped to shape your spiritual path? What were some things you wished were different, that you found distracting or frustrating or detrimental? What, in your experience and understanding, is the role a group should play in the spiritual life, and how does it relate to the idea of spiritual community, and to solitary practice? Inquiring minds want to know!

Dinnertime Dualism: You & Me & the Tree Makes Three

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"Imagine yourself hanging by your teeth from a tree over a cliff. Your hands can grab no branch, your feet can touch no limb. A man from below you asks a question your life depends on answering. You cannot remain silent, yet if you open your mouth, you fall to your death. What do you do?"

- Philip Toshio Sudo, zen guitar

The kids had been shouting "I fink, derefore I am.... I fink." Over and over all through dinner, a joke they didn't understand from a satirical children's book, Where's My Cow?. "What do you think that means?" I asked them. When they said they didn't know, I told them, "Guess. What might a person mean if they said they exist, because they think. Just take a guess..."

"That you know you're you because you're doing the thinking?" one of them hazarded.

"And do you think that thinking is the only way you know you exist?"

"No, you know because you can feel yourself."

"That's right — but there was a man, named Descartes, who decided he was going to question everything he absolutely could, to see what was real. So he might look at that tree outside and say, 'I think there's a tree outside because I can see it and hear the leaves rustling — but maybe my senses are wrong.' Haven't you ever seen or heard something in a dream that wasn't real? What if he was just dreaming the tree?"

"That tree?" the littlest one asked, pointing. "But there is a tree, I can see it!"

"That's right — so Descartes thought, 'Well, even if my senses are wrong, other people see the tree, too. But what if I'm also imagining the people?' You've had dreams with people in them who aren't real people, right? 'In fact,' he thought, 'what if I don't even have a body at all and I'm dreaming this whole thing, the world, my body, other people, the tree? How do I know anything at all actually exists?!' And on and on he went, questioning everything — until he got to the very end and he said, just like you did, 'Well, one thing I'm sure of: I know I exist, at least, because I'm thinking. If there's thinking going on, somebody must be doing it, and that's me!'" The kids sat and seemed to consider this, slurping their tomato soup. "Do you think he's right?"

"No," said one, "because... because I can feel I'm real, and I can go up and feel the tree."

"Do you think he's right?" Jeff asked me, one eyebrow raised.

"No," I said, turning my attention from the kids for a moment, "Because Descartes adopted a policy of radical doubt — doubting everything, even those things which he had no reason to doubt — and such absolute, unconditional doubt in everything is a form of insanity. It led him to a fundamentally dualistic view of the world, in which the mind is trapped inside itself and the world, if it exists at all, is stuck outside it with no way in."

"But the Buddhists would say differently. They'd say there is no self, only the thought," Jeff said.

"Well, yes. It's the phenomenologist's view that the senses can be trusted, that the phenomenal, perceptual world of 'intentions' and experiences is the place from which we must start, because trying to start anywhere else misses the point. The phenomenologist says Descartes went too far. The Buddhist view is that he didn't go far enough. The Buddhist would say, why stop at the self? Question the self, too, try to find the self that's doing the thinking." The kids were growing restless again, the littlest twisting in her chair to make faces at the other two. "And when you look for the self doing the thinking, you're like a dog chasing its own tail — right, guys? Going round and round and round, chasing after nothing at all..."

The kids laughed. "Until you give up! That's what most dogs do."

"Now we're talking about animals, and not about people" the littlest one piped up, "that's what I like."

Later, clearing the dishes from the table while the kids went up to brush their teeth and change into pajamas, I talked to Jeff about the differences between the Western approach to mysticism and the Eastern approach.

"Well, now," said Jeff, "I'm not a Zen Buddhist, and this is why.... 'The mouse has cut the wire. Goodbye!'"

I laughed in surprise, catching the bizarre reference to another children's book, this one by Dr. Seuss, about two people in the same room talking on the phone about how they cannot hear each other.

"I'm kidding. But that's very Zen, by accident, isn't it? They're always saying things like that..."

"It reminds me of something I just read in that book, zen guitar," and I told him the story about hanging off a cliff by the skin of your teeth, when someone asks you a life-or-death question you absolutely must answer, so that either way, you die. "I don't remember what point Sudo was trying to make — mostly because I didn't get the story, I didn't know the answer. But I know what I'd do if I was hanging desperately off a cliff and some jackass asked me a question..."

I mimed dangling by my teeth, glaring irately down at the imaginary questioner then slowly, emphatically, lifting my middle finger.

"I've been thinking.." Jeff said as he came in from reading the kids their nightly bedtime story. I continued to practice my guitar, and he closed the bedroom door quietly behind him. "Your response to the Zen riddle about hanging off the cliff — that's exactly right."

"How so?" I asked, fumbling on the strings, taking a breath and starting again.

"Well, it's creating an alternative. Your answer rejects the very assumption that there are only two options. You make your own."

"Yeah... though I was really just being snarky. But I see what you mean. And that's what Druidry teaches, too. That when faced with dualism — whether the mind-body duality of Descartes, or the phenomenologist-Buddhist duality of trusting the senses versus questioning the self — that the Druid way is to find the third, to complete the triad that pushes us to the next level where opposites are not only compromised, they're reconciled."

"And," Jeff said, "If there seems to be no third, then you create one. Just as the poet creates new meanings through metaphor and juxtaposition, by throwing together and connecting things that don't seem to be connected."

We both sat for a moment, musing, and smiling.

Setting my guitar aside for the night, I looked up at him. "Jeff... I really like being a Druid."

Best of 200

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Well, darling readers, another hundred posts have gone by since the last time I paused to review. What a whirlwind year and a half it's been! Last time, for my "Best of 100" review, I shared with you some of my most popular posts (according to viewing numbers as well as reader comments), as well as a few of my personal favorites. Since then, I've grown a bit more interweb-savvy and now have several nifty tools at my disposal to give me a more accurate analysis of readership statistics. Unfortunately, I haven't been using most of these long enough for them to do me any good as yet! So for now, a more haphazard break-down will have to do...


Popular Posts and Interesting Series

Some old favorites continue to attract new visitors to the blog, but as my subscribers have grown (thanks to all of you who have passed on links and shared your comments, questions and insights on other blogs and forums out there!) several more recent posts have earned a respectable response as well.

• In the past one hundred posts, the most popular by far has been the post Cultivating an Environment of Truth, followed closely by Three Humans Walk into a Bar: Language, Labels & Naming Spirit. Song of the World: Some Things We Know is not far behind, with some controversial posts (such as Book Learnin', On Striving & Strife, and A Quandary of Cats) rounding things off.


• The most popular post of all time, in terms of reader comments, remains To Love a God: Struggling with Morality in Polytheism, and the inquisitive posts Why Druidry? and Is Christ Special? still draw a regular number of hits from Google searches, as does The Swan Maiden's Story, oddly enough (though it's not nearly as erotic as the more recent Yewberry: A Myth Retold)

Continuing my tradition of unreasonable verbosity, the past hundred posts have also seen a few serials attempting to explore subjects in more detail and depth, including:

• A series on poverty and prosperity back in October of last year (Voluntary Poverty, Love & the Prosperity Gospel, and God & the Free Market), which I've recently revisited with my dual-postings, The Group of 20 and the Mythology of the Market, and Archetypes in Market Mythology & The Role of Protest


• Re-Membering Theology, parts 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5, a long response to Johnson's and diZerega's Beyond the Burning Times, deo and Mandy's announcement that they'd "outgrown Paganism" and the spontaneous blog carnival that followed


• A series on Spiritual Aesthetics (parts 1, 2, 3 and 4) followed immediately afterwards, with Part One making it into the top five most popular posts of the last year and a half


• A brief organic series emerged around Valentine's Day, with the posts Regarding Spiritual Growth, In Love with Spirit: Method & Purpose, and In Perfect Love & Perfect Jenga! (which has more clicks than views, according to FeedBurner, probably because of the unfortunate product placement!)


• This past June saw the birth of a new Pagan carnival in the blogosphere: Pagan Values Month, which I kicked off with a guest post over at Druid Journal, Pagan Values: Ecology, Environmentalism & Practical Pacifism, and continued here on Meadowsweet with the posts Relationship & Story, Go Play Outside!, Violence, Destruction & The Difference, and Relating to the Wild, before surrendering to the exhaustion of Lost in Thought...

Unnoticed and Unknown

Perhaps more interesting, some of my favorite posts have sat quietly unremarked for quite some time, so during this review I thought I'd take some time to gesture vaguely in their direction as well, in case readers might wander over to have a look-see.

• Several semi-poetic-slash-creative-writing works like After Beauty and Nobody Wakes Up Alone received no comments whatsoever! (Though Ode to Finitude and The Hunter, overt shameless poetry, garnered a few very complimentary ones.)


• On Grace and Finding Your Center: A Meditation on Movement didn't get much response either, though personally I'm rather smitten with them (of course, it was spring and I was rather smitten in general at the time).


• Shaman & Priest: How America's Cultural Landscape Shapes Its Religious Institutions had some potentially intriguing arguments to make, as did The Death of Civilization.

The Future of Meadowsweet

What's next for Meadowsweet & Myrrh? My dear, dear readers, it's always hard to predict such things... But my goals for the future involve posting more often (at least five times each month, that is, slightly more than once a week). To help me work towards this goal, I've come up with a few categories in which I hope to write more regularly, including:

• Pagan Pertinent Books: reviews featuring books that are not specifically by, for or about Pagans, but still have a vital relevance for deepening Pagan spirituality (my review of The Road is one such example, though I have others in the works)


• Pagan Parenting: observations as a not-actually-anyone's-step-mom about parenting challenges as they pertain to Paganism and Druidry (since I am in no way qualified to write about this topic, I figured I'd give it a shot)


• Sacred Textuality: meditations on excerpts from particularly meaningful spiritual texts and poetry (After Beauty was my first serious attempt at this sort of writing; swing by and let me know if it was even remotely interesting, relevant or helpful)


• Myths Retold: engaging with old myths in new ways, revisiting familiar tales and dipping a big toe into the waters of complicated stories that I'm still only just learning myself (The Tale of Mabon and Yewberry are both recent examples of this type of work)


• Experiencing Deity: on-going explorations of theology, polytheism and direct experiences of Spirit (along the lines of Three Humans Walk Into a Bar and On Grace)


• Musings on News(ings): thoughts on local, national and global news items from a Druidic perspective


• Solar/Fire Festival Contemplations: a necessity of every Pagan blog, it seems; thoughts on the changing seasons and their rituals and celebrations (for instance, Lughnasadh and Alban Arthan)


• Let's Get Physical: discussions of embodiment, especially regarding health and physical activity and how they relate to the Druid way (such as Finding Your Center and The Speed of Blood)

I'm sure politics, environmentalism, romance and career angst will also continue to play pivotal roles in the writings here---so never fear, your voyeuristic urges and anarchistic tendencies will be duly satisfied, as well. If you have any more ideas about things you'd like to read more about in this blog, don't hesitate to drop me a note! Until next time, happy reading!

Song of a Daily Druid

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The October issue of Pagan Pages is up, and with it the second installment of my column, Song of a Daily Druid. This month's column begins to explore the subtleties of the Bardic way and the role that poetry can play in the spiritual life, working with the relationship between creativity and imagination and the importance of memory, experience and the physical body.

All poetry begins in the dark. In the cave of memory, the new poet lies awake, wrapped in the simple, loose-fitting shift of a sleeper, listening to the echoes of her own breathing and the whine of her own blood in her ears, the only sounds. The close stone walls are damp with her exhalations, sighs of longing or uncertainty, muffled sobs or murmured joys. She can see nothing in the darkness, not even the low ceiling above, but in that senseless obscurity her memory moves, conjuring up fleeting images of apricots, water spigots and firelight, half-heard sounds of bare running feet or the rubbing of tree branches against brick. Sometimes the dank, unmoving air of the cave seems to bring her scents of autumn leaves rotting in the riverbed, or tangled woolen yarn, or muddy earth turned over and mixed with the smell of blossoms. These memories are in her, and they are the beginning of her art. She must seek out the language—its rhythms and articulations, the shapes of its vowels, the teeth and tongue of its consonant stops—seek out the words that evoke and mirror sensation.

In the unlit recesses of the cave, her mind works as her body lies still, remembering. The small round stone rests heavy on her belly—she can feel its weight through the soft fabric and the way it rocks gently as each breath lifts it and lets it drop again. Her mind travels the stumbling, sometimes frantic pathways of the past, aflame with inspiration; she brings it back again, turns it over and over to the weight and solidity of the stone. Fire in the head, anchored in the earth. When the night is over, the waking world will come for her. She must find a way to bring poetry into being, to carry it forward, to bring it from the empty depths of the cave into the morning sunlight. To carry it like the stone: concrete, real, substantive in her hands. Light moves behind her eyes, and the stone wobbles on her solar plexus. All poetry begins this way: an image in the mind, a feeling in the gut, a moment in the dark.


(......To read more, visit Song of a Daily Druid)