What My Pentagram Means To Me

When I first started wearing a pentagram I was brand new to Paganism. I was trained by someone who had a plethora of medallions, goddesses, and pentagrams hanging around his neck at any given moment. I had never worn anything to represent my faith. Not even a cross. My branch of Christianity didn’t believe in the cross. So the idea of wearing something ornamental that would identify me with my faith was foreign and a little exciting. I’m not very ornamental myself. I don’t like to give a lot of thought to jewelry and accessories. I don’t wear rings, my earrings are permanent, and if I put a necklace around my neck it will be there until it falls off.

So I bought my first pentagram and wore it constantly. In fact, I was wearing it when the elders from my former faith paid a visit and decided to disfellowship me for apostasy. That particular pentagram went missing soon after that. I had worn it over a year, yet soon after the visit from the elders it disappeared like it had absorbed all the negative energy it could and needed to take it away.

I bought my second pentagram at a Celtic festival in Philadelphia. I spent a bit more on this one. It is sterling silver and cost me $60 for the medallion alone. It is beautiful and I take very good care of it.

I don’t identify myself as Wiccan and don’t practice as a Pagan. I still hold to many of the beliefs, like reincarnation and the personal empowerment that comes with controlling one’s own destiny through ritual. I still value the connection I have gained to the natural world and try to make choices that are sustainable and environmentally aware. I love the moon in all its phases and still find my greatest spirituality under its silvery beams.

Yet none of that represents what my pentagram means to me. I still wear it prominently. I never take it off and never tuck it under my shirt. I had an employer tuck it under the collar of my uniform once so I wouldn’t offend her clientele. She only did that once.

My pentagram doesn’t consciously represent my connection to the 5 elements (earth, air, fire, water, spirit). It doesn’t represent my association with a particular deity or doctrine. What it does do is act as my shield. I can’t tell you how many people have started out treating me with kindness and consideration until their gaze falls upon my chest and they visibly draw away from me. I haven’t changed. I’m the same polite woman they were animatedly conversing with just moments before. The only thing that has changed is their fear and ignorance has now taken over. Rather than investigating for themselves what the pentagram means, they choose to believe I am fornicating with the devil. My pentagram protects me from such people.

I spent my life under the tyranny of such fear mongering. I forced myself to engage with and form relationships with people who were so ignorant and filled with fear that they couldn’t think for themselves. I don’t want those people around me any more.

Occasionally, when asked why I wear a pentagram I tell people it is to piss of the Christians. That is only partially true. It keeps ignorance away from me. It prevents all Christian faiths from trying to indoctrinate me. Most people don’t mess with me when I am wearing it. It represents my hard-won freedom and its appearance keeps me free. It shields me from judgment since those who spew judgment usually won’t come within a country mile of me.

Before anyone points out that it sounds like a lonely life let me just say that a surprising number of people are not repelled by the pentagram. The vast majority of people won’t treat me any different because they realize it is not the necklace but me that truly matters. They either ignore it or openly ask me what it means. Those who are open and receptive get the “5 Elements” answer. Those who I want to antagonize get the “It’s meant to piss of the Christians” answer.

Tonight I was lying in bed contemplating whether to turn off the light or read. I reached toward my neck, as I habitually do, and noticed the chain wasn’t there. I had taken it off earlier in the day while doing yoga. I recently put the pentagram on a longer chain and it gets in my way during some of the yoga poses. As I lay there, I asked myself how I would respond if someone, a friend, sincerely asked me to remove it to avoid offending someone. When my initial response was anger, I had to ask myself why it meant so much to me. I realized it had come to stand for everything I had lost and gained and the need to maintain the barrier between the two. It is my shield against ignorance and judgment and I believe it protects me in more ways than I am consciously aware of. It also helps identify me as a member of an exclusive group who search for better things through personal growth and empowerment. I have had the privilege of meeting some very kind people who recognize my pentagram and approach me. The simple observation, “I like your necklace,” is usually enough to recognize a kindred spirit.

I am a middle-aged woman with no tattoos or facial piercings. I wear normal clothes and drink too much beer and coffee. There is little to identify me as the member of a fringe group but my pentagram. I wasn’t allowed a Goth stage when I was a kid and the only thing that keeps me from exploring it now is the knowledge that I would look completely ridiculous shopping at Hot Topic. So I wear my pentagram and I have become rather attached to it as the symbol of my freedom from the narrow road. Don’t ever ask me to take it off. Don’t ask me to hide it beneath my clothing. Such a request will be viewed as an assault against my freedom and all I have had to sacrifice in gaining said freedom.

Because-a poem

Borrowed from a friend–

                                                         BECAUSE

               (Open testimony to the Watchtower Organization)

Because I had a love for God you found me.

Because I needed hope in my life you said all the right things.

Because you said I would find “real love” I was joyous and believed you.

Because you presented a future utopia I wanted you.

Because you convinced me others would intervene I left them.

Because you said I must commit to you I conformed.

Because you persuaded me I dedicated myself and my child to your cause.

Because you convinced me God needed my time, money, and energy I gave it.

Because you continually announced that all of yours are happy I chased it.

Because I could not catch this elusive joy I was often depressed.

Because you indicated asking questions was disloyal I asked none.

Because I discovered hypocrisy emanating from you I was confused.

Because your shepherds were not tender I was hurt.

Because you allowed lies to prevail and damage the innocent I was discouraged.

Because you treated my loved ones with derision and contempt I became incensed.

Because I took in knowledge that uncovered your lies I was able to see clearly.

Because I was educated I was able to break free from your shackles.

Because I gained freedom I was empowered.

Because I have a love for God I walked away from you.

Because I am finally free I am happy.

–Anonymous

It Happened to Me: I Grew Up as a Jehovah’s Witness

This article appears in the latest edition of Time magazine. I wanted to share it here. It is a very accurate depiction of life as a JW. The brackets represent a couple changes I made due to an error in dating and grammar. The comment that resonated the most with me was: “My capacity for belief in magic and fantasy had dried up.” I had a very vivid imagination at one time, which I am struggling to regain as an adult. Being one of Jehovah’s Witnesses takes all the magic and illusion out of life. Losing one’s ability to become excited in anticipation of basically anything has wide-reaching effects. It affects passion, ambition, and a belief in one’s own potential. It’s like ripping out of a child the very thing that makes them a child. And once that thing is lost, it is lost forever.

Below is a picture of me with my mom at the JW Assembly Hall in Woodburn, Oregon.

From Time Magazine

“Ho ho ho!” The man boomed. My younger cousins shrieked in excitement. I grimaced. “Come, sit here.” He beckoned to me. I had wanted this my entire life, to sit on Santa’s lap, to regale him with my Christmas wishes but it felt horrible, sinful. I was twelve years old. I was celebrating Christmas for the first time.

Up until then, I had been raised as a devout Jehovah’s Witness. I’d lived the early years of my life in blissful ignorance of the rest of the world. My father taught me how to read when I was 3 years old, using a children’s illustrated bible. Jehovah was one of the first words I recognized. I was taught that I was special. We lived in a small world of meetings, going door to door, studying the JW literature. We tried to convert people who were not aware of Jehovah and his promise of everlasting life. I was taught to be wary of the world, to look at things with a critical eye, that Satan had his hands in everything.

My dad immigrated to the States from Mexico in the early 1960s. He had come from a small, rural village where everyone knew each other and then he’d been uprooted by my grandmother and brought to Southern California. He didn’t speak the language, he didn’t know anyone and was emotionally disoriented. A couple of Jehovah’s Witness kids approached him, they spoke Spanish, they offered him immediate community. They told him if he joined their religion he’d have what almost no one else had, ever lasting life on earth when the end of the world came in 1977 [75]. Dad signed right up. He met my mom in Brooklyn when he went to study at the JW Capitol in Brooklyn, Bethel. They married in 1975, months shy of when the world was supposed to end. It didn’t. They moved to California.

Our religion didn’t seem to care about children except as future propagandists of the “truth.” There was no Sunday School, no youth groups. There was no fun. Nothing to look forward to except the end of the world. We were expected to be tiny adults. Witnesses had no celebrations, no joy-filled occasions.

A few days before I started kindergarten my parents sat me down to have a serious conversation. They explained that even though I could be nice to the other kids at school, I couldn’t befriend them because they were worldly, they lived lives outside of Jehovah’s approval. I had to make sure I didn’t do anything Jehovah wouldn’t like.

In kindergarten I was the weird kid on the playground talking about how the world was about to end. I learned quickly that the kid who tells everyone they’re going to die in a firestorm isn’t terribly popular.

Holidays were verboten for Witnesses, so my sisters and I found creative ways to endure them. During Halloween we would lock the doors, hide in closets and pretend that the trick-or-treaters were Nazis and that we were Anne Frank, just trying to stay alive.

Every year after Thanksgiving I went into a depression. The weeks leading up to Christmas were painful because I wanted Christmas. I wanted to [believe in] a magical fat man to deliver gifts to me. I wanted something exciting to look forward to. I was ashamed of my desire. Candy canes were my forbidden fruit and when I got my hands on one I’d suck it into a dagger and poke myself in the mouth as penance for enjoying it.

Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t celebrate Christmas for various reasons that made little sense to my childhood mind. Christmas, according to the doctrine, was based on a pagan holiday. Early Christians took Saturnalia, a Roman celebration of the God Saturn, and turned it into Jesus’ birthday.

All Jehovah’s Witness kids were expected to be models of pre-Apocalyptic living, the kind of piety that would reserve us our spot in the “New Order,” the promised utopia that all Witnesses were readying for. The New Order was green pastures; the lion lay with the lamb and it seemed everyone had a baby panda or koala bear. This exquisite promise of paradise was supposed to quell our desire to be attached to the worldly world.

Every December, I covered my depression with a self-righteous rage that made me feel holy. I would stare down the kids around me and think Yeah, go ahead, you enjoy your little Santa and Christmas while you can because you’re gonna die in a firestorm and I’m going to live forever. I used to have elaborate fantasies that the apocalypse would come during recess. The firestorm would begin and all the kids who had celebrated Christmas would be running around, screaming their heads off. They’d see me, protected in a bubble of divine light and run up, begging to be let in. I would shake my head and say, You should have listened to me.

Every year there was a holiday assembly where the whole school would gather to sing Christmas Carols. I wasn’t allowed to attend. I would be sent to the nurses office where I’d sit on my cot. I could hear the kid voices singing from across the hall. I would pray as I struggled not to sing along in my head. It was a battle. It went like this:

Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer

(Dear Jehovah, thank you for eternal life)

Had a very shiny nose!

(Protect me, Jehovah, from their worldy, wordly ways)

And if you ever saw him

(No, Satan! I will. not. sing. along. Satan, nooo!)

You would even say it glows

LIKE A LIGHTBULB!

Oh, Jehovah, I’m so, so sorry.

I was twelve when my mom decided she was sick of waiting for the end of the world, tired of the dogma, and we left the religion. We were immediately ostracized by our friends in the religion because we’d left. I was relieved and terrified. I had lived my entire life as a Witness and I was suddenly expected to forget everything. No more end of the world. Religion had occupied a huge part of my life and then it was gone, and there was nothing left to fill the void. But Christmas was coming.

Our first Christmas party was at a relative’s house. It was what I had wanted my entire life, to be like everyone else. But the Jehovah’s Witness beliefs were ingrained in me by then and belief isn’t a switch you can flip. I couldn’t express my confusion; I was scared if I told my family what I was feeling they would assume I wanted to return to being a Witness.

That Christmas I did what I had always wanted to do, I sat on Santa’s lap. It felt like sitting on Satan’s lap. My capacity for belief in magic and fantasy had dried up. Whispering my wants to Santa wasn’t something that appealed to me anymore. I did it quickly, with a nervous smile, wondering if Jehovah was watching. It took me years to stop wondering if Jehovah was watching.

These days, when my doorbell rings and I open it to find Jehovah’s Witnesses at my door, I am always polite but firm when I tell them I’m not interested. If the Witness happens to have a child with them it takes a lot not to tell the parent you have no idea what you’re doing to your child.

I still don’t celebrate Christmas, I don’t have any emotional attachment to the holiday. I still have to fight off the old blues of exclusion that come creeping back into my life. I’m not an outward grinch but I’m frustrated at how invasive Christmas is, how it permeates almost every aspect of our society. I grieve what could have been but then I remember the religion gave me a gift, it taught me to look at the world with a critical eye.

I start each day with meditation, then a practice of writing down what I am grateful for. Each day I am grateful that I don’t live under Jehovah’s judgmental eye, and that I don’t have to worry about firestorms anymore.

Lizz Huerta is a writer living in Southern California. This article originally appeared on xoJane.com.

“Naming The Goddess”

I recently read a book entitled, “Naming the Goddess” by Trevor Greenfield of Moon Books. It is a collection of essays written by various worshipers of the Goddess, followed by a description of more than 70 Goddesses from around the world.

Part 1 contains 13 essays by people who openly discuss their own personal experiences working with the Goddess.  Readers learn a great deal about how the Goddess culture defines much of society today. For instance, did you know the Statue of Liberty was fashioned after the Roman deity to freedom?

Other subjects include:

• Ancient Goddesses in a Modern World
• Goddess Culture and the Empowerment of Gay Women and Men
• The Role of Goddess in Accepting our Self and our Life-Stage
• The Goddess as a Role Model for Women in Politics
• Reclaiming Sophia and the Saints from the Judeo-Christian Tradition

Part 2 contains the description of 72 Goddess listed in alphabetical order. Numerous contributors share the history and energy of their chosen Goddess, from a variety of pantheons.

I found the personal accounts of these people very interesting. Many had personal experiences with the energy of their patron deity. Some felt called by a long extinct and antiquated divine presence. Many felt it their mission to raise awareness of a regional Goddess who had been nearly forgotten.

I think this book would do well in anyone’s collection as a reference manual for Goddesses and their places in our lives. It is not a complete reference manual, however. For instance, the African pantheon did not seem addressed (outside of Egypt), and I was personally disappointed to find Lilith lacking in the list (my own Goddess of choice).

I enjoyed the book, nonetheless, and would recommend it as a good primer to Goddess worship in general.

 

“Something Wicked This Way Comes”

Today’s blog is going to be a short one. I usually post my blog Monday morning but it is going up Monday evening instead because I had company over the weekend and I was drawing a blank on what to write.

Then it occurred to me–It’s almost October! October is my favorite month. Autumn colors break forth and the world is filled with my favorite colors of orange and red. Vegetation starts to turn yellow and die. Trees become spooky representations of themselves. People start thinking of ghosts, witches, and jack o’ lanterns. Black candles go on sale everywhere. Wind scatters dead leaves around the tombstones of cemeteries. The veil thins as the Witches New Year approaches. We start thinking of the dead. Some have the custom of preparing the favorite meal of a dead relative and leaving an empty chair for the deceased relative to share in the feast.

My favorite part of October, however, is scary, supernatural movies. I have the custom of watching The Exorcist (1973) every year. This year I’m going to read the book as well. I also want to re-watch The Conjuring (2013) and the first Paranormal Activity (2007). I’m looking forward to the new movies coming out: Annabelle and Ouija. I pretty much do a month-long marathon of all things supernatural. (I don’t like slasher movies. They’re just gross, not scary.) I scour cable, Netflix, and Amazon for anything ghostly or demonic. I literally gorge myself on it and by November I have slaked my hunger for horror for a few months. (It usually re-emerges around the end of winter. Last spring I read The Entity, Lovely Bones and Rosemary’s Baby–which reminds me, I wanted to re-watch The Entity [1982]. That would be a good one to add to my list!)

Rumor has it that Poltergeist is being remade. I didn’t like Spielberg’s version. It was too wholesome. I felt like I was watching E.T. I think it has good potential to be a really great supernatural movie if it is done right.

So, how about you? What are your favorite scary movies?

Dreams

At least once a month I dream about Jehovah’s Witnesses. Usually I am at a meeting or assembly wondering why I am attending when I don’t believe anymore. The fact that I am disfellowshipped is always present in my dreams. I am treated differently in each dream. Some JW’s talk to me, some don’t, some are terrified of me.

Roy is always expressing surprise that I should dream about them so much. Apparently, he never does.

Last night, I dreamed I was associating with a JW family who seemed bent on converting me. They didn’t know I was an exjw and I enjoyed being part of a community again. The husband and wife were very kind and hospitable…at first. As the dream went on it became more and more apparent that they wanted something from me. The kindness soon turned to madness. They made it very clear what was expected of me in return for their hospitality. I tried to tell them I was a Df’d ex-JW. They acted like they didn’t hear me. Then I tried to use reason and point out that nobody would want to join their organization because the members were obviously bat-shit crazy. This didn’t get through either. Finally, I shoved the pentagram I wear around my neck in their face and shouted, “I am a witch and an apostate!” They gasped in horror and shrank away from me like they were vampires and I was wielding a crucifix. I turned and bolted for the parking lot only to find my car wasn’t where I had parked it. I saw a mob of large, angry JW men coming after me. I could see violence and hatred in their eyes. I started to run. I couldn’t find my car. The mob was descending. I knew they meant to harm me.

I woke up.

A couple of weeks ago, I dreamed I was in my best friend’s house. We had been inseparable when I was 17-20 years old. I spent a lot of time in that house and was visiting it to see some work that was being done. In the dream I was Df’d, like always. There were crowds of JW’s around me. Some would turn their backs on me when I would approach. Children would break out in hysterical screams if I got too close. I happened to walk by a group of JW’s who were huddled together. From their gray, indistinguishable midst stepped someone I knew. She walked up to me and gave me a hug. She told me how much she had missed me, and how she always loved me. I thanked her for her kindness. I knew she faced the judgment of others just by approaching me and I was honored by her gesture.

I woke up wondering why hers was the only face I could put a name to. Then it occurred to me–was it possible she was dead? I read a book recently by Mary Ann Winkowski called When Ghosts Speak. Mary Ann is a medium who can talk with earthbound spirits. She says that many spirits stick around after they die and neglect to cross over. But the surest way to know if a spirit has crossed over is if they appear in our dreams, which is how they communicate with us from the other side.

I have never had a dream about this particular person I will call Sandy. We travelled to New York together in 1996. She threw me my bridal shower in 2002. I loved her and valued her, but hadn’t seen her in years. I knew her health hadn’t been good. But that’s all I knew.

I contacted a mutual friend on Facebook and found out Sandy had died a few days before.

I felt like Sandy had given me a wonderful gift! It warms my heart to receive validation and love from the other side. She didn’t need to give me that message. I’m not even family. But I wonder if part of the reason I received that message wasn’t because I was the only one open to it. Her entire family is still very much in the collective JW consciousness. I heard Sandy. I recognized the message for what it’s worth, and I honor her for going to the effort to deliver it.

The world really is a magical place!

Review: “When A Pagan Prays” by Nimue Brown

 

I never really liked prayer when I was a Christian. The act of bowing my head in church and listening to somebody else represent my needs to the Divine Father never made me feel connected or represented. I could never close my eyes while standing because vertigo would take over and I would feel myself weaving. My eyes would snap open with visions of me lying sprawled in the aisle. I would stare at my feet, at the backside of the people in front of me, or I would take surreptitious glances around the room to see who else had their eyes open.

My own personal prayers weren’t much better. They always seemed too formal and scripted. “My loving heavenly father…..in Jesus name, Amen.” Sometimes I didn’t want to say those words. I wanted to feel the presence of the divine and telepathically send out my feelings of awe, gratitude, and love.

When I step out into nature and stand before a breathtaking sunset or revel in the power of the ocean, I want to open my arms wide and stare up into the sky with eyes and heart open and receptive. I don’t feel inclined to drop to my knees, bow my head, cross my arms over my chest, and act penitent. Such a position implies humiliation before a disciplining tyrant. Like a dog that’s been whipped too many times and has only learned to cower.

Prayer should be a spiritual experience, not a religious experience. Prayer is the ache which comes from the heart moved beyond words.

As a recovering Christian, I still felt the urge to pray but didn’t know how to go about it without engaging my mind to the exclusion of my heart. For this reason, I decided to read “When a Pagan Prays: Exploring Prayer in Druidry and Beyond” by Nimue Brown.

I’ve read a lot of pagan literature and was anticipating a light-read with this book. I was wrong. Ms. Brown’s approach to prayer was intelligent and scientific. She made many of the same observations I have always felt regarding formalized prayer. She even gives a recipe for successful prayers versus empty prayers. The book is honest and the author reveals her humanity throughout.

I am not a Druid, but I did not feel the information was limited to Druids alone. The information is valuable for anyone who has experienced a spiritual crisis and is finding prayer either a major turn-off or a challenge. In the last pages of the book, the author reveals the changes she has noticed in her life thanks to a regular practice of prayer.

Who does a recovering Christian pray to? This is a question I have asked myself numerous times. I find any word associated with my life as a Christian very off-putting. This includes: God, Jesus, Jehovah, Lord, Heavenly Father, Almighty, etc. When I do attempt prayer I address: Ancestors, Ascended Masters, Spirit Guides, possibly even Archangels since they were not  a prominent part of my Christian instruction. (When I first got started as a Pagan I addressed Goddess, but always felt rather silly so I stopped).

Ms. Brown addresses:

• Who should we pray to?
• Does prayer really works or is it just a placebo?
• The social ethics to praying.
• Different kinds of prayer and different ways of praying.
• Can we live a prayer-filled life? What are the advantages and disadvantages?
• How do we know if our prayers are answered?
• Why isn’t deity more forthcoming with his/her responses?

I found the book very interesting and informative. Ms. Brown admits to being a bit of a wordsmith, so the text sometimes bogs down and turning the pages becomes difficult. It took me all month to read the book, and some of it I scanned through because the information didn’t seem wholly necessary to the overall theme. But I am very glad I finished “When a Pagan Prays: Exploring Prayer in Druidry and Beyond,”  because I found a greater appreciation for the author as a wordsmith, a Pagan, and a woman with struggles and flaws. I recommend it to anyone looking to explore an aspect of humanity that is often taken for granted.

 

 

 

GPS for the Soul

I am still working my way through Eckhart Tolle’s Power of NOW (1999). Something he said made me realize that we have an inner GPS system which pokes us when we aren’t living the life we are meant to live. If we know when to recognize it and listen to its guidance, we will experience greater contentment and a healthier mental state.

On page 27, Tolle says, “The pain that you create now is always some form of nonacceptance, some form of unconscious resistance to what is. On the level of thought, the resistance is some form of judgment. On the emotional level, it is some form of negativity. The intensity of the pain depends on the degree of resistance to the present moment…”

This observation really resonated with me! First, I was reminded of my last few years in the Jehovah’s Witness religion. I was in mental anguish and couldn’t figure out why. I went to see a therapist because of it–something frowned on by JW’s, in general. I was seriously decompensating. I couldn’t focus. I was saying and doing all the wrong things. I thought of death on a daily basis.

After reading the above in Tolle’s book, I now realize that I was resisting something that had become painfully obvious. I don’t know if it was my subconscious mind, authentic self, Higher Self, or Spirit Guides, but something was prodding me to get out and I wasn’t listening.

On more reflection, I could trace similar periods in the past. When I was a full-time minister for Jehovah’s Witnesses back in 1997, I went through another comparable phase. I would break down into tears during the meetings for no particular reason. I attributed it to my own “sinful inclination,” which only made it worse. In this case I decided to leave English and start attending a Spanish Congregation. Things improved for a short time while I was distracted, but the red-eyed monster kept popping up and getting progressively more insistent until I finally figured it out and left the religion.

I’ve been going through something similar in the past few weeks. Since we moved to PA, I have been helping my husband with his Ebay business while my ankle heeled. Initially, I loved going to auctions and researching items and seeing them sell. Then we went to a few auctions where there was a lot of negative energy. I came home distraught. I couldn’t get over the feeling that I was a total fuck up. I got yelled at by a cashier at the local Giant grocery store and left the store crying. I started thinking about death again.

Then I read the above words in The Power of NOW. Was it possible I was causing my own pain with my resistance? “What was I resisting?” I asked myself. That same day, I decided to go back to work doing massage. I had been toying with the idea for a while and finally decided to take the plunge. I felt some fear after making the decision because I have been a basic shut-in for a year.

The next morning, though, I awoke with a whole new perspective. For the first time in weeks, I felt genuine enthusiasm and confidence. Is this what I was resisting? Was my subconscious mind trying to tell me, “You’re not a hustler. You’re a healer!” I went from being afraid of venturing out of the house to eagerness in getting the process started. I couldn’t believe the about-face!

All I can attribute it to is Tolle’s observation that unconscious resistance creates disharmony and pain. It’s like we have this inner GPS system that keeps us on our prescribed path, and lets us know (in no uncertain terms) when we get off-course. All we have to do is recognize the signs and adjust when necessary. Remember, 1) Pain, 2) Judgment, 3) Negativity. If your every thought is consumed with one, or all, of those, ask yourself what you are ignoring that needs attention. Is it your job? Your relationship? Your roommate? For the sake of your mental health, stop resisting and embrace the sweet relief that comes with following your innate guidance system! Resistance is futile.

 

Thursday’s News & Reviews: Armageddon Preppers

From infancy I was taught faithfulness above all else. As a dedicated member of the Watchtower Society, I was trained to accept counsel and direction without question. To question implied a weak faith and vulnerability to the Satanic trait of rebellion.

I remember the first time I chose to disagree with something published by Jehovah’s Witnesses (JW’s). It was 1999. A was laying in bed in a cute little house I rented on the west end of Bend, Oregon. The spring breezes were wafting in the window and stirring the drapes around me. I was reading an article in the latest Watchtower magazine, which discouraged permanent forms of birth control (i.e. vasectomies, tubal ligation, etc.). As a person who never wanted children I found this a veritable death sentence. I didn’t just not want kids. I hated the little buggers! To feel like I was being forced into motherhood was more than I could swallow. The foundation of my faith cracked that day–a profound, irrevocable fissure that would lead to more and more weakening of my faith until the structure finally crumbled.

Fast forward 10 years to 2009. I was attending a meeting at my local Kingdom Hall when I heard a talk on “Go-Bags.” These were handy little receptacles a “faithful” JW would keep packed with essentials in the likelihood of “natural disaster.” They should be kept handy in the trunk of the car in case of instant and life-threatening need. Water, flashlights, batteries, change of clothes, food, compass–whatever one might need in a natural disaster. This talk fell right on the heels of Hurricane Katrina, so it may sound logical to some. It wasn’t logical in Central Oregon. The only natural disaster that threatened that part of the country was volcanic, and it’s not like the Cascade mountains are known for blowing up without warning. (This article in no way discourages disaster preparedness. If you live in an area known for natural disasters, power outages, or extreme weather please make the necessary preparations to protect yourself and your family.)

My bullshit detector went off. I knew the JW “brothers” were intentionally avoiding the mention of Armageddon or the Great Tribulation by couching their warnings in terms like “natural disaster.” For the first time in history, JW’s were being encouraged to prepare for “the end of this system of things” by putting bottles of water and granola bars in backpacks. The brother on the stage even insinuated this was a matter of faith, and the faithful would obey without question.

My bullshit detector was screaming. I’m surprised no one else heard it. One brother did hear about it after the meeting.  I approached him and asked him why he thought we were in danger of hurricane in landlocked central Oregon. He told me any number of other disasters could happen: earthquake, flooding (in the desert?!), spontaneous volcanic explosion, etc.

Up until this point, we had always been trained to believe that Jehovah would protect his followers when Armageddon struck. I told this “brother” that I thought go-bags were showing a lack of faith in God and his ability to take care of his people. I was given a patronizing look that indicated I was a sister and needed to stop asking questions.

So I did the next logical thing: I went to my dad. He had always been my rock. He knew the bible backwards and forwards and had read every piece of literature published by the Watchtower society since the 1940s.

He agreed with me. It was a lack of faith and he felt it was a localized attempt on the part of some area brothers to force others to succumb to doomsday prepping ideals. The fact that dad was an ex-Mormon might have also contributed to his aversion to such an approach.

Dad died a year later, but I wonder if his faith would have survived the latest attempt by the JW’s to force people into fearful scenarios.

Recently, I saw a picture that was posted in the latest copy of the Watchtower. It can be seen above. It shows people hiding in a basement, and an unmistakable look of fear on a child’s face to indicate the gravity of the situation. Undoubtedly, they are hiding from the rampant anarchy taking place over their heads. I imagine sounds of helicopters, bombing air raids, the shrieks of the dying, and the pop of gunfire. I can imagine those sounds because they haunted my dreams as a child raised with images of Armageddon and torture.

I have recently been informed that JW’s are now required to select a safe place to flee to in time of “Natural disaster.” Once a family, or group, have selected their “place of refuge,” they are to report this to the local elders who make a written record and share it with the Circuit Overseer, who then passes it on to the headquarters. This isn’t just a whimsical fantasy to make easily impressionable people excited over the prospects of global annihilation. All JW’s are required to submit a written document of their chosen place of hiding. (Is anybody else seeing images of Jonestown right about now?)

I spent 38 years deeply entrenched in that religion. They’re not about to drink any Kool-Aid, in spite of what their actions may sometimes indicate. I see this as nothing more than another ploy to keep people unstable and afraid. A lot has happened in the last 100 years of that organization, except for the one thing millions of people have lived, and died, for: Armageddon. After more than 10 decades of promising that “Armageddon is just around the corner,” if the JW leaders didn’t find a new tactic for threat and rescue they would start losing credibility.

I have to say, it’s a pretty good scheme. Twenty years ago, I would have been eating this stuff up. It would be so exciting to imagine my flight to some wilderness as the world fell apart and billions died at the hand of God. But I know that religion, and I know those people. I would be willing to bet you money that many of them have already initiated their flight. Just as in 1975 when many of them quit school and sold their assets in hopes of the imminent arrival of Armageddon, I am sure many are repeating those same horrible mistakes. The Ebola outbreak; the riots; the extreme weather–some serious bridges are being burned right about now, all in the name of faith.

Keep your eyes open. You might see some houses go on the market in hopes of a quick sale. If you are in the janitorial field, you might be able to pick up some new accounts as JW’s flee the western world to live in caves and bomb shelters. The most positive aspect of all this? If they are in hiding, at least they’re not knocking on our doors.

Fear Promotes Ignorance

Shortly after I stopped being one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, I was introduced to an amazing tool that has been invaluable to me on this journey–The Tarot. In the three years since I started learning Tarot, I have been amazed how it depicts the ups-n-downs of life, the major life lessons, and the paths that bring us greater success. Its wisdom is incredible and it never ceases to amaze me.

I have traced my entire life’s journey with Tarot and predicted challenging times, including the sale of our house, the death of my husband’s mother, and the breaking of my leg last year. It’s the most valuable tool I possess.

So, perhaps you will understand why I became incredibly incensed by a conversation I encountered on Facebook recently. I just started an advanced Tarot class through Biddy Tarot. The webinar has created a group page for students to interact, trade readings, and post our homework. One of my fellow Tarot readers asked how many of the students hid their Tarot from censuring friends and family. I was amazed, and angered, to find that many did. One attorney can’t even bring his deck into his house because his ex-wife has threatened to take him back to court over child custody if the deck is even under the same roof as their kids.

Is our society really so slow to evolve that people with alternative beliefs still feel they have to hide from puritanical witch hunts?! It’s the 21st Century! How are we, as a society, supposed to evolve to the next level of enlightenment if we keep hiding who we are from narrow-minded Neanderthals?!

People who are judgmental and narrow-minded are the ones who should be forced to hide. Society shouldn’t support their attitude, nor fear their judgment. The world is evolving away from such limiting paradigms. The more we hide, the longer it will take for ignorant superstitious fears to be eliminated by human evolution. We’ve become so conscious of “other people’s feelings” we have become a society of apologizers and doormats. Those of us who actually worry about offending others end up enabling such ones to keep their ignorant, barbaric perceptions. Growth requires change. Change requires exposure to new paradigms. If people who are afraid of change must hide to protect their paradigm, let them. Let them hold onto their ignorance! If we hide from such ones we are contributing to their ignorance. We are hiding our authenticity behind fear of criticism.

Never fear censure, but fear a society ruled by fear.