The Twelve Wild Swans

by Starhawk

  Now take some time and discuss how you cross other people’s boundaries. Are you aware of them? What techniques do you use to push past them?

  Again, take turns trying to hold your anchor and your boundaries while your partner uses your favored technique for crossing boundaries. How does it feel to have your limits pushed with your own techniques?

  Reclaiming is not a rule-bound tradition. With our anarchist roots, we tend to resist restrictions and to worship freedom. Yet when we become leaders and teachers, we sometimes need to hold stricter boundaries than we would if we were not in those roles.

  Baruch, whose training as a therapist encompassed many of the experimental therapies of the 1970s and 1980s, recalls a saying from a neo-Janovian primal therapy group: “One of the instructions I received was that everything that happens between you and the client is relevant to the work. Part of the magic of the work is that amazing unintentional things happen that perfectly augment and support the work. The line was: ‘As long as you don’t fight with them, sleep with them, or do drugs with them, whatever you do in the context of the work will fit.’”

  Those boundaries mirror the ones we keep as teachers. Our Witchcamps and public rituals are drug and alcohol free, in part to provide a safe place for those recovering from addictions, and in part to establish the clear base of energy we need for doing serious group magic. In our daily lives, we might enjoy a beer on a hot day or a glass of wine with dinner, but if we’re teaching at a camp that is drug and alcohol free, we must respect that boundary. If a group of campers sneaks behind the outhouse and smokes a joint, they might get away with ignoring the agreement that makes the camp a safe place for those recovering from addictions. But if a teacher or organizer were to join them, it would demolish the integrity and trust of the circle.

  We also set a boundary for teachers and student teachers around sexual intimacy with campers for the duration of a camp. Many of us also hold this boundary with our students in classes and workshops. In a Witchcamp, we feel that teaching a path in the morning, attending meetings in the afternoon, and putting on an intense ritual at night for a week at a time, as well as being on call to resolve crises and dealing with the interpersonal dynamics of ten strong-willed and psychic fellow teachers, should really be enough excitement for anyone without adding the thrill of a new affair. If a teacher has an ongoing relationship with a partner who comes to camp, the rule is of course relaxed.

  In part, the boundary exists because we need the focus of each teacher to remain on the work. It also exists, however, because of the unequal power dynamics created when someone is in the role of spiritual teacher. Teachers acquire a glamour, and in camp we are out of our normal setting and extended community, so that glamour is not tempered by the demands of daily life or the presence of those who have known us at our worst for decades. The power issue does not apply for all campers, who are, after all adults, but it sometimes surfaces in unexpected ways, especially when other issues of gender or age are factored in. Many people have been sexually abused as children or adults. When a person in a role of responsibility and authority acts out sexually in a group, it can restimulate all the old pain and replay the destructive dynamics.

  Teaching is a role of service. Part of the spell we weave is the creation of the group. When the teacher singles someone out for special attention or sexual favors or responds to someone’s advances, the energy of the group no longer flows in a circle but twines into knots. “It’s kind to acknowledge the energy,” David says, “whether it’s sexual or quasi-sexual or not sexual at all. But within the context of leading the circle, it’s important not to play favorites, not to direct your energy, sexual or otherwise, to one or two, but to hold open the opportunity for everyone to connect with you, whether they see you as Dad or Mom or sexual object or whatever.”

  When the group dissolves, the camp is over and the spell is broken. At that point, we are free to act on our desires.

  Teaching magic is a special role. We take on some level of responsibility for guiding and directing another person’s spiritual life, the place where they are most vulnerable and tender. When Hilary and I taught a Teacher’s Path together, we began with an exercise she invented:

  Precious Object Exchange

  Everyone is told to bring a precious object to the first meeting of the class. The class is divided into partners, who exchange their objects. As a symbol of the trust invested in us as teachers, each person must care for her partner’s precious object for the duration of the course. At the end of the course, the objects are returned to their owners.

  Jealousy Ritual

  In our story, Rose’s mother-in-law is deeply jealous of her. In real life, one of the major reasons we attack each other is out of jealousy, although we rarely admit to that motivation.

  Part of our Outer Path work is to understand the jealousy that arises in groups, to look at our own jealousy, and to find ways to continue to come from love and compassion.

  The teaching team for the German Witchcamp created the following ritual in the summer of 1998.

  In sacred space, we lit a fire in the center of the circle. After giving the women (it was an all women’s camp) time to ground and center, we asked them to take time to consider when in their lives had they felt jealousy and when they had been hurt by the jealousy of others.

  We formed a large circle around the fire. The teachers modeled the ritual process for the students. One of us stood forward, spoke of something she was jealous of, and invited others who had felt that to also stand with her: “I am Starhawk, and I am deeply jealous of my neighbor’s broccoli that always grows so much bigger than mine. And if you’ve been jealous of someone else’s success, stand with me.”

  Whoever in the circle felt called to do so would swoop forward, stand in the center for a moment, and then step back.

  Another priestess would step into the center: “I am Margot, and I am jealous of women who are young and beautiful. And if you have felt that, stand with me.”

  After a few of us had spoken, students began to chime in. When we had heard many varieties of jealousy, we shifted the focus to when we had been hurt by jealousy.

  “I am Claudia, and I was hurt as a child by my sister’s jealousy. And if you have felt the same, stand with me.”

  When all had had a chance to speak, we raised a cone of power to transform our jealousy, and then grounded it.

  In the story we were working with, the beautiful Vasa Lisa’s jealous stepsisters put out their hearth fire so she would have to go to the fearful Baba Yaga to get fire. Suddenly, at the end of the ritual, the loud, screeching voices of the stepsisters cried out, “Vasa Lisa, you stupid girl! You’ve let the fire go out!” Three buckets of water were tossed on the fire to douse it.

  The fire smoldered and hissed for a long time as we stood around it in the dark and the cold. The act was a more powerful lesson than a thousand sermons on how jealousy can destroy the warmth of community.

  When I find myself overcome with envy of my neighbor’s vegetables, or her rosebush that blooms so heavily without any of the care I give mine, or any of the thousand other things I’m capable of working up a fit of envy over, I have to stop and shift my energy before I tumble into a destructive spiral that leads down into self-pity and blame. Jealousy arises from a sense of emptiness or lack. It is a sign of low self-esteem, an indication that we feel lesser than someone else. When I’m jealous, I lose sight of the gifts I have, and I can’t see the beauty of my own garden.

  Gratitude transforms jealousy. When we are grateful, we pay attention to what we have been given, not what we lack. In the Goddess tradition, we are always invoking the powers and elements, calling them in, asking for what we want. We would do well to learn from the Iroquois Nations, who begin every ceremony, council, or meeting with a Thanksgiving Address in which they express gratitude to the four elements, the sun, moon, and stars, the people, plants and animals, and the spirit. The prayer may go on for hours, as every aspect of the natu
ral world is thanked. But when it is done, the people are brought into a sense of harmony and peace, filled with awareness of all the precious gifts of nature.

  Gratitude Meditation

  Create your own Thanksgiving Address. Ground and center. To create sacred space, instead of calling in the elements, thank them. Speak or write out your gratitude to the air and the birds and flying insects, to the fire and the sun, to the waters and all the water creatures, to the earth and all the plants and animals and the soil bacteria and fungi, to the center, to your human community and relations, to the moon and stars and the cosmos above us and to the depths beneath our feet, to the ancestors, to the Goddess and God. Take your time.

  Make this part of your regular daily practice, especially in times of jealousy or stress.

  Up until now, we’ve been talking about withstanding other people’s projections. In some situations, however, we may want to deliberately create a projection. Sometimes it’s not enough just to be powerful; we also need to appear powerful, or beautiful, or wise. In The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley describes priestess Morgaine le Fey as a tiny, dark woman who could, when she desired, appear larger than life and awe inspiring.

  Thorn is a slightly built woman with a dancer’s grace. For many years she has worked in a soup kitchen in San Francisco that serves the homeless. She often intervenes in potentially violent encounters. “Since I have years of experience, I can instantly ground myself,” Thorn says. “And when I’m grounded, I can pull up energy to expand my aura. People have said to me after I’ve broken up a fight, ‘You got so big!’ That’s what they’re seeing. It helps when dealing with someone bigger than me. Some of these guys are over six feet tall; they could kill me, but they’ll listen to me.”

  A glamour is an important tool for emergency situations, but it must be based on real power, or it can shift into inflation. A glamour works best when it represents a physical expression of a quality you actually have. Thorn may not be big physically, but energetically, emotionally, and spiritually she’s one strong woman!

  “I also listen,” Thorn says. “In our tradition, we’re so used to witnessing each other and really trying to listen to each other, giving each other space to speak. When I’m grounded and centered I can really listen to the person, look them in the eye, let them know that I’m present for them, and that helps calm them. To regain my equilibrium, I do deep breathing exercises, all the things I do in my daily practice. Practice makes magic instantaneous. You don’t have to do a big ritual to make magic happen. I don’t have time to stop and cast a circle every time I need help. It’s magic on the go.”

  Pomegranate describes her glamour as “putting on the priestess robe that makes me ten feet tall.” Practice the following meditation so that when you need a glamour, you can throw on your robe quickly and easily and remember to take it off again.

  Creating a Glamour

  Take time to reflect for a moment on a situation in which you might need a glamour. Maybe you walk home alone each night from the bus stop through a dangerous neighborhood, and you want to project an aura of physical strength and confidence. Or maybe you are a paramedic, and you want to be able to project calm, confidence, and competence at the scene of an accident. Whatever your situation is, let your imagination create a garment that embodies the qualities you wish to project. It might look like Superman’s cape or resemble your uniform with magical symbols invisibly embroidered on it. Make your visualization clear and detailed.

  Breathing deeply, use your anchor to your core self. Meditate on the qualities that your glamour embodies, and let yourself feel and sense where those qualities do indeed exist within you. Breathe them into your anchor.

  Now, remaining anchored, imagine that you put on your garment. As you do, your aura changes. It may become larger or take on different energetic qualities. Let your garment shape your aura.

  Walk around in the circle, letting yourself interact with others and feeling what your glamour does for you. Keep returning to your anchor, and notice the ways in which your glamour is different from a state of inflation.

  When you are ready, take off your garment. Consciously let go of your glamour. Imagine a place where you can keep this garment, ready to serve you at a moment’s notice.

  Again use your anchor to your core state. Give yourself a brushdown, or request one from a friend. Then discuss what you experienced.

  “I would add one caution regarding the use of glamour,” Pomegranate says. “And that is the use of glamour to shore up the ego. When glamour is used, it should be used in a way that is empowering rather than ego gratifying. You might be tempted to use it when you’re losing an argument or when you are having a bad-hair day, but it is far better to ask, ‘Do I really need to win this argument, and why?’ or ‘Why do I feel bad about myself?’ or ‘Will this use of glamour enhance the situation for everyone or only for myself? Will it distract me from my personal work or help me with knowing myself better?’”

  Character Work

  In ritual drama, we may also consciously create a character, take on the persona of another being. We might portray a Goddess, God, ancestor, or character in the story we’re working with.

  Marnie, who brings her background in theater and mask work into ritual, tells us, “In character work, you keep all your brains and self-awareness working on many levels. You must have two things very clear in your head and your body: one is your intention for the ritual, and the second is to give yourself over, your body especially, to your character, to honor your character, aspect, Goddess, or messenger, and ‘let them do it.’”

  Properly done, character work can become a tool of self-awareness. Marnie continues: “You have to trust who you are so that you can ‘become’ another. You have to have the guts to experience your own true self, and not hold a cardboard ‘pretend’ character in front of you as protection. The more fully you can play your part, the deeper the experience. And you get to have a lot of fun!”

  Following is an exercise she suggests for exploring character work.

  Character Play

  Ground, center, and anchor to your core state of being. Take some time, and choose a character you would like to explore, perhaps someone who represents an aspect of yourself, positive or negative, that you want to learn more about. You might want to experience Rose’s dedication or learn more about the mother-in-law’s jealousy.

  When you’re ready, begin walking slowly around the room. Let your body begin to transform, becoming heavier, lighter, older, fatter. End by transforming your eyes and seeing the world through your character’s eyes. Step out of the way so that your character can have full swing, but don’t go any further than you can get back from.

  How do other people look to you? What changes in your body, your internal dialogue, your energy and aura, your emotions? How does this character perceive the world?

  Your transformed body works as your anchor. If something challenges your concentration, focus on your transformed body. Interact with the characters around you.

  When you are ready to come back, again walk slowly around the circle. Let your character go, and let your body and walk return to normal. When you’ve finished, again anchor to your core state of being, and exchange brushdowns. Take time to discuss your experience in pairs or in the group.

  In character work, we retain full responsibility for everything our character does or says. Whopping someone over the head with a bone might be perfectly in character for the Angry Hag, but we must resist the temptation no matter how deeply we’ve gone into the role. We can’t unleash a jealous tirade against a friend and then claim, “The stepsister made me do it.” We are responsible for controlling our characters’ impulses.

  Aspecting

  Character work borders on aspecting: embodying and giving voice to an aspect of the Goddess. Aspecting is a lighter form of trance possession, a ritual practice in which the priestesses open fully to the presence of the Goddess, Gods, or ancestors. Gardnerian priestesses J
udy Harrow and Mevlannen Beshderen have gifted Reclaiming with their articulation of four levels of aspecting work:

  ENHANCEMENT: The state in which your ordinary consciousness is deepened, your words flow freely, insights come, and creativity awakens.

  INSPIRATION: When the words and images or sounds and movements seem to flow through you. Musicians, dancers, and even we word-bound writers often reach this state.

  INTEGRATION: When you and the Goddess/aspect/character become one. You are the music, the dance, the characters in your novel. But you are still present, still capable of coming out of this state, and still responsible for your words and actions.

  TRANCE POSSESSION: When you disappear, or retreat into a small corner of your consciousness, and the Gods take over. You are no longer responsible for your actions or for bringing yourself back into your normal consciousness.

  In Reclaiming, we work in states of enhancement and inspiration. Indeed, most ritual training and techniques are designed to bring participants into those states. To do character work that borders on integration and beyond, we need to have a strong personal practice of grounding and anchoring. Deep integration and states that border on possession require personal instruction and a strong collective container. They cannot be learned from books. In traditions such as the Yoruban that practice full trance possession, years of study, training, and initiation are required, and priestesses live lives circumscribed by many taboos and elaborate rituals. In their ceremonies, the person who goes into trance is supported by others who care for her, who protect her and other participants from the Gods’ wilder impulses, and who bring her back to human consciousness afterward. Without such a strong structure, trance possession can be extremely dangerous.

  The lighter levels of character work can be deeply enriching precisely because we retain awareness and can gain insights available only through our human consciousness. “You learn the depths of what you are, as you learn from whatever is coming through you,” Marnie says. She describes a ritual in which she played one of the daughters of Hel, the Norse death Goddess. “I was living in a cold gray place, caught between life and death, condemned to stay in this hopeless place forever. Now, this was a wonderful experience. I drew from my own life, from those days, weeks, months I had sometimes spent in depression and despair. I knew this place. It was not once removed from me, and so I went there, using that as my metal to form this character. I roamed all over the camp. As the daughter of Hel I would approach someone alone in the woods. They might wink and gesture to Marnie, but it was the daughter of Hel who looked back through a desolate space. One or two campers, after smiling at first, wailed for real. Some were shocked as Hel strode through the labyrinth, cutting all the paths willy-nilly. The intent and the transformed body kept the character in place, and the experience of living that despair out in service of the Goddess was truly an amazing gift.”