A son of Prometheus.

Described as a writer "in the tradition of Hemingway and Orwell," atheist Christopher Hitchens' voice might arguably have been among the most significantly articulate for earth-spiritual people to hear and understand. His recent death, at age 62 to pneumonia as a complication to esophageal cancer, robs enlightened people everywhere of a powerful presence.

Does it seem contradictory that a man who tirelessly argued against mysticism and belief and superstition might be praiseworthy among people who, to some, might be among the most mystical and, on the face of it, superstitious in all religious communities? Pause and reflect.

In articulating how organized religion has become an abhorrent threat to thinking and free people the world over, and how religion arguably is the primary source for most hatred and violence in the world, Hitchens did more than petulantly thumbnose the icons of religious doctrines. Perhaps it was not so much that "God" was his enemy as it was what he described as the "theocratic fascists" of the world, those people whose alleged devotion to any variety of a Supreme Deity brought them down the path toward hurtfulness, hate, and control. His enemy was the institutionalization of faith and the violent discord, from any number of doctrines, that such organization seemed to inevitably let loose upon the world for centuries.

Judeo-Christian theologians, particularly fundamentalist Christian media pundits, loved attempting to take Hitchens to task. Consistently, they found themselves intellectually unarmed however, as Hitchens' humanistic genius found itself coupled with his inexhaustible literary experience as a journalist, critic, essayist, editor: an analyst of words and its power. But as they attempted to defend the merits of their beliefs, many of these same monotheist theologians seemed to miss a consistent underlying point within almost all of Hitchens' arguments: that it is the imposition of belief, not the individual presence of belief, that is a danger to society.

This is a point which, I desperately hope, all Pagan spiritual people can agree with.

Hitchens was not, as some of his detractors would have you think, entirely unawed by what some people might characterize as sacred. In one interview, he agreed that holding his infant children filled him with enough awe that he asked himself if it were possible that some supernatural comprehension could exist. Speaking during one of the many symposiums he gleefully participated in, he implied that any belief that could found itself on the empowerment of women might actually succeed in bringing more good than harm into the world. In both voice and written word, he reminded us, again and again and again, that any institutionalization that contributes to divisiveness, discord, and disharmony in any way whatsoever ultimately only contributes to anguish in the world.

No community of religious or spiritual people is entirely homogenous in its understanding and celebration of whatever it is it identifies as "sacredness." Even among One True believers, there really is no such thing as a one true belief, as the feral complexity of both the human spirit and imagination is simply too expansive. Hitchens himself, a militant atheist, did not acknowledge any sort of anthropomorphic personified divinities, and he happily ridiculed that any such personification could be acceptable to intelligent people. Most theists would cry out in angered frustration.

Yet many deists (and here, arguably, I could include pantheists, panentheists, and henotheists) can appreciate the broadness of scope that arguments like Hitchens' could contribute to spiritual discourse. Even if one were to completely disagree with Hitchens' atheism, the bedrock of his arguments nevertheless aid enlightened and thinking people into powerful directions of thought. These directions demand that everyone, spiritual or nonspiritual alike, fearlessly examine the nuances and messages and repercussions associated with whatever belief system we've chosen.

Ultimately, how can any compassionate person anywhere, participating in any community, not find merit and importance in reflecting upon that? We may find ourselves uncomfortably "doubting" foundations of belief, but then that would beg the question: is it wrong to "doubt" a belief that, upon critical observation, is fundamentally hurtful or hateful or divisive? When does a healthy message become superceded by an unhealthy method? And if the message itself can be found to be unhealthy, how long can it expect to be sustained, and what might it suggest about the people who would choose to so sustain it?

Celebrating Isaac, celebrating community.

I didn't know Isaac Bonewits at all well, which is to say that I vaguely remember shaking his hand and briefly hanging with him at some FreeSpirit Gathering some time in the past. I might have been present in a ritual that he facilitated. I did give him a lot of airplay when I was doing the Between The Worlds radio broadcast in Massachusetts after he released Be Pagan Once Again on cassette.

Good, stout heathen stuff, that.

The one time I really spoke with him was on the phone, doing an information-gathering interview concerning Scott Cunningham. Isaac had details about Cunningham's medical condition, who was about to succumb to spinal meningitis. I didn't know anything about spinal meningitis at the time, and Isaac playfuly laughed at me when I foolishly asked if Scott's condition was serious. Way to go, Devyn.

Gods know there are many biographical tributes going on concerning him, his life's work, and his monumental contributions to the global Pagan community, so far be it from me to attempt to make another one. It's excellent enough that Peg Aloi of Witches' Voice and Jason of Wild Hunt have already provided us with some. Deborah Lipp offered some very classy words through her Facebook account. But after Margot Adler shares the relevance of one's life on National Public Radio, one wee little upstart blog like this can't really add much. That's an excellent thing.

This morning, I had the opportunity to help in some small way, being that I'm acquainted with the excellent people providing the services to Isaac and his family. I was privileged to acquire the details concerning the family's wishes should (when) others formulate their own ritual tributes to him, and it feels good to have been one of the people to help get that kind of word out.

(Namely, the family requests that all rites honouring Isaac feature three key points: that they be joyful celebrations of his life, that a cup is raised to him, and that the song "Into The West" (Annie Lennox) is performed or played.)

But all of this has also given me pause for thought to appreciate not only Isaac as a person and as a teacher, but also how the growth of the Pagan community over the last several decades has enabled this kind of outpouring of respect and appreciation for one of its respected own, and what that kind of outpour could express to the general public. I mean, his departure was cited on NPR.

Most Paganfolk can probably hope for a service that might only vaguely represent their beliefs. I've known some who, after their death, rituals were held in secret and/or separated from the blood relatives of the deceased family.

The High Priestess whose covenmates met in secret on the beach to honour her life and work. The High Priest whose entire life as such was kept secret from his own wife, and whose friends also had to mark his death in secret. The young man in Oshawa for whom my then-partner and I acquired flowers from a local funeral home so we could facilitate a ritual for him in our house. The beautifully creative woman who was murdered in Massachusetts, and the stern but necessary request that all attendees at her wake refrain from wearing or saying anything that smacked of Pagan practice.

Very few, if any, of us are going to make the kind of undeniable mark that Isaac Bonewits did. But, compared to the days when those identifying themselves as Witches might likely face harassment, forced psychological assessments, police suspicion, or even assault, that such a person's funerary rites can be so publicly present, so representative of what this community means, takes all of us one step forward. In a sense, even in his agrieved departure, a man like Isaac Bonewits continues to serve the Gods and Their children by showing the world around him that an alternatively spiritual person's life can be celebrated on its own terms, unapologetically, without quantifying explanation, and nobody has to repress anything to participate in it. What greater thing can be said of a man who spent his life sharing his research and passion, his attitude and perseverance, his wit and refusal to tolerate nambypamby nonsense in the tribe?

Perhaps, when it becomes our time to Go, our families and peers will be that much more aware, understanding, and appreciative of who and what we have been also.

I wish I had had the opportunity to know you better, sir. Thank you for all that you are, were, and remain. There'll be a bell for you come Samhain.

Speaking ashiko in a djembe world.

Ed Buczynski was a mover an' a shaker in the 1970s New York City Pagan community, and he went on to establish much of the Welsh tradition Craft movement (as well as the Minoan Brotherhood) that I would much later become involved with when I was a kid. (The Welsh groups. Not the Minoans. I'm het.) I remember wanting to meet him, having read some of his writing and working at the time with some of his contemporaries. Standing near that water fountain that made up part of the Magickal Childe's very earthy front door shrine, I asked shop proprietor Herman Slater if this would be possible.

"No fuckin' way," he replied with his patented-but-beloved sharpness. "He's underground." It was the first time I had heard that term, and Herman left a depth to it that hung in the air like burning valerian. I've been thinking about this memory lately.

I suppose I've been underground, in one way or another, for a few years now. Personal circumstances, life, work, and changes in the pattern of some past social connections in the community took enough breath from me that perhaps I lost my voice for a while. That's a challenging thing when you're normally a Type-A personality with an attitude and a desire to make a positive difference in the world around you. It's been years since I last facilitated an open circle, or taught a workshop, or even held a private sabbat feast in my home.

So it was only with a little apprehension that I attended the recent Toronto Pagan Pride Day with my partner, and I'm pleased for it. Because of a firm belief that everyone should pitch in and participate in community events, it gladdened me to make myself available to its coordinators. While some attendees suggested that its turnout was small this year, for me it was an intimate enough event to stretch my spiritual legs in again and a large enough event to make some new friends and rekindle with old ones. This aging oak enjoyed the sweetwater it was offered, which is probably the most one can hope to say about such an event. Nice. Good job, guys.