I'm Not Sorry My Bird Died

A few weeks ago, my father called me. He told me that my pet bird, Jack, a deep-green and bubbly parakeet, had passed away. Dad told me that he had found Jack’s body on the bottom of the cage that morning as he had been feeding the small aviary that is my room. The news was a bit disheartening but not all that surprising. Jack was the first bird that I had ever gotten. He was over ten years old, had been through multiple wives and children, and had recovered from a compound fracture all of his own accord. The fact that he survived as long as he did was a miracle in itself. Still, I knew that I was going to miss the jolly little guy.

“I’m sorry,” my dad finished, and with these two words, something inside of me snapped. Sorry? What was he sorry for? I didn’t get it. Jack had led a long and very fulfilling life: He had loved and been loved; he had been spunky right up until the end; and he had propagated enough baby budgies to create a small, bird-brained army. It all seemed like a pretty great story to me. So what on earth was my dad sorry for? I did not understand it, and to be honest, I still don’t.

I have heard it said that we cry at funerals because we are selfish. While I do not fully endorse this statement, I do think that there is a certain bit of truth in it. When we mourn a death, we are often upset because we have ‘lost’ a person in our lives. Instead of focusing on the deceased, we focus on ourselves, wallowing in our own self-misery. Likewise, when we speak to the deceased’s relatives and friends, we often say that we are ‘sorry for their loss.’ Yet, is this really appropriate? Is this ‘I’m sorry’ attitude really beneficial? I personally do not think so.

We say that ‘we’re sorry.’ Okay. But what are we really sorry for? Are we sorry for the person’s life: sorry for all of the great things that he had done; sorry for all of the lessons that she had learned; sorry for all the trials and tribulations that made him a stronger and better person? No, we are not sorry for these things. That would be absurd.

Are we sorry, then, for the person’s death? Some may say that this is the case, but that also seems absurd. Death is a natural part of life. It is the only thing that is absolutely sure in life: You will die. It is a necessary experience: You need to die. If we truly care about someone, why would we ever try to take away what that person needs? Thus if the person needs to die, but we are sorry about his death, can we really say that we care about the person? No. Death is natural, necessary, and even wonderful. Without death, there could be no life—all life feeds on death. They are truly inseparable! To be sorry about someone’s death, then, is to be sorry about someone’s life. Surely, this is not what we mean when we say ‘we’re sorry.’

Perhaps we are not sorry for the deceased but are sorry instead for the living. Perhaps we are sorry that they have to experience such a profound sense of loss. Indeed, this is what many people would say that they are truly sorry for. Yet this, too, seems absurd if we really think about it. Yes, experiencing loss is disheartening, but why does that make it alright for us to be sorry about it? Loss has the potential to make people stronger. It can be the fuel we need to better ourselves. When we can accept loss and move beyond it, we can begin creating new meanings in our lives. If someone we love dies, our loss helps to teach us about the true meaning of love; it helps open us up to new possibilities to love and to be loved. In short, it teaches us how to love in a deeper and more meaningful way. Why should we be sorry for this? If we are sorry for this, are we not just causing the loss to fester, thus preventing ourselves and others from moving beyond this loss, from growing from it? It is like scratching a wound—if we never leave it alone, we can never expect it to heal.

My grandfather died a little less than a year ago. I miss him dearly, but I would never say that I am sorry that he is gone. To say this would mean that I want him back, that I want him to be alive again. But I don’t. My grandfather died due to complications of Parkinson’s. For the last few weeks of his life, he was in extreme pain, so extreme that he had to be continually medicated. In turn, the medication made him unresponsive. He spent the final days before his death lying in bed, phasing in and out of semi-consciousness. Yes, I miss my grandfather, but I would never want him to be back in this situation. I would never want him to suffer solely for my comfort of having him physically present again.

I suppose that I could say that I am sorry for the manner in which he died, that I am sorry he had to suffer. Yet, life is an intersectionality—an arena wherein many identities come together. Suffering was a part of my grandfather’s life; it was a part of him. To be sorry for his suffering, then, is to be sorry that a piece of him existed. I cannot do this. I loved my grandfather for the whole person that he was, even if it included suffering. His suffering gave us the relationship that we had, and I loved and continue to love that relationship. His suffering also taught me how to be strong, and I do not, could not regret that.

Apart from learning how to be strong, during his life, my grandfather taught me a lot of things. He taught me the importance of family, the meaning of hard work, and the need for compassion. I cherish these lessons, and even past his death, his example continues to inspire me. No, I am not sorry for what my grandfather’s life taught me.

My grandfather’s death taught me equally as much as his life. Seeing my family take care of his funeral arrangements reinforced what my grandfather’s life had taught me about familial solidarity: Family takes care of itself. Seeing so many wonderful people at his funeral taught me that it is possible to create lifelong friendships. And seeing my grandfather in his casket made me re-believe in the indefinable nature of the soul. No, I am not sorry for what grandfather’s death and all that it has taught me.

Now, a year later, I look back on my grandfather’s demise, on the night that my mother had called me to tell me of his passing, and I can still feel and remember the deep sense of loss that I experienced. But, I am not sorry for this. The sense of loss I experienced only served to reinforce the lessons that I had learned from my grandfather’s example. When I feel the loss, I am reminded to be the best person that I can; I am reminded to live as honorably as my grandfather did. No, I am not sorry for my loss; I am proud of it.

Life, death, loss, and mourning all go hand-in-hand. They are all natural parts of existence, all needed. To regret one of these, to be ‘sorry’ about one of these, is to degrade them all. When we adopt the attitude of ‘I’m sorry,’ we refuse to let ourselves—and to let others—move beyond the sense of loss; we refuse to grow. We become selfishly attached to our wallows. It is only when we let go of our ‘I’m sorry’ attitude that we can begin to heal, to learn, and indeed, to live.

Death is a part of life and all life can be beautiful if we create it to be so, and I am not sorry for this beauty.

Teasing Out Festivals

I posted the following on my Facebook account a few weeks ago, hoping to incite some discussion. Unfortunately, that has not happened. So, I have decided to press my luck in a new direction and post this conversation here on the blog. If nothing else, it can at least be archived for later.

A few weeks ago on Witches’ Voice, there was an article discussing a Kemetic (Egyptian) presentation of the Wheel of the Year. In her essay, the author argued that, while the majority of the festivals in the Wheel are of European origin, their themes are common to Egyptian mythology and thus the festivals can be celebrated within an Egyptian context.

For those who wish to read the article, it can be found here: http://www.witchvox.com/va/dt_va.html?a=ukgb2&c=holidays&id=14499

This article leaves a question in my mind, and I am wondering what you all think of this situation: Is the author of this article really celebrating the festivals in the Wheel of the Year?

For example, let’s take a look at Samhain: Is the author really celebrating Samhain?

In her Kemetic construction of the Wheel, the author terms Samhain as ‘the festival of the dead,’ and she places her emphasis on the myth of Osiris’ mummification. Certainly these are common themes within the festival of Samhain, but does that make the author’s celebration Samhain out-right?

Taking a look at the history of Samhain, we find that it is a Gaelic agricultural festival used to mark the last harvest, the end of summer, the beginning of winter, and to commemorate the dead. Even modern Pagan 101 books often define Samhain as a Celtic fire festival of the last harvest and of the dead. But what happens when we take out the ‘Gaelic/Celtic’ and ‘fire festival’ parts from the definition—as the author of the article has done. Is it still fair to term the celebration as Samhain? Or has it become something else?

Without the designation of ‘Gaelic/Celtic’ and ‘fire festival,’ our definition of Samhain is left as ‘a festival of the last harvest and of the dead.’ Is this really a fair way to define the culturally-specific and indeed culturally important festival of Samhain? And if this is the definition, was my Thanksgiving last year, in fact, a celebration of Samhain? (After all, Thanksgiving certainly has roots in commemorating the harvest, and my grandfather had just passed away, so the family said some special prayers for him.)

Or, is Samhain—and any festival, for that matter—just a manner of date. If someone celebrates a festival on October 31, is it okay for them to call it a Samhain celebration, whether or not it has anything to do with the historical celebration for which it is named? Yet, if this is the case, those people who celebrate Samhain on the nearest full moon or who are more traditional and actually celebrate the festival on the day of the last local harvest would not be celebrating Samhain. So is this really a fair judgment?

Perhaps, then, Samhain is not about the actual date but more about the time of the year. It does not matter if you celebrate on October 31 but that you celebrate in autumn. But, with this logic, would a complete El Dia de los Muertos celebration be considered a Samhain festival? And would this be fair to either culture? It is akin—in my mind—to saying: “In winter, I decorate my house with evergreen boughs, set up the tree, wait for Santa to arrive, and celebrate the birth of Jesus, our Lord and Savior. BUT, this is Hanukah, NOT Christmas! It has nothing to do with the Jews nor the Maccabean revolt, but my celebration is most certainly Hanukah.”—Can this logic really work?

Or, is the issue of “is this Samhain?” simply an issue of name? Is something Samhain because the individual/group decides to call it as such? If this is the case, it sounds a little absurd to me. Does that mean that I can begin calling the Fourth of July Easter, even though I am celebrating the independence of the United States? Somehow that one just does not work out in my brain.

What I am getting at is this: Can we title a festival using the name of a historical celebration if none of the historically associated elements are present? (This is assuming, of course, that the historical celebration in question is still practiced in some traditional way by its respective indigenous group(s)—which all of the Greater Sabbats of the Wheel certainly are!)

That is the question that I am posing to all of you. I do not think that there is a right or a wrong answer, only opinions, and I am really interested to hear your takes on the issue.

For the record, here is my opinion on all of this:

The author is not celebrating the Greater Sabbats of the Wheel—i.e. Samhain, Imbolg, Bealtaine, and Lughnasadh. All of these festivals are culturally-tied celebrations. In my opinion, when you strip them of their cultural associations, they become something else. It is not enough to just have similar themes if these themes are placed in a dislocated context. After all, Ramadan and Lent—while both involve fasting—are not even close to being the same event.

I think that what may be used to distinguish this tendency of Pagans to label any festival of the dead as Samhain or any celebration of sexuality as Bealtaine is perhaps the development of a new language schema. To do this, there would have to be a distinction between, for example, Samhain (proper noun) and samhain (adjective). Samhain (proper noun) would relate to the historical and culturally-specific festival of the Gaels. On the other hand, samhain (adjective) would relate to items that have similar themes as the Gaelic festival, Samhain. This adjective form would hearken to the etymological meaning of the word “samhain" (meaning “summer’s end”), rather than denoting the cultural festival of Samhain. Thus a samhain celebration would be any celebration which focused on the summer’s end and honoring that transition, whereas the festival of Samhain would focus on honoring the end of summer in a traditionally Gaelic/*Celtic* way.

Now, I am not meaning to promote this dichotomy of terms as a concrete scholarly divide. I do not think that books should be written with this language, nor that we even should use this type of language in our everyday conversations. Rather this goes to suggest that a new way of thinking about the festivals be adopted, one which clearly states that just because two things are similar, it does not mean that they are the same. I would not call an apple a guava just because they are both fruits.

Anywho, those are my thoughts. As I said, I do not think that there can be any right or wrong answer to these questions, just different opinions. I am very interested to know what you guys think, as you are a pretty smart bunch :-)

-Bryce

I May Not Go To Your School But I Have A Lot Of Feelings

Surprise: Updates!

I have decided to rework my blog and my approach to blogging in general. The previous scope of this blog felt far too limiting, and it kept me from posting a number of things. Thus, I have decided to give my blog a face-lift and a new mission. In doing so, I have changed the title (and the url) of the blog: I have christened it "The Radical Pagan." I chose this name for a number of reasons. Firstly, my views are not the average views of the pop-Pagan community, and they are therefore radical. Secondly, as the new tagline evinces, a 'radical' is one who seeks to get to the root, and that is what I am doing: trying to get to the roots of the problems and the Truths of Paganism. Finally, a radical is a free-agent, not bound by the ideologies and categories held by others; a radical thinks for itself. For all of these reasons, I have decided that this blog truly is and needs to be radical.

Along with this renaming, I have also expanded the breadth of topics covered within the blog. Whereas before I focused on Gaelic Polytheism and Witchcraft, I now will use this space to discuss Paganism writ large in both practical and academic ways. Regardless of this change in direction, my mission remains the same: I seek to entice people into thinking for themselves. Yes, I may at times present arguments that are discomforting. Yes, I may be very opinionated on some matters. But, no, you do not have to agree with me, and I never expect you to. My simple hope in all that I write is that it will generate the reader's thought processes. Think whatever you want, but have a reason why you think what you do.

Like the emotional girl on the movie Mean Girls, I may not attend your school (of thought), but I have a lot of feelings. Stick around, and we just may get to share some of these emotions, beliefs, and opinions with each other.

Beannachtaí,
Bryce