I’ve just seen a number of news stories come across my professional blog RSS feed about the case of a resident of Salem, Missouri (Anaka Hunter) who (supported . . . → Read More: Wicca, censorship, and the library]]> [So, one of my goals this year is to update this blog weekly on average. I did not quite expect to start with this topic, though.]

I’ve just seen a number of news stories come across my professional blog RSS feed about the case of a resident of Salem, Missouri (Anaka Hunter) who (supported by the ACLU) has sued both the library and various other named parties (including the library director) for blocking reasonable access to material – namely information about Wicca and Native American religious practices, among other topics.

 Ars Technica has an excellent overview, and links to the PDF of the complaint.

Reading the stories I’ve seen so far, I have both a few questions – and the thought that a lot of people don’t know how libraries are supposed to handle this sort of thing, or what the common considerations around filtering/etc. are in public libraries and schools.

 Some context for the Salem, Missouri library:

(Given what I can tell via the web… If you, dear reader, happen to have more specific data, I’d love to include it.)

It’s a small-town library: about 5,000 people live in Salem, though it is the county seat. Only one person is listed as a contact person for the library (and the ‘email the library’ address is clearly a personal one, not an institutional one.) The library is only open 40 hours a week.

Here’s where I pause for something complicated in the profession: the idea of ‘professional’ librarians, which is the most commonly used term for people who hold a Master’s in Library Science or Library and Information Science degree. (I hold a MLIS, for the curious.)

The degree is designed to focus not on the day to day running of a library as much as the larger issues and considerations of providing appropriate service to all users of a library (not just ones whose tastes/interests/politics/religion/etc. you share) and there is a shared general agreement about the Library Code of Ethics and the Library Bill of Rights. (Now, librarians reasonably disagree with specific parts of this, but the emphasis on intellectual freedom and access to information is not there by accident.)

And just to be really clear, this library’s actions are not seen positively by other librarians. (The LSW or Library Society of the World is an ad hoc group of librarians who hang out, support one another, and make commentary. It’s awesome. I hang out there under my professional username.)

Back to Salem.

According to survey data from the State Library of Missouri, there were 2.86 staff in 2010 (but it’s not clear whether that’s people with the MLIS/etc. degree, pages, or what.) Since no other staff are listed on the website, I am guessing this might be the director, a children’s librarian or library assistant, plus some part time help (pages, programming/outreach assistance, etc.)

It’s quite common for libraries in a small town to have no one on the library staff who holds an MLIS. At my current job, one of the other library staff was director of a small town library in a town of about the same size, without the Master’s degree, and that’s quite common in other parts of rural and small-town America.

Even if the director has the degree, generally no one else in the library will. This is realistic, given the size, but it means that there’s no one else to discuss policy with (besides the library board, who may or may not be well versed in all areas of library concern.) and it means that whatever the librarian’s biases are (and we all have them; librarians are still human) can be magnified substantially if the director and board are not careful.

Ok. So what actually happened here? Below, I talk about filtering, filtering software, library policies, and the question of freedom of access.

More about filtering and filtering software:

Why do libraries filter? Some of it is financial: there are laws tying funding for internet connections for public libraries and schools to filtering (e-rate). But also, there are some legitimate things you probably don’t want showing up on public computers, like porn in your children’s section computers.

What’s required? Generally, when filtering is required, it is to prevent minors from accessing obscene or pornographic material (either deliberately or accidentally). However, the laws in question do not require filtering of religious content, and generally people can both choose their filtering software and make specific choices about what is filtered beyond the legal mandate.

That said, many – most, I hope – librarians and libraries recognise that the filtering tools are deeply flawed (the classic example is sites about breast cancer or cooking chicken being blocked) and that there are times when even those limits might reasonably be removed. I’ve been aware of this issue since, oh, about 1996 and the foundation of Peacefire, one of the first orgs to seriously take on the issue of filtering on the ‘Net and free speech. (Filters have gotten better since then, but many of them are still as imperfect as they were.)

So how does this work elsewhere? Since the issue is access by minors, many libraries thus have a fairly simple policy: if an adult requests the filtering be turned off, they have a method of turning off the filtering for that session. (Sometimes this ability is limited to adult-area computers, rather than, say, computers that face the children’s section of the library, though.)

Many libraries also have a better way of dealing with concerns about it – but I’ll get to that in a minute. (The Saint Paul Public library has a particularly nice clear policy, with methods for requesting filtering be removed that do not require the library user to justify their request or for asking larger questions about categories of content.)

This software: The software chosen in this case (Netsweeper) is not one I’m familiar with but it explicitly says that you can have granular control over what’s blocked, which categories are filtered, etc. This information is restated (and expanded) in the legal filing. It also states that removing filtering for a single computer session is possible and reasonably efficient.

In other words, if the librarian doesn’t think it’s customisable (as stated in the legal brief), that’s wrong. (Missouri has been using this software since 2009, per a press release from Netsweeper. And MORENet, the relevant Missouri group handling the software on a state level says clearly that it’s the member library’s responsibility to define what’s filtered.)

One final note about filtering here: while the NetSweeper software filters a wide range of esoteric-related sites (including Witchvox, Wikipedia’s entry on Wicca, and a variety of others – there’s a list in the filing), it does not filter Christian-related sites that can provide misleading or heavily biased views of the topic.

(One of the permitted sites, for example, is the Catholic Encyclopedia, which comes from a 1911 edition, and thus ignores pretty much all of modern Pagan thought and practice, even before you get to any question of viewpoint or potential bias.)

Finally, a word from the Salem, Missouri Public Library’s mission statement:

“The Salem Public Library will be a reliable resource center and an advocate of intellectual freedom for the community by providing free and equal access to information, materials, services, and programs. It will acquire, organize, and circulate books, non-print materials and services that help educate, enrich, entertain, and inform individuals of all ages. It will promote and encourage the maximum use of its services and materials by the greatest number of people in its service area.” (as found at the library website.)

Which, yeah. They failed.

How are they doing on other issues? Or with print? Writing all of this got me wondering about what their print collection looked like, and how they did with other titles that are commonly challenged (sexuality, GLBTQ issues, etc.) I have not had time for an exhaustive search, but titles do appear light for a collection that size (the high school library I used to work in, approximately half that size, had 5 to 10 times more titles on all three subjects than I’m seeing there.)

However, the print collection does include  Starhawk’s Spiral Dance and Grimassi’s Wiccan Mysteries. Along with various fiction titles – mostly Cate Tiernan.

Larger freedom of access issues:

All right. Having covered the problems of filtering, I want to turn to some larger issues of access, freedom of access, and so on.

The question of what you filter: First, the obvious problem of filter categories and limitations not required by law, which I’ve already largely covered (though in what universe are sites about religion, astrology, or related topics “criminal skills”. Though, technically, divination is illegal in more places than you’d think.)

There’s also the problem of allowing someone else to decide your filtering for you. There is a history of filtering companies being far more on the socially-conservative side than not, and that having implications for what content they decide is appropriate or not appropriate – even for communities where meeting the demonstrated or likely needs of the community would suggest other solutions.

But there’s some more chilling stuff out there:

“I would have to notify authorities of attempts to avoid the filters”

This is an absolutely chilling statement from anyone in a position to control access to information. There are certainly times when librarians need to make use of or cooperate with law enforcement. But at the same time, this is both a “Huh, who would you tell?” (Trying to evade a filter – if you’re an adult – is not generally a crime, though it might be a violation of library behaviour policies)

But it’s also a “I’m going to say stuff to make you go away”. Which is not how one should handle these kinds of issues at all.

(Compare, on the other hand, the signs common in many library offices – including at my current place of work – since the passing of the Patriot Act, which say in large print “The FBI has not requested any records from this library” (and in smaller print “Watch for removal of this sign”) as quiet note about that law’s gag order on libraries commenting on request of information.)

Demands for detailed information to remove a restriction:

One of the first things I learned about libraries – long, long before I ever really thought about working in one myself – was that people come to them for information they’re not sure they can ask about. That has only become more and more obvious as I’ve gotten older.

(I used to smile whenever I found Our Bodies, Ourselves taken from the shelf in the previous job, and tucked in some back corner of the library – it meant people were finding information they didn’t want to ask about and maybe really needed, from a widely recommended and reliable source.)

Anyway: any requirement that makes people talk to a figure in authority (which includes librarians) and explain why they want certain information will tend to discourage them from seeking that information. Which is not what most people in the library profession are there for. One of the real dangers of librarianship, in terms of mental approach, is thinking that you know better than the people you’re serving about what they want. The best librarians are those who can set aside their own biases, at least for the space of a reference conversation, and look at what really serves the person they’re helping.

Yes, it’s hard – just like it’s hard for doctors and nurses, and therapists, and clergy, and lawyers and all sorts of other professions. But that’s why we study how to do it better, and have professional guidelines to remind us what’s most important, and – when we’ve got the time and space to think through it carefully – create policies and practices that support what we should do, not what we might find easiest.

Response to reasonable questions about policy, access, and changes to same.

The final issue I want to talk about here is the comments about the response to Ms. Hunter’s concerns about the filtering policy and decisions – which, if you haven’t read the brief, are basically that she was brushed off, and told that her concerns were not important or serious. Apparently, at no time was she offered a standard formal method of having the category reconsidered, and the library board also gave very short attention to her concerns.

When I was talking about this elsewhere online, someone asked about how library boards work. This is definitely one of those “it varies from library to library” things, but in general, in small town libraries, the library board is a collection of people who do care about the library – but who often don’t have a terribly strong background in all of the many and varied areas any public library (even very small ones) necessarily touches on.

Commonly, library boards are encouraged to focus on things they do know (helping with fundraising, capitol expense planning, marketing and publicity, supporting a diverse range of programs, making sure the library has resources to meet the needs of the community) rather than being involved in either day to day decisions, or with policies relating to freedom of access, etc.

That said, this is not the world everyone lives in. Some library boards do a great job – others can be prone to micromanagement, or to overruling the library director in cases where the director is, in fact, doing their best to make professionally appropriate and consistent decisions.

I can’t tell which it is in this case, mind you – there’s no minutes readily posted that would make that a bit easier to spot. But it’s worth keeping in mind.

What can you do?

1) Support the many librarians out there who are fiercely committed to freedom of access.

If you know one (or more) tell them you appreciate that. Be a listening ear when they have one of those days where that passion comes into conflict with someone who wants to limit access. Often, simply knowing that these things matter to other people makes it much easier to go on doing the necessary right thing.

Do what you can to support the awesome libraries you know about – support funding requests, consider running for the library board, volunteer, whatever else makes sense for you and that library. Funding can be particularly powerful: it’s much easier to have time and energy to reach out to underserved parts of the community, or deal with requests that may upset your library board when the library is not struggling with a painfully dismal budget.

2) Know your local library.

If necessary, ask questions.

• Are policies about appropriate computer behavior, filtering, or other related topics posted somewhere anyone can access? Or do you have to ask them?
• If they filter, are policies about how to request a change in filtering, or temporary removal of the filters readily available? If not, why not?
• Is there a way to suggest purchase of an item? How often does that result in the item being purchased? (There’s no one ‘right’ answer here – it depends a lot on the library’s budget and number of actual requests they get. But good libraries will have some kind of idea how often they turn down requests, and why.)
• How about donations? (How libraries handle donations can be complicated – lots of people like to donate stuff the library truly can’t use. But ask about donating titles or funds specifically to support a particular area or interest. It might cost less than you’d think, or could be a great project for a specific religious or interest group.)

3) Be aware of the issues.

Access to information is complicated – it’s not just about the obvious stuff, like filtering. It’s about larger questions of what titles a library buys, how welcoming they are to people who walk in, what the posters and signs and information implies about the people who use the library.

And it’s also about any number of things online: we live in a world where our search engines try to predict what we’re looking for for us (the ‘search bubble’), where people may make assumptions about what we want from not-so-relevant information, and where there’s a lot of information out there, much of it lacking or piecemeal.

Consider doing what you can to support conversations in your various communities about all of these issues, not just in schools, but in religious groups and volunteer organisations. Bring it up if you hear someone talking about only ever seeing the same kinds of comments or conversations. Do your best to read – at least sometimes – outside your preferred viewpoints or interests, as a way to broaden your mind.

All of this helps, eventually.

Thanksgiving has never been a big family holiday. First, my parents were English and raised in the UK, respectively (Christmas was always the . . . → Read More: Cycle on cycle]]> This weekend – the US Thanksgiving holiday weekend, whatever days it actually falls on – always reminds me of how cycles begin to stack, once you’ve gone through enough of them.

Thanksgiving has never been a big family holiday. First, my parents were English and raised in the UK, respectively (Christmas was always the big holiday). Second, my father generally took advantage of the long weekend in the US to lecture and perform in Canada without missing classes. And third, we just didn’t have extended family.

(My parents are both only children: from the time I was born until my father’s death when I was 15, the people in the world I knew I was related to were my parents, my sister and brother, and my mother’s mother in England. My sister married shortly after that, but it was a while longer before there was a nephew, sister-in-law, or nieces.)

But in my adult life, it’s picked up a lot of associations. It’s almost the time my ex-husband and I got married. And it’s the weekend he fully moved out when we separated.

However, it’s also the weekend of my 2nd and 3rd degree initiations (which is what happens when you work for a school that gives you almost no discretionary vacation time, and you want a couple of days of preparation and recovery, and waiting for spring break is not desireable for various reasons.)

And of course, there are lots of memories of good times with friends, at various tables over the years.

So, one little span of time stands there, holding a whole lot of different memories and ideas – and yet, simultaneously, not holding the weight and history and complicated stuff it does for most people I know, who have much larger families, long-term traditions, etc. (I am very aware of the originating history, mind you – I grew up close enough to Plymouth Rock and Plimoth Plantation that it was a regular school trip, and Mom and I went every year or three.)

And I’ve got my own harvest cycles to celebrate, too, of course.

When I start talking about cycles in ritual practice, this is one of the things I’ve made vague handwaving gestures about for years, though.

You can stand there and say “Thanksgiving” to the end of days.

And yet, unless you get a lot more specific, you will have some people for whom that word evokes family (for good or bad), specific tastes and smells. But you’ll have people who have a dread of it because they had to deal with a difficult family situation. Or the people who come from places that don’t celebrate Thanksgiving like that. And the people for whom the word evokes a painful period in history of appropriation and loss.

When you can build a harvest gathering that brings everyone in that room to the same place about what you’re celebrating, then you’ve got a good ritual.

(This, by the way, is why I’ve preferred to celebrate with friends in an ‘orphans Thanksgiving’ mode, rather than tag along to a friend’s family: there’s a lot more conscious discussion about how this meal, this approach, this ritual serves the people who will be there this year, both physically and emotionally.

With family traditions, that doesn’t always happen so well. People and families change over time, so what worked 20 years ago or 10 or even 5 may no longer create a space of thankfulness and grace and community in the ways you want. Doesn’t mean you throw out the traditions – but that all good ritual should look at what those practices serve.)

So, what I wish this Thanksgiving, is that you have one (if you celebrate it) that leaves you and everyone there feeling included, well-fed, and grateful for the wonderful things in your world. There are lots of ways to answer those questions, and you don’t need to get there by the same roads as anyone else.

And if for some reason that doesn’t happen this year – well, the good thing about cycles is that we get another one next year.

It reminded me of one of the powers of tradition. In my tradition, the Samhain ritual has been one we’ve done in much the same way for my time in the tradition (ten years and a . . . → Read More: Echos over time]]> About half an hour ago, I finished the major work I wanted to do for this year’s Samhain.

It reminded me of one of the powers of tradition. In my tradition, the Samhain ritual has been one we’ve done in much the same way for my time in the tradition (ten years and a bit). Of course, it’s been adapted – for number of people present, for number of people to take roles, for overall energy.

This year, I’m 1500 miles away from others in the tradition. (And in fact, I’ve been in Maine for 13 weeks.) And I’m working by myself, so many of the pieces of my tradition’s practice are simply not going to happen.

And yet, there are ways in which I stepped into ritual tonight, and all the chords of all those rituals were right there with me.

I hear certain music, in the dark, in the midst of ritual, and there is no space but the space of the circle, no time but those shared moments of dark and remembered grief, and yet hope for the coming year, mingled and echoing across the years.

Bites of food in ritual remind me of how amazing ritual foods taste – there is nothing in the world like the first bite of pomegranate on Samhain night, or even of the meat pie that’s been my contribution to ancestor feasts for those ten years. [1]

So what did I do?

My basic ritual plan was pretty simple: standard circle set-up, some time with the deities I honor, remembering my beloved dead.

(That part was brief, as I expected it to be, both because I’ve not had to add to their number in a few years, and because I’m expecting to do a bunch of stuff centered on my father later this week – both the usual anniversary of his death, and because the day after that, I’ll be going to Boston for a performance using some of his translations.)

And then, looking at both remembering what has passed this year, but looking forward towards what the future might hold. There’s been a whole lot of harvest in my past year (what else do you call finding a new job than the harvest of past work?) and there’s also a whole lot of new, that I’m still figuring out what to do with.)

Anyway, most of what I wanted to do was a method of musical meditation I’ve done before: put together a reasonably substantial playlist, and let my focus wander where it’s called. Some of the songs are songs my tradition’s used regularly for years, some were my additions. In particular, the tail end of my music choices were structured to build toward that “Ok, new year now, let’s go into it in the very best way.” in a very general sense.

And here, I had that experience that I think many experienced ritualists have – of losing time. That mix list? 40 minutes. And yet, I started ritual at 6:30pm, and ended at about 8:15. The circle set-up and take down are maybe 20-25 minutes total when I’m working by myself. Somewhere in the midst, there was a lot of time (45 minutes) that went… somewhere.

While there’s a part of me that looks at that time slippage and goes “hmm”, there’s a part of me that loves it: loves knowing that my brain is off doing something and that it’ll work itself out. That I – who can be all-too-pragmatic sometimes, got out of my own way, and let my subconscious do what it needed to.

This was my first full-blown ritual since I moved, as well. (I’ve been trying ritual in my bedroom, and it has been Just Not Working. Tonight, I moved it out into the front room, which has some complications, but felt much better, especially with dim lighting.)

Over Lammas, I was actually moving. (Well, arrived the 2nd) and my ritual work was understandably pretty low-key. My basic theory about the fall equinox is that there should be awesome conversation, good company, and interesting food (and so I spent it in Montreal, at a small SF convention with a number of friends.)

And there’ve been the ongoing stamina issues. I’m still not quite up to doing ritual cleaning and prep *and* ritual on the same day, which makes scheduling a tiny bit annoying. (And even today: I made the meat pies, but did not manage the batch of bread I was hoping to do.) But there continues to be slow and steady improvement, which is excellent.

But this ritual? There were some rough spots, the places where lack of practice is obvious to me. But there were a lot of things that worked, and that clicked into place, and that were where I hoped I’d find them, energetically speaking. And I have some definite ideas on what next steps are for getting back into a more structured ritual practice again.

[1] Really, I’d like to do steak and kidney pie, a favorite of my father’s, but a) at least half the people I know won’t eat it and b) it holds very poorly during a long ritual anyway. So I do a pork pie that’s designed to be eaten cold. This year’s had pork, apples, walnuts, cheddar cheese, and a bit of nutmeg, cinnamon, and galangal in it.

Note to self: please remember that you still need to rest a lot between housecleaning bits. Schedule accordingly. Note to everyone else: this meant I cleaned yesterday, and am doing the ritual stuff in a . . . → Read More: Untangling old patterns: the untangling]]> So, a few days ago, I talked about the actual preparation work. And then I went and did it.

Note to self: please remember that you still need to rest a lot between housecleaning bits. Schedule accordingly. Note to everyone else: this meant I cleaned yesterday, and am doing the ritual stuff in a bit, rather than last night which was my original plan.

Either way, we’re now onto the untangling part. There are three things for me about untangling an old pattern, and turning it into a new pattern that better serves me. (Actually, there are four. We’ll get to that.)

Part one: Digging out the old stuff to its roots, so I know where it’s coming from. It’s a lot harder to reshape things if you’re only treating symptoms, not getting at causes.

Part two: Creating space for transition. Transitions are hard. Ritual makes them easier for me. (Maybe for you, too.) So do some other things.

Part three: Having a pretty clear idea of the new patterns I want to start shaping, and some ways to start doing that. I don’t need to have *every* idea how that’s going to happen – but a list of 3-5 small changes is really helpful.

Part four: Take notes. See what works. Rinse. Repeat. It doesn’t fit as tidily in the list, because it takes a while.

So, how do I do that? Again, I share not because I think I have all the answers here, but because the process of writing it out helps me out, and because people keep saying that some of what I suggest makes a lot of sense to them. If a particular thing doesn’t work for you, go do what does. Or try other stuff.

Digging deep:

Part of my digging deep is the preparation work I talked about in the previous post. That’s really about getting down to ground level: it’s getting all the books shelved so you can see what’s missing or misplaced. It’s looking at the garden, and getting the old leaves and mulch out, so you can see what you have, what you don’t have, and what’s weeds. It’s reorging your spice cabinet (or your yarn stash, or your hobby supplies) so you can figure out what you need in order to keep doing the stuff that’s important to you.

But there’s a bit more than that, too, which is usually the harder part. That’s figuring out what it is you want to change.

Now, it is not the end of the world if you don’t figure it out. However, in line with the “you get better long-term results if you treat the cause, not the symptom”, the closer you get to actual causes, the less work you have to do later. (On this thing. There will be more things. Life’s like that.)

On the other hand, even getting *one* of the symptoms can sometimes free up stuff for you in a totally new way, that lets you get traction on huge new areas of what you want to look at, change, or adjust.

In other words, I go about this in a “Let me spend some time on this, and see what happens, and then I’m going to move on to doing stuff, rather than getting stuck thinking about it.” The processing reading I mentioned last post is part of that time. Divination is part of that time. Meditation (in the “What’s going on here…” mode) is part of that time. Long walks, playing music, whatever. Therapy sessions, journalling, great conversations with a friend over mugs of tea can be part of that time.

This part also works best if it’s something you do over a period of time. If I know I’m going to be building up to some big planned change (as I did with my initiations in some ways), or an anniversary of particular magnitude, or whatever else, I consciously start working on this bit in little ways a few weeks or even a few months in advance.

Other times, I get to the point where I go “I really need to do something about X” only to realise that work I’ve been doing for a while is .. all about that thing. (This is where a regular journalling habit is very helpful.)

It would be aggravating, except for the part where it is so incredibly helpful.

Create space for transition:

One of the arguments for “Why do we do ritual?” is about the fact that transition is hard, and putting some framework around it makes it a little easier to face.

I was reminded of this by a conversation with a friend about a riding lesson (she picked up riding as an adult), and the fact she’d had a breakthrough about cantering. I wrote a comment to her about how it reminded me of a gruelling lesson in my teens, when I rode seriously.

We spent the entire lesson – about 50 minutes, after warming up – walking for three steps, cantering for three steps, walking for three steps, cantering for three steps. (Well, it was not that precise when we started. It was when we finished.) By the end, Dot (my beloved pony) and I were both dripping with sweat – despite the fact that we were in a totally unheated indoor ring in northern Massachusetts in February or March (so it was maybe 40 or 45 degrees Fahrenheit out.)

Anyway what I said was: “I stopped being scared of walk-canter transitions ever again, and it’s been a really interesting lesson about all sorts of other transitions – in writing, in life, in all sorts of other activities – ever since. I think they always feel awkward, until somehow we gain a knack or three for figuring out how to make them feel smoother for us, how to act as if, how to see ourselves on the other side of the transition a moment before we actually get there.”

Transforming ritual’s like that. It gives me a map for getting from this place to that other place, and some ways to orient myself when I get there. It’s not a perfect map – often, it’s a child’s idea of a map, with the trees totally out of scale, and the directions iffy. But it’s a beginning.

When I go and do ritual in a bit, I’m going to do some stuff that’s old and familiar and loved. I’m going to cast a circle, and create my sacred space, and use the words I’ve written, and the words I’ve learned from my much-loved teachers, and the gestures and movements that are as familiar to me as walking down the street, now. And I’m going to be standing in front of my altar, where every item has a story, and everything is there for a reason. That’s the me of history, which I value and honor and don’t want to lose.

And then I’m going to tear a bunch of bits of what I assume about what life looks like up into tiny little bits, and throw them in the air, and see what happens when they come down. To shake lose the “What else has to change to live the life I want?” To create new moments of possibility, and the potential of new patterns.

How I do that depends on what I’m doing. (Tonight’s work will involve the collapsing of previous work trick I really like from Rune Soup, some divination, some charging of statues for a particular goal, and some meditation. But it could have used a totally different set of tools, too. Those are the ones I’m up for right now.)

And somewhere in the middle of that, I very much hope (and aim for) something to give that little twist, that little pop of possibility and new potential. A chance for a new pattern, a better pattern, a scaffold that helps the new growth and change in a way that wasn’t open before. And for something to help ease me through that transition and change, so it’s not quite so overwhelming and scary.

(One of the reasons I spend so much time process geeking and ritual technology geeking and learning about how this stuff works is so that my chances of this kind of thing working improve. These days, that pop, that shift is pretty reliable, though the results still range from “Oh, duh, how did I miss that” to “How is *that* related? Huh. Gonna try it anyway.”, and everywhere in between.)

When we’re tired, and we’re stressed, we revert to the coping mechanisms that used to work for us. But sometimes – maybe even often – those things are not the thing that we need now. Ritual is part of how I poke at that question, and go “Ok, what *does* support where I want to go?” (Other parts include the Feldenkrais lessons I’ve been doing, and meditation, and conversations, and writing, and all sorts of other stuff. Diversity is good: no tool gets everything done.)

And then, I hope I will come out of the ritual, and I will have something to drink, and something to eat, and listen to some music, and go to sleep, and things will have begun to shift and change. Some changes will be tiny. Some will take a while to show up. But I also usually come up with a couple of direct active changes I can make, or steps toward my goal.

The ritual shapes the process – it gives it a space where I feel I can stretch a bit more, a space disconnected from usual time and space considerations, where the presences of the Gods and the Ancestors can support me, even when I’m working by myself. But ritual isn’t the only way there. (It’s one I really like, and that’s reliable for me. But you are not me.)

I’ve been reading a lot of Havi Brooks’ work recently, because she’s really good at talking about this stuff, and she goes at it in a way that has elements of what really works for me in the ritual part (taking time for that transition, honoring the insights, listening, paying attention) without being.. well, quite so ritually.

Three posts of hers I’d recommend on this are:

• Insights – how she got to doing what she’s doing.
• Avoidance – the art of getting out of avoidance, and why we avoid stuff anyway.
• Don’t Face Your Fear - which is really the core of a lot of shadow work in a number of traditions that talk about it. Instead, look at less confrontational options.
• Ok, one more. Her Book of You post is a really great starting point for pretty much anyone, and it’s now on my list of “things to make my witchy students at least spend some time with.” I plan to talk about this some more soon.

Frame for new patterns:

Ok, so I have just said to the universe “New patterns, please!” Left to itself, the universe has some mighty odd ideas about what those things should be. Some of those things might be great, but some of them might not be very well focused.

So, to help out, I need to create some framework for the new patterns to settle into. I usually start thinking about these well in advance of the ritual, but I often find that I’ll get one or two or three very specific ideas *during* ritual of what I really need to focus on.

Below are some of the things I use regularly, though they’re not the only things I use, nor the only things you can use. Consider them inspiration, not the canon list of possibilities.

I usually plan to try and do the new stuff on a regular basis (which doesn’t always mean daily!) for about three weeks, and then reevaluate. By then, I usually have a good idea if it’s working, or if I should try something else. (Or if something isn’t practical, but a modified version might be.)

Just plain new habits:

I’ve been less than entirely happy with my morning routine for a bit. It’s partly for a meds related reason that means I don’t eat for 45+ minutes after I wake up and take the pill, but feeling like I also don’t necessarily want to start my day with diving into email and the possibility of new things to add to my to-do list. Added to that, there are a couple of self-care things that I’d like to do that can be done with about 20 minutes, but are best done when I’m not tempted to be reading/doing other stuff on the computer.

So, for the next couple of weeks, I’m going to try watching a TEDtalk or three (depending on length) while doing those other things I want to do, then make breakfast, before I get into the rest of my morning computer time. Better chance of my eating breakfast, excellent chance of hearing some really inspiring and thought provoking stuff from great speakers, and if I’m right, I’ll be getting my brain and body better into gear to be more usefully productive on other things earlier in the day, without losing rest.

It’s only tangentially related to the magical work (which is about “Where is the new wonderful place I need to end up for the next stage of my life”). Except that, getting my brain going sooner in the morning, diving into great work, really can only help that. (Plus, I am certain, from the TEDtalks I’ve seen, that I’ll be picking up stuff that makes me an even better librarian.)

Playlists:

Music, when I remember to turn it on, is a huge part of my daily personal practice time. I set up playlists for elements (air, fire, water, earth), for seasonal cycles, for other things – but I also set them up for specific goals. The current “Untangling” playlist that I set up this week has 11 hours of music on it – all things that spoke to my doing that kind of work.

Sometimes I listen consciously, putting down everything else and just hearing. But most of the time, it drifts in and out of my active awareness. I’ll pause and hear a particular sentence, or a particular verse, and take something away from it. Tiny steps down a road.

Jewelry:

I own very little ‘classic Pagan’ jewelry, and what I do own of it, I very rarely wear outside of ritual. What I do own is a lot of jewelry made with personality and intention, that I wear for specific reasons and moods. I’ve gotten out of the habit of wearing a lot of it the last year, and it’s time to change that. So, part of my morning practice is going to be putting something on.

Making music:

As I’ve talked about here, I have a harp I love very much, but an on-and-off again thing about playing. I’m pretty sure one of the reasons I fight the playing sometimes is because I recognise how powerful it is as a transformational tool for me.

Anyway. Time to do more playing again. Time to work more on that balance between playing other people’s music (duplicating something with an external structure, model, frame) and making it mine through interpretation. Of stretching skills and taking risk, and seeing how they work. And of the discipline of just sitting down every day, of keeping her in tune, and all the other little details.

(There are lots of other art forms that do this – but I do suggest exploring something that has that balance between stuff you come up with, and stuff someone else came up with, or deliberate restriction of format, or something. At least sometimes.)

Other senses:

I’ve also gotten out of my habit of using (natural) perfumes regularly. Another good thing to pick up again – scent is a potent trigger and reminder, but it’s also anchoring in useful ways.

Likewise, the lighting in my bedroom (which currently has two options: overhead light, or a table lamp without a good angle for reading in bed) has finally annoyed me to the point where I need something different. Today’s storm means going shopping for a cheap solution that I think will work (thank you Ikea!) is postponed, but I’ll get there this week.

When I talk about looking at the little stuff in patterns, this is part of what I mean – all of a sudden, the lighting that had been not-great, but okay for almost three years was suddenly so not right. Not sure why. But it’s an easy enough thing to fix (except for the snow delay), so why not.

Larger tools:

There are also larger tools. One of the reasons for taking on new names in ritual, for example, is to give a new framework for the work you’re doing. Some people cut or dye their hair for significant events and transformations. Some people get tattoos or new piercings.

Obviously, these also have much larger consequences, so they’re not things to be done lightly, or quickly, or without checking out the appropriate precautions.

Standard tools:

And yeah, there’s other stuff here: smaller ongoing spellwork. Crafting and cooking and cleaning with intention. Chants and songs and ritual dance work. Divination. Meditation. But I figure you probably know where to start with those if you’re inclined to use them.

Rinse. Repeat.

What the heading says. Do the stuff. See what works. See what doesn’t. Take notes. Get feedback from other people when appropriate. Adapt. Try new version until desired result.