January 2009: I began a term as the interim librarian at the same school I’ve been at as an assistant. They hired me formally (after the full and sometimes nervewracking search process) in April.

Summer 2009: I was in and out of work a lot, even though I’m supposed to be mostly off between mid-June and mid-August. The rest of the time, I was helping a dear friend who was having hip replacmeent surgery to repair damage from an injury 43 years earlier. (She’s got some other medical issues, including hearing loss, that made us want to have someone with her all the time, while she was in hospital or the rehab center.) Good thing to do, but tiring.

And over the summer, the dear friend who co-founded Phoenix Song with me decided she needed to be going in other directions. Which I understand, and I want her to be happy – but I still miss that particular interaction, even though we continue to be friends.

This fall: I start work for the school year by moving (with the help of my excellent minion and a wonderful student) every single book, video, and DVD in the library – about 14,000 items – at least twice. (We moved *every* shelf location as part of rearranging various things and had to move many things to a holding location first.)

I do my best to settle into making the library space as much mine as I can, to develop my own style of being a librarian and building relationships with individual students better, and so on and so forth. And, of course, all the things you do when you’re an education professional and it’s the beginning of the new year – new students, a few new staff, new directions in curriculum.

And things start to go slowly downhill.

At first I thought I was just tired. You know, the way you are when you’ve been working 50 and 60 hour weeks consistently, and you know you’re doing a lot of new things. The way you are when you’re an introvert working in an extroverted role (and for more challenge, with a very extroverted division director/boss).The way you are when you’re doing some things you’re very comfortable with – but some that are very new or really not using your best innate skills.

And then I got H1N1 in early November. And so then I thought it was recovery from that.

But then it got to be Thanksgiving, and I felt just as lousy at the end of a 5 day break as I did at the beginning – despite doing nothing much other than sleep with a brief outing to a friend’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. And I was really starting to lose my ability to think straight.

I went into work that Monday, said “There’s something really wrong” and began a round of doctor visits and other excitement. I spent the better part of two months only barely function at the most basic level. There were a couple of weeks where my focus was so poor that even reading light fiction wasn’t working (and this is me, who normally reads 25 books or so most months, not including online reading.)

And around it all, absolutely overwhelming exhaustion. Not the comfortably tired after a long day, or even the achy tired after moving or spending all day on your feet. I’ve done those. This was the kind of exhaustion that made every movement five times more effort than usual, and made even the simple normal stuff – making dinner, having a bath – take forever, and leave me unable to do anything else.

And even the things I’ve always taken for granted got hard. I’m the one of my friends who usually drives to see everyone – and light intolerance when driving at night (plus the exhaustion) made that impossible. Even simple decision making – which thing do I do first, what do I need to do to make this thing happen – got impossible.

All of it very strongly shook my  sense of self, my sense of connection to the world around me, and my sense of priorities and what mattered.

Fortunately, it’s getting better:

In late January, I saw an endocrinologist, and got a diagnosis of a significant Vitamin D deficiency and possibly hypothyroid issues. (My tests on the latter are borderline, but he was willing to try treating it given the full list of symptoms, which I’m not boring you with here.)

A month later, and I can work a full day and not be totally wiped out at the end of it. Detailed tracking shows that the focus is getting better, as are other symptoms. I’m finally starting to get my brain back, and becoming able to write again. Very nice.

It’s still not perfect. I’m not sure how much more I’m going to get back yet, and that means there’s a lot of free-floating trying to figure out how to cope going on in the back of my head. I’m committed to the coven work (and to my very tolerant student who’s put up with my inability to plan much in advance for a couple of months), but I want to build a sustainable life that includes work I love (and that pays the bills – both important), ritual and religious time, time with friends – and time and energy for projects at home.

I’ll talk more about all of this in the coming weeks, I’m sure. But I wanted to at least get the explanation out here first, so I can get onto the more interesting bits sooner than later.

We talk about how priestesses and priests in our traditions are human – but there’s not enough talk, yet, I think, about how to manage chronic medical issues in a way that’s sustainable and caring. And that’s something I definitely want to talk about – balancing my expectations of myself, my interaction in the broader community, and how to juggle ritual tasks when there’s no one else trained in the tradition to lean on directly in ritual, for example. I think there are solutions and options, and I’m sure there are more I haven’t thought of yet, too.

Pre-planning:

What is your own experience and training? It’s good to be honest with yourself about these things – a lot of the most dangerous moments come from someone who either overestimates their experience or training, or just plain ignores things that training would tell them. It’s important to not only know what to do, but why something is done that way. Likewise, be aware of what you’ve done recently, and what you might be a little rusty on. If most of your experience is by yourself, working closely with someone with more experience for at least a couple of group rituals to learn skills and manage the energy is a really smart idea.

I also consider it part of my job as a priestess to have basic First Aid and CPR training. I hope I’ll never need it, but having it makes me feel more comfortable in knowing what to do if an emergency does happen. (I’m not rigid about keeping my certification totally current, but do renew it regularly.) If you’re not up for this, consider supporting someone else in your group in getting that training instead.

Are you changing anything from standard practice for that technique? Standard techniques have often been widely tested and most possible problems already removed. When you change an element, however, you may be removing an important safety support. Don’t do that without adding something else that fixes that. For example, many traditions have some standard methods they use to bring people back to their bodies after trance or ecstatic work. These specific methods may not make as much sense in a large public ritual or a festival setting – but you’d want to make sure you included something that did the same thing.

What are your resources in terms of space? What safety support does it already have? One reason we’ve been relatively relaxed about health and safety issues with our Pagan Pride is that we’ve been holding it in a community center space which both has its own safety equipment, but is also down the block from the fire station. These are a little different than being in a public park, where those things would be less available or further away.

Likewise, you’re going to want to take different steps if you’re outside in the heat or cold than if you’re inside in a climate-controlled building. You’re going to want to pay attention to different natural hazards if you’re in the Southwest US than if you’re in Minnesota (poisonous snakes and other critters). And some things are much safer if you can’t be interrupted than if you’re in a park with lots of people from the general public walking through.

What resources do you have in terms of people? Appropriate space for risk-involving work requires people who can support that. In Wiccan-based work, this is a common role for experienced initiates: people who have already worked with a particular technique, and who can help out if needed, even if they aren’t the priestess or priest in charge. I’m going back to the group I trained with for Samhain at the end of this week, and that’s part of my role there, to be one more experienced body who’s familiar with the ritual (which has some logistical and emotional challenges for a lot of people) and help out as needed. Because I know the ritual, but don’t have a specific ritual role, it’s easier for me to to be more immediately helpful than one of the people who needs to help keep the ritual going.

In public rituals, even if I’m not doing anything particularly strenuous, I try really hard to have 3-4 people who are there and familiar with what’s going on. Both to help set the pattern for other people there, but also so that if there is a problem of any kind, I can say, “You, go get me a glass of water. You, can you get everyone to back up a bit while we sort this out.” and so on, and call people by name. (People asked by name to do something are a lot more likely to do it than if you just ask generally: this is the same principle you use when asking someone to call 911 – identify them specifically, like “You in the brown jacket, with the glasses. Call 911 and tell them…”)

These people may also have other roles, depending on your ritual structure. However, what makes sense will vary with path and need. If a role requires staying in circle, for example, don’t send that person out with a participant who needs to sit down and have a glass of water outside of circle.

What do you know about the people who will be participating? There are some obvious differences between a group of people with a lot of experience in what you’re doing, and a group of people who either don’t have much experience, or don’t have experience in that particular form. Adjust accordingly. If you don’t know about the background of the people participating, do some checking before you start, or consider a brief discussion before you get started in which you go over the critical information.

One other thing to think about at this point is whether you have anyone with relevant chronic medical conditions. I don’t ask these for public events (instead, I avoid things where this might be a concern), but for smaller settings (coven work, for example), I want to know:

• chronic conditions (asthma, high or low blood pressure, etc.)
• tendencies -  for example, poorly managed personal energy can be a migraine trigger for some people. (It was for me until I got my personal energy management under better control.)
• past surgery that has a long-term effect. We discovered in my past group work that the two people who’d had gastric bypass needed some variations on common breathing exercises (or to ease into it more slowly) due to the surgery’s effects. Not a crisis, but there was more discomfort and frustration than I’d prefer until we figured that out.
• ongoing medication, especially recent changes in type or dose that someone’s still adapting to.

Now, in practice, in a small close-knit group, you probably know most of this anyway, before you get into the deeper (and more risky stuff). But it’s good to check in about. (These are among questions I ask anyone I’m seriously considering for group work once we’re past the initial ‘get to know you’ stage.)

What do you know about yourself? The questions directly above apply to you, too. Do you have any chronic conditions, tendencies, past surgery or other injuries, or ongoing medication that affects you? For example, I’m asthmatic. I will not plan a ritual that involves my having to do a lot of very energetic dancing in ways I might not be able to sustain (and I have a backup plan for rituals that involve more than minimal movement in case I’m having more trouble than usual.) I also won’t priestess a ritual if I’ve been on inhaled steroids for more than a week or two, because they do odd things to both my sense of discernment, and to my emotional stability, but I’m not on them long enough to develop a new baseline.

Planning:

What is your goal? One of the most important steps in the process: what’s your real desired outcome, and what is involved to get you there? Books have been written about this, so I’m not going to go into it deeply here.

What techniques might work for reaching that goal? The techniques you use will depend on several things – again, books have been written about this, but you want to consider:

• Your particular religious, spiritual, or magical path’s preferred techniques
• Techniques that work particularly well for you, or that you feel most able to lead thoroughly.
• How a given technique fits the likely participants, setting, and other circumstances.
• If a specific tool or technique has particular considerations.

There’s usually more way to raise and focus energy, for example. If it’s likely to be 100 degrees out and sunny, you might want to pick chanting rather than fervent dancing, for example. If it’s outside in the winter, you don’t want to make everyone stand there in a meditative post for 30 minutes. You should build in approaches that are accessible to people at varying levels of mobility and health – for example, if there’s a dancing portion, have a way for people who can’t join in the dancing chant, drum, or do something else to participate. If you have a lot of inexperienced participants, you probably don’t want a method that requires 30 minutes of sustained focus (since they may not have practice in that.)

What risks are involved with those techniques? What would you do if those things went wrong? This is the place where it’s really hard to talk about specifics without looking at examples, but here’s some ideas:

• Ritual blades: Sharp objects (or even dull one) in close spaces have some risks. A common restriction is to ask everyone but the priest or priestess using a blade for the group’s ritual work to leave them sheathed on their belt or to not bring it at all. In public parks, or some rented spaces, having only one (generally on the altar) may be easiest.
• Glass : Some public parks and other spaces prohibit glass – and if you have a lot of people around who are unfamiliar with ritual in that space, it can be a bad idea anyway. Consider whether there are other materials that might work just as well. (My coven candleholders are stone, precisely so I don’t have to worry about either tipping them over or shattering them if I drop them.)
• Candles: Obvious fire safety issues here, especially around the area of long sleeves, long robes, or long hair. Having a fire extinguisher handy (and choosing clothing made of natural fibers, which burn much more cleanly if they burn) rather than polyester or other non-natural blends is a good move. Many locations ask that candles be enclosed in a container that extends above the level of the flame, and again, this is a good safety precaution in many cases.
• Burning something in a cauldron or over a bonfire: Again, fire safety issues. More is not better when it comes to chemical fires: avoid a 8 foot tower of fire created by too much epsom salt and rubbing alcohol mix. Have a way to cover the cauldron and stop air getting to the fire. (And have the fire extinguisher accessible.) Also, be careful what you burn – what chemicals are you releasing into the air? Does the place you’re doing the ritual have any fire or burn restrictions (common during droughts or dry periods).
• Incense: People can have a wide range of allergies – some to sage, some to lavender (a popular substitution), some to pretty much anything else you’re likely to want to try and burn. It’s often better to avoid incense or smudging of any kind at a public event. (At smaller closed events, it’s easier to ask in advance and find a solution everyone’s okay with.) This also goes for essential oil burners, and other things that release scent.
• Ecstatic ritual techniques: Ecstatic work can be glorious – but without appropriate support, it can also lead to an emotional crisis point, and leave someone feeling drained, unable to cope, or draw multiple people into chaos. These are not necessarily what you want. Having a clear way to enter the ecstatic experience, but also a clear way to return (and sufficient support staff to help individuals as needed) can be very important.
• Trance work: Same thing – do you have a method for not only getting people there, but getting them back securely? Do you know a variety of techniques to help people ground and return to themselves (in case the first one or two you try don’t work – some ideas further on in this piece) Is there space for people to sit and chat (and maybe have food) before they have to drive?
• Complex ritual techniques: Deep trance work likely to hit emotional issues, Drawing Down/aspecting/possessory work, anything involving a commitment lasting more than a few months, etc. all have some more complex risks. (beyond the scope of this post, I think) and should be handled very carefully.
• Dehydration: Have more water around than you need. Gatorade or something equivalent is also a good move if you’re doing anything involving exertion, or are going to be out in the hot sun for a while.
• Eating, drinking or inhaling: Identify what you’re giving people in ritual (whether it’s food, drink, incense, a salve, or what.) Be aware of your local, state, and federal laws. Don’t force a substance on anyone or ‘hide’ it to play a joke: you may be hitting someone’s allergy or strong sensitivity. Mention alternatives for an alcoholic chalice (send a non-alcoholic version around, or remind people they can raise the chalice in blessing or pour a tiny bit on the ground if outside, etc.)

How do those fit with the experience levels of the people participating? If you have an unknown group (as with public ritual), err on the side of caution. If you have a group of people where you know all or almost all of their experience levels, it makes sense to take a few more risks or stretch further. (In my experience, if there is more than 1 guest for every 4-5 people familiar with the ritual methods, you want to detail one or more support people to keep an eye out for problems.)

What else is going on in your life, and how is that going to affect this event? If you are currently juggling a lot of stress at work, you’ve had major family demands, you’ve been seriously ill, or anything else that takes your energy and focus, this is not the time to plan a big event that uses a whole bunch of ritual techniques you haven’t done much before this. Instead, use approaches you’re more familiar with, or get the help of people with substantial experience with the techniques you want to use. Try the new stuff in a smaller, more controlled environment first (experienced people who can give you feedback or any concerns) or at least at a time when you can give your full attention to preparation, planning, and rehearsal and have the emotional and physical energy to support it.

What are the general things that might go wrong that have nothing to do with ritual – just people.
It’s always good to think about this – most of these have been covered already, but think through your specific space. What will you do if someone feels faint? Steps on a wasp? Twists their ankle? Tips over a candle or a glass of wine or water? Think through each part of your ritual plan, and look for what could go wrong, then figure out at least one way to resolve it. Make sure you bring the tools needed to do that.

The announcement:
The ritual announcement can be a great way to get important information out to the participants, and it’s easy to include some general information about safety and well-being. (It can be relatively informal – and in a consistent small group work, you can often communicate most of this once, and then just let people know about any specifics as they come up.) I like to include:

• Who is planning the event/designing the ritual (and how they can contact this person with specific questions.)
• When (an idea of duration is helpful – is this a ‘few hour’ thing or an ‘all weekend’ thing?)
• Where (location, address, map with directions, whatever.)
• Who is welcome (public event? invite only? guests welcome or not?)
• General ritual dress requests (seasonal colors, ritual robes, street clothes, that the ritual will be skyclad). If you’re doing a lot of dancing or movement, you might suggest people avoid long skirts or robes. If you’ll be standing or sitting on a cold floor (winter in Minnesota!), let folks know if they should bring a blanket, are welcome to bring slippers or socks, etc.
• What to bring (potluck dish, specific items for use in ritual, etc. and what to do if they don’t have those items.) For example, if you ask people to bring a chalice, you might tell them that any pleasing cup is fine if they don’t have a dedicated chalice.
• What not to bring (blades, small children, pets, things other people are allergic to, etc. depending on the event.)
• Advance warning of any situations that people may want to prepare for (rituals that involve lengthy time standing, extremes of heat or cold outside, lots of moving/dancing, etc.) If you’re asking them to make oaths or commitments, I think it’s a good idea to let them know that, even if you’re not specific at this point about the details of wording.
• Ask people to contact the ritual organiser with any specific needs (for example, you might only provide a non-gluten option for cakes and ale for a small ritual if you know someone coming can’t eat bread products, or be extra certain to have some seating available if someone coming can’t stand for long). For a public event, you want to plan these alternatives anyway, because not everyone will RSVP.

You may also want to solicit additional help – people who can help with set-up or clean-up in order to make sure you and your support staff have the energy and attention to spend on other tasks related to the ritual and ritual safety. (If you have spent 3 hours setting everything up yourself, you will be less able to do this than if you’ve had a bunch of people to help you move furniture and do other general tasks.)

On the day:

Remind your support staff of important information:
This can be simple or complex. It can be general, or specific to an individual you think might have more potential for concern (either because of past experiences, or because they’re new to what you’re doing, or whatever.) Remind people where the fire extinguisher and other useful things are. Especially if it’s a large ritual, it might be nice to have an agreement about what the ‘we’re ending this ritual now’ conditions might be. (And what stuff, on the other hand, is “You and you deal with it, the rest of us will keep going.”)

Where are the relevant safety supplies? Know where your fire extinguisher is. Also your nearest available bathroom (it does not count if you have to move a pile of furniture to get to it.) Do your helpers know where cups and water are (if someone needs water?) A few kinds of food? (Protein, something with sugar, something solid and grounding?) Where the first aid supplies are? Where a phone they can use is? (Ok, less relevant in these days of cell phones, but worth checking if you’re in a remote location with poor coverage.)

If you’re working in a situation where you won’t know someone’s disease status (blood borne and otherwise – you don’t want someone’s stomach flu, either), make sure you have cleaning supplies that will deal with this on hand in case you need to deal with cleaning up body fluids. At the very least try to have gloves, a suitable bleach solution, paper towels, and multiple plastic bags on hand.  (They’re all useful for other things, too!)

Practice good fire safety: Covered this one already, but remember to blow out any candles you light, and to have a way to handle lit cauldrons safely. Be smart and put a heat-resistant surface under the cauldron, too, even if you think the heat won’t damage the floor/ground. Check and obey any fire restrictions if you’re outside.

Prepare your participants (and include a reminder on what to do if someone feels unwell, etc.): Do a quick reminder with your participants on what you’re doing, and on what to do if they need to leave the ritual. Most commonly, this is asking an identified person or persons for help. If you have a number of helpers, a simple pinned symbol, or a piece of brightly colored ribbon around one arm or some other indicator can all be really helpful. Examples: “Raven is our Summoner: ask him for help if you need to leave circle” or “You can ask any initiate – people wearing white or red or black cords” or “Our helpers have an oak leaf pinned to their robe, ask any of them.”

Know some good methods for the most common issues: In my experience, there are a few situations that are likely enough to make it worth having a solid plan in place. (That doesn’t mean they’ll happen – just that of the things that might go wrong, these are the most plausible) One of these, grounding issues, I’m going to cover separately, below. The others include:

• Someone knocking something (candle, chalice, etc.) off an altar accidentally. (Set breakables well back from any edge, consider having a dustpan and brush handy)
• Someone getting too close to a flame (set well back from edge, have a fire extinguisher handy, and containers are your friend).
• Other things involving fire, practice first, and remember  more is not better. Know where your fire extinguisher is.
• Blood sugar drop (ask the person what they need, cut them out of ritual to get appropriate food).
• Feeling faint (cut them out of circle, get a glass of water)
• Feeling overwhelmed (cut them out of circle, find a quiet place outside the circle and ideally out of noise range to sit and recover.)
• Unable to come back from meditation (see the grounding techniques)
• First aid needs (wasp sting, twisted ankle, sick to their stomach, etc.)

The issues of grounding:
One of the most common ritual ‘things that go a little wrong’ is people needing help to return fully to conscious awareness or to let go of the extra energy running around from ritual. Both of these have some possible risks – and honestly, they’re just plain uncomfortable. The first thing you should do to avoid this problem is to include a short grounding pause in your ritual closing. Often something short and simple will get everyone back. Some ritual methods include something as part of the cakes and ale where the priestess or priest will touch or hug everyone in circle – this is quick and easy way to make sure you get everyone back.

How do you recognise a problem? Here are some common signs that someone may need some more help. In all cases, a behavior that’s not normally like someone (i.e. someone who is very quiet is suddenly babbling, someone who is normally energetic is really reserved) is a good thing to check on. (Note: Check, don’t force. If you are not running the ritual, alert someone who is if there’s a possible problem.)

• Being jittery, unable to stay still.
• Chattering, babbling, unable to focus.
• Someone normally outgoing is being extremely quiet.
• Ongoing minimal response to people checking on them. (i.e. they say “Eh?” and that’s it instead of “Yeah, fine, thanks – just thinking about ritual.”)
• Absence of hunger when it would normally make sense to eat.
• Either easily upset, or flat, without emotional affect.

These signs won’t be the same for everyone – they may vary depending on you, on what you’ve been doing, and various other factors. You might have one common set of responses, but a different ritual will bring something else out.

What to do about it: The following are a collection of the methods I’ve either used on others  or had work well for me.

• Walk through a full grounding method, without skipping or glossing over steps.
• Salt under the tongue is a classic remedy. Salt is energetically grounding and dampening.
• Hold a stone used for grounding (either hematite, etc. or a quartz crystal charged to focus on grounding and containing excess energy.)
• Hug a tree or lie flat on the ground (arms and legs spread out from the body) for 5 minutes.
• Sitting somewhere quiet for a few minutes often works too, but someone should check on you.
• Eat. Protein, dense grains, and dense veggies are best. Someone may only really want sugar, but get them to eat a bite or two of something sweet and *then* the dense stuff.
• Dark chocolate also helps a lot, interestingly. The good stuff.
• Turning on the news or some other very mundane/practical conversation.
• Walking, stretching, or other activity that centers you in your body.

One last remedy I learned this weekend is a physical one (so get permission to touch the person first!). Put one hand, thumb down, over the base of the skull. Put the other hand thumb up over the forehead/third eye. Have the person inhale. As they exhale, gently squeeze together. It’s a technique that helps recenter the person in their body, and also helps buffer from input from the third eye, and from the large bundle of complex nerves (and in some traditions, psychic centers) at the base of the skull. Firm pressure basically gives the body something else to work with than the more esoteric parts. Walking someone through wiggling or scrunching up each part of their body may also help center them in their physical selves.

What to do when warning in advance would affect the ritual:
And finally, a quick word about rituals where an element of surprise is part of it (or where the ritual itself is oathbound.) This is, of course, a tricky situation, because simply providing information is not always the best choice for the most effective emotional impact. Possibilities include:

• Only do rituals with a significant element of surprise with people you know well (so you know any of their possible concerns) and who also trust you to treat them well. Initiations following an extended period of interaction and training fit here, often.
• Do a general discussion. The group I trained in handed initiation information in part by having a class in which we said “Here’s why initiatory rituals happen, and what they’re supposed to do. Here’s a bunch of things that are commonly mentioned as possible options in them. We’re not going to tell you what ours involves, but if you have questions or concerns about any of these things, you should let us know so we can take it into account.” As mentioned, I’m asthmatic, and I’ve got a fairly strong reaction to anything that restricts postion of my neck (as some forms of ritual binding do) I told them, they took it into account, and I had no worries on the night in question about that, because I also trusted that they would take it seriously.
• Providing general information without details (“This ritual will involve some physical challenges: if you’re not sure whether you’re up for that, talk to [ritual organiser] about your limits, and we’ll tell you whether we think you’d be able to manage.”) This is not a great solution (because it requires people to reveal some personal information), but can work for some situations. But for “I can walk X distance, but not fast” sorts of needs, it can be great.

I’m sure there are many other options that could be included here – but this is certainly long enough for now. Again, questions, other suggestions, etc. are all welcome in comments.

Back on track:

Today, I’d like to talk about ritual safety. And there’s a particular reason I want to talk about this. Many people reading are probably already aware of the deaths of three people due to an extremely dangerous sweat lodge set up at a New Age training in Sedona run by James Ray.

One of my favorite blogs, Making Light, posted a fantastic analysis of many of the issues involved (practical, philosophical, and everything in between). One reason I was so glad to see a detailed post go up there, however, was because another of that blog’s contributors, Jim Macdonald, is (besides being a SF author) a wilderness EMT who’s been doing a long series of occasional posts about various medical calamities. One of the things both writers do a great job of is showing others what people can do that’s actually helpful in avoiding crises when possible, spotting problems early, and giving the best possible chance for the best outcome if they still happen.

The comment threads on Making Light run long (hundreds of comments are pretty common), but I encourage taking the time to read them: the community culture (and some clear moderation when needed) keep them very useful, coherent, and meaningful (even the thread-drift is handy). In this case, there are more links to supporting information and a great discussion of other ritual and spiritual safety issues throughout. (There is also a great thread on the Pagan news blog, The Wild Hunt that’s worth reading)

However, all of this got me thinking about issues of ritual safety in the Pagan community, and I thought it might be useful to put some of my thoughts into electrons.

The question of ‘what is safe’:

Many, many things we do – in all parts of our lives – have risks. We stand up, for example. We get in cars, and planes, and have dinner at restaurants, and hug people (who might have something contagious), and take public transportation. And all of those things (and pretty much everything else) have some risks attached.

In various parts of the Pagan community, we do things that have some greater risks. Burning incense? That adds a possible allergen or irritant to the air. If, like me, you’re asthmatic, that can be a problem in the wrong circumstances. Dancing? Easy for someone to twist an ankle. Outside for ritual? What happens if it turns cold and damp and people aren’t prepared? Or what happens if it’s 95 degrees and blindingly sunny out? (See Jim’s posts on hypothermia and hyperthermia for examples.)

There’s riskier stuff, too. Deep experiences of Drawing Down (having the deity speak through the body of the priestess or priest involved) can be a powerful and amazing ritual experience for everyone involved, but it has psychological and physical risks in various ways. (Deities, in my experience, don’t always get why something might be dangerous or uncomfortable or inappropriate for the body they’re inhabiting.) And many of our deeper ritual techniques are designed to poke at the areas we feel uncomfortable about, so we can better examine them and make changes we feel are necessary.

There are reasons to court these risks – just like there are reasons we choose to get in a car or plane, to eat food from a variety of sources, to do all sorts of things. But we should, ideally, do two things.

1) Have some idea of what the risks are (so we can make an informed choice)

2) Have some idea how to limit or mitigate the risks.

So, what does this mean in the Pagan community? Good question, so I’m going to look at it from two perspectives: someone attending an event (that they didn’t plan and don’t know lots of details about), and then from someone planning an event. (Since this post got long, I’ll do the planning an event as a separate post.)

Attending an event:

I even happen to have a handy example: this weekend, Thorn Coyle is doing a workshop in St. Paul on a topic near and dear my heart this year (integration of different parts of the self), and I’m going to be there all day Saturday and a chunk of Sunday. So, I’m going to use that as a part of my example.

1) Background education

The first part of safety, to my way of thinking, is ongoing personal education. When something related to safety comes up, take a little time to review it thoughtfully. This way, you build up foundation in safety issues that’s incredibly powerful over time.

The point with all of this is not to become an EMT or a doctor, or anything like that. The point isn’t even to retain all the details of different kinds of breaks, and what to do. The point is to give you a starting point so that you can evaluate possible risks, and decide what would make you feel safe enough to pursue that activity in that setting. The other part of the point is that if something does go wrong, you stand a much better chance of saying “Hey, wait… stop a minute” before it gets worse. You don’t need to be able to fix the problem – just knowing when to call for help is a *huge* win. Or, as is often the case, when to drink more water, get somewhere warm, or sit down for a bit without other stresses.

I started First Aid and CPR courses when I was 13 (as part of a babysitting course). Since then, I keep my hand in with regular renewals of the certification, and by picking up useful information as I go along. Sometimes that’s classes on issues in a particular setting (horseback riding, for example, which I did a lot as a teen). Sometimes it’s by reading (Jim Macdonald’s posts)

And when I read about other people’s ritual experiences, I often stop for a few seconds, and think about whether I’m interested in that kind of experience, and what kinds of safety issues or practical issues I’d want to pay attention. This both keeps me in the habit of thinking through possiblilities, but it also means that if something comes up suddenly (an activity in a ritual I wasn’t expecting), I don’t have to start from scratch.

The other part is building skills slowly over time. We don’t drive for the first time in a car at high speeds in bad road conditions. We learn in an open parking lot at slow speeds, and build up from there. Our ritual skills can work the same way: having a solid basic practice of common skills (centering, grounding, shielding, personal energy management, different simple/gentle ritual tools (chanting, simple dances, etc) can all build our experience so that if something more significant comes up, we have some way to fit it into what we already know without panicking.

2) Evaluate the specifics

If you have specifics about what’s going on (or when, or where), look at them. Some examples:

• Summer ritual? Evaluate for heat exhaustion and heat stroke risks. Pack plenty of water, no matter what it says about what’ll be available at the site.  Drink it, too. (And remember that caffeine – tea, soda, coffee – reduces hydration.) If I don’t need it, someone else might. An ice pack might be nice. And appropriate clothing that breathes, and sunscreen.
• Winter ritual? Look at concerns about mobility (slipping on ice) and cold damage (Minnesota can be lethally cold pretty fast a few times through the winter.) Also consider risks in driving (black ice, blizzard conditions, etc.) Wool and silk are my friends for clothing here, but also adequate boots, gloves, scarf, hat, etc. If I don’t know a good place to get warm (the car counts), I shouldn’t be going.
• Physically taxing ritual? What else am I doing around that time? Will I have energy reserves going into it? Will I have recovery time afterwards without putting my ability to do my job at risk?Have I recently been sick for more than a day or two, or am I in the middle of bad-allergy-and-asthma season?
• New ritual technique? Look at the risks and concerns that come with it, and decide what might help with any of them. Is it like other things you’ve done before, but a bit more so? Maybe spend some time with those more basic skills before the ritual.
• Situational issues: Is there flu going around your community? How will you feel if someone passes a chalice around to drink from? (Nice to think in advance what you’re comfortable with.) Does the ritual host have pets you’re allergic to? Take your allergy meds, and bring whatever other emergency needs you have.
• Personal limits and needs?  I’m asthmatic: I make sure that someone in any group I work in knows where my inhaler is. (Very simply, like “I always have one in an outer pocket of my bag.”). If you’re diabetic or prone to blood sugar issues, some kinds of ritual work can affect them. Trying new stuff with other people (or at least someone in the house who can come if you need a hand) is a really smart idea.
• Things designed to take you out of yourself? Guided meditation, drawing down, etc.? Start with small and contained experiences with this, before trying far more major ones. Work with people you trust and get to know over time. Work up in complexity and length.

This also goes for specific activities that have more significant risks. If you know an event is going to include a period of fasting, or a sweat lodge, eating or drinking specific things, or anything else that has medical warnings on it for some people, you should be asking several questions.

• What’s the point of this activity? How will you know if it’s successful?
• Could it be done using some other (safer) technique? (Not everything can be, but risk for risk’s sake is .. a risk.)
• Are there ways for people to participate at varying levels of risk/stress? If someone feels uncomfortable or at risk, can they do something relatively quickly that will help (get out of the immediate area freely, get water, get someone to help them?)
• Does the person monitoring the risky experience have specific training in doing that? Can you evaluate it for yourself, rather than just taking their word for it?
• If something goes wrong, how close is help?

The sweat lodge deaths: The sweat lodge came after a fairly extended fast (which puts strain on the body), in a location at higher altitude (which also stresses the body if you’re not adapted). The sweat lodge was billed as not only being a way to purify the self, but to push beyond limits (see #3, below). According to various of the news reports,  people were encouraged to stay past their comfortable limits, and leaving the space was reportedly extremely difficult for both emotional and physical reasons. That’s a problem in every way.

They were also doing it in a fairly rural area with limited emergency care facilities within a short distance. That’s a big difference from being no more than 10-15 minutes from a major trauma center, and closer to several more quite competent emergency rooms. (As I happen to be most of the time, living in a major city.) And there’s no evidence that Ray had meaningful training in the safety aspects (and in fact, his method changed several traditional Native American practices that build in an additional safety buffer.) or had staff on hand who did or who knew the relevant warning signs and best practice treatments. Previous problems regarding sweat lodges Ray ran happened in 2005, and also in 2008, too.

None of this adds up to being a particularly good idea.

2b) Sometimes you won’t have specifics

That’s the case for the workshop this weekend: the actual announcement doesn’t have a whole lot of details about specific activities. However, I can do my own research. Here’s some of the things I know:

I know the basic physical set-up. We’re meeting at our local Pagan community center, a space I’ve been in a number of times. I know what facilities they have, that I can get water and soda and other things easily. I know how long it will take me to drive home, and my best route if I’m tired or a little spacy. We’re going to be inside, so I don’t need to worry about heat, cold, or most of my allergens. I also know that breaks are planned for going out for food, so I don’t need to bring anything.

I know my own experience. My training and group ritual experiences over the last 9 years have given me a good idea of what my healthy tolerances are, and what things I want to be cautious of.  For example, I know that I need to leave some energy and physical leeway leading up to this event to make the most of it. (10am to 9pm is a really long day for me, especially right now with my work schedule.) This event is worth it to me, so I also have made sure to schedule sufficient downtime in the days around the weekend.

I also know my own weaknesses. For example, I have asthma, and my lungs are usually most grumpy at about this point in the fall. I’m actually having a very good fall re: asthma stuff this year, but I’m still going to need to probably be careful about some kinds of breathing work (otherwise, I can trigger a coughing fit), or substantial ongoing movement (dancing, for example.) I can do both these things, but need to be careful how. Don’t know how much they’ll come up – but do know it’s good to know where my own areas of caution might be.

I’ve done some obvious background research. I have read Thorn’s books. While this probably won’t have everything we might do in it, it does give me a good idea what types of things might come up, and gives me a chance to prepare any questions I might have about specifics. If someone isn’t an author, looking at blogs or other web searches can often help. If I didn’t have time to read the books, I could still look at summaries or other shorter material. (And of course, if I were really not sure, emailing the organiser or Thorn directly would quite likely get me more information.)

I know people who’ve done other work with her. (Both short-term and longer-term). I had conversations with a couple of them to get an idea of their impressions. This was a good idea anyway, as it’s a relatively large money and time investment for me, and I wanted to make sure I was likely to get enough out of the experience to make those things worthwhile.

Obviously, adjust for the setting. You don’t need to spend as much time for an evening event in a well-known location as you do for one that lasts longer, has a large outdoor component, or that involves techniques that are known to be risky in at least some cases. (fasting, sweat lodge-type structures, etc. Basically, anything that sometimes has a warning label on it that some people should not do.)

I’d guess that most of the time, my evaluation at this stage takes 20 minutes at most, and often a lot less (if it’s a group of people I know well, or a setting I know, or I’ve done similar evaluations before.) For example, my ‘ritual outside in winter’ checklist gets trotted out most winters, and is not that different from my “going outside for longer than it takes to get from work parking lot to door” checklist.

3) Look for warning signs.

Once you’ve looked at the specifics, look one more time for any warning signs. The following are things I’d have concerns about:

Language about ‘pushing through discomfort into change’, especially if it’s got a very macho ‘no gain without pain’ thing going along with it. Yes, pushing through discomfort can be important, but only if you’re still able to function at the end of it.

One size fits all settings. Sufficiently safe settings will have some options available (and clearly noted) that can be used if the basic practice isn’t accessible or safe for everyone. (Or, they’ll be really clear up front about what’s involved, and what people should be prepared to deal with.)

For example, a ritual with a lot of movement or dancing might arrange some spaces for people to sit or stand while drumming, clapping, or anchoring a chant. That’s participating, but gives options besides the most physically demanding option. Or a ritual may say “We’re going to be outside, standing and moving around for 3-4 hours in cold weather and probably wind on a steep slope. This is not a good ritual for people with mobility issues. Be sure to bring suitable warm clothing for several hours outside.”

Vague and general information. Me, I trust the announcements with specifics a lot more. The more vague something is, the more wary I get. Thorn’s announcement would not have been enough for me *except* that I had other ways of checking on what kinds of activities were likely to arise.

Inadequate (or inadequately trained) staff/people running the thing. Do the people helping know enough about what they’re doing to actually be helpful? Do they have relevant religious, professional, or other training that helps manage any risks or deal with problems? (Lots of previous experience with few problems is usually a good starting point, but it’s not the only thing to look for.)

Language about how those who are truly committed to the experience will be fine. This is often a mask for ‘if you got hurt, it’s because you didn’t want it enough/weren’t ready for the experience’. In most settings the cost of failure should not be lasting damage, it should be that you just don’t get much out of the experience.

Isolation from people who know you well. This can sometimes happen for good reason – a weekend festival or event that you go to by yourself, for example. However, you’re a lot more at risk of something heading out of balance here, than at a shorter event (where you go home to familiar space and resources), or if you go to something with a couple of friends who know you and your normal reactions really well. In either case, you’ll catch possible problems more quickly.

4) Be aware of the power of pressure.

It’s possible in some situations for there to be a feeling that one has to measure up, or meet certain benchmarks in order to be taken seriously. These are some of the most serious risks out there, partly because they’re very hard to avoid. They can crop up otherwise quite safe settings, or start as a game.

Knowing that it’s a possibility, however, helps. Doing some reading about how crowd psychology works does too. It doesn’t mean it’ll be easy to walk off and do your own thing when you need to – but knowing your own particular weak points means you can protect them a little more diligently.

For example, one response I have to my asthma is wanting to push through it and not let my lungs determine what I do. The problem is that’s not always good for me. Over the years, I’ve learned how to say “Sorry, can’t do that today” in situations where there was very little pressure, and little to be lost by saying it (walking with a friend, and asking to walk a bit more slowly, or avoid a particularly steep hill). That practice makes it easier for me to say it when the stakes are higher (being at a work event when a lot of outdoor walking is involved, and advocating for some different ways to approach it that also benefit students with medical limits in various ways.) And that makes it easier for me to quietly find an alternative in ritual if I’m not up for dancing, but that still lets me contribute, like at a Pagan ritual.

5) Listen to your intuition

If something feels off, ask more questions, or just plain don’t do that thing right now. Other chances will come around that will be similar. Do some more research, find people who’ve done it where you can ask any questions. Do some learning about specific components you may be concerned about. You’ll be better informed for the next time.

Done with this part – will do the part about the planning side in the near future.

Today, some celebrate Mabon, the second harvest festival. So do I, though I prefer the name Harvest Home, these days. A day of bringing in the fruit of our work, of celebrating our labor.

Today is also the second in my personal string of new years. There is the beginning of school: the beginning of a cycle every year of my life since I was born in some way: as the child of a professor, as a student myself, or as someone working in education.

Today is my birthday: the day when night and day balance, when the days truly seem shorter, when my desire to come home and nest and reflect in the quiet competes with the growing work of the school year. They are both good, both necessary, and they continue to dance in their own helix until June. And following that, there comes Samhain (the pause before the dawning sun of Midwinter and a new cycle of potential) and the calendar’s New Year.

And I am reminded, always, of my birthday’s place, falling as it sometimes does between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Neither are my celebrations, but they were the celebrations of some of my ancestors, in the not too distant past. A time to reflect on the things I’ve regretted, as well as walking forward into the new year of blessing and potential.

Today, I came home from work, and had a long bath, with the particularly decadent bath salts, and excellent soap, and read by candlelight for long enough for my neck to untangle and my body to relax.

And now, I sit here, hair drying down my back, and I think about this past year. This past decade, in fact, for ten years ago this past summer, I picked up and moved to Minnesota. Nine years and a week or two ago, I started working at the school I’ve been at ever since. Just under ten years ago, I adopted my Athene, the small cat who makes my life a delight, and who is always a warm friendly presence.

This year has been a year of many changes. Not of ritual initiations and elevations, mind you – the changes I’ve volunteered for in more than one way, worked deliberately for, and plunged into, knowing that there were many other changes yet to come I could not predict.

But this year’s brought other changes.

Most importantly, there is the job. After seeking a professional library position for over two years as I finished my Master’s degree, I got hired last spring (as many readers here know) to become the teacher librarian. Last spring was a flurry of setting longer-term plans in place. This summer, we rearranged the library, handling every single book on the shelves (some 11,000)  in the space of ten days. And this fall, work has eaten my brain, as I challenge myself to improve some skills, and to juggle administrative tasks (less fun) with helping people find information (what I’d rather spend all my time doing.)

This job has brought stability of all kinds for the first time in years. I wake up in the morning not needing to job hunt. Knowing that my salary not only lets me survive, but thrive. That I can use that stability to help out a friend, or support an independent artist.

But more than anything, not needing to endlessly contingency plan. Not knowing if this would be the week when the perfect job ad would appear, and need to be responded to quickly and brillantly. Not knowing if I’d still be in the state in three months, or six months, or a year, and thus not ever being able to make a firm promise to help with something.

It’s amazing how helpful that is. But it’s also new, and I’m still getting used to what it feels like to live this way: to live in joy and potential, rather than scarcity and uncertainty.

Let me count my blessings:

I adore my job. Oh, I gripe about bits of it. But I adore my job. I work with amazing, intelligent, thoughtful people. They’re not perfect (good thing, because I’m sure not.) But I know they care deeply about teaching, about students, about learning – and even when we disagree or bump heads, that’s always there. It makes everything better, and there’s almost never a day I come home from work feeling useless or invisible or pointless. (Exhausted,  yes, like not enough butter over too much bread, yes. But never useless.)

And the students are fabulous, too. I can never get complacent, and yet every day brings me some question, some curiousity that delights me and gets me going off in a brand new direction. (It’s part of why I like working with high school students: I get to do a little of everything.)

I’ve had my first for-pay writing published, and submitted another contracted piece. I’ve continued to develop connections and ties within my community. (Both pieces are in Llewellyn’s Witch’s Companion Almanac: I write under the name Jenett Silver. The 2010 piece is about music in personal practice, the 2011 pieces are for September, and an article on online tools and Pagan community.)

This was also the year that my tradition, the religious community I look to first, recognised me as an elder. I’m still blinking a bit at that one, and working on figuring out how I want to – need to – live up to that honor. (This is, I think, a lifetime process, or should be.)

I got to see the last of the students in my parent group who I had a substantial hand in working with become an initiate. I wasn’t at her initiation, but I did get to talk to her a lot before and after, and watching the changes in her has been delightful, amazing, and a great reminder of why I want so much to help make that happen for more people. I hope for many more such joys in the years to come.

And I spent a good chunk of the summer helping a dear friend after surgery. While it did challenging things to my energy levels and ability to get other things done, I don’t regret a moment of the experience: many wonderful conversations, thoughts, gentle pushes in the best direction, and amazing other things.

Integration: I’ve made major steps towards integrating all parts of my life. I’m now quietly but easily out at work as Pagan, and as a priestess, to boot. I’ve gotten some great questions, a lot of quiet support, and no blowback at all. (I did say that where I work has a lot of wonderful qualities, didn’t I?) This, too, is a big change for me, and one I’m still learning to dance with fully.

Oh, yes. And I helped run a convention (learning bunches of fascinating new skills), continued to volunteer as Programming Chair and webmistress for Twin Cities Pagan Pride , and did various other and sundry things. I also grew my first vegetables ever. (Tomatoes in an Earth Box.)

Not a bad year, when you put it that way.

There are things I regret in this year, too.

Not enough music. I continue to struggle with how to make it my own in ways that truly fit into my life. Work is one thing, but this has been a back and forth struggle with my own expectations, built from decades of formal music training. Slow steps, this year, but not enough.

Not enough time with friends. I know I’ve also let friends down a few times (and I have the best friends, ever.) Being stretched thin, having to cancel on short notice because I just couldn’t keep going. Of over-estimating what I wanted to do and what I could actually manage. Of a few communication glitches. Of not remembering to reach out and check in with people as much as the ideal me, the one who has the best of all the mentors I know who do that as a matter of course, wants to.

Not enough writing. There’s the book on better Pagan research techniques I desperately want to revise and finish – but I need a brain that is not eaten by very similar discussions at work first, to be able to work on some of it.

Not enough ritual work: Not enough group work, though for very good reasons. Not enough personal work, either. That part needs to change, because lack of ritual makes my hindbrain cranky. (In both cases, it’s not ‘none’. There’s been some. Just … not enough.)

And all those other plans: all sorts of other things I wanted to get done, to improve. Better housekeeping, so my home is always the refuge and quiet place I want it to be. (I was not a tidy child, and as I’ve gotten older, I’ve gotten more easily distracted by disorder, without having the orderly habits intuitively in place to keep that true. This is not a combination I recommend.) All sorts of desires – to spin more yarn, to knit more, to create other art and beauty, to write more about books I read.

These things I haven’t done aren’t good.

They all matter to me, and I want to do them more. But I also know that the world changes, the river flows on – and this year, I will have new choices, new possibilities, new joys and opportunities, especially now that work is settling into a known foundation.

And so, now, I listen to this track (“Tam Lin” from Tricky Pixie’s first album Mythcreants) to finish. And I will go forward into eating wonderful food (chicken wild rice stew, homemade rolls, and tomatoes from my garden) and some ritual work to celebrate the season. When that is done, I intend to tune my harp, and play for at least a few minutes.

Happy Harvest Home to you. Happy harvest. Happy fall. Happy bringing in the things that bring you joy, and thinking about the things that will.

In short: I think that a vague general ’send energy to help really big vague cause’ is equivalent to walking to a lake, pouring in a cup of water, and expecting it to end a drought. If just a few people do it, you don’t get very far. But even if a thousand or a million people do it – you might have some more water in the lake, but you still have a drought. You haven’t solved the underlying problem. Instead, you have a bunch of people who’ve spent time and energy doing one thing – and so couldn’t spend that time and energy doing something that would have a more direct benefit on the world. (Our time, and the number of things we can do in that time, is a finite number, of course.)

As I said in reply to this particular discussion, I think it’s a lot more useful to focus on the things I most directly affect.

This has guided me to work in education (where adults can have a lot of influence on the next generation – both directly with the students they work with, and more broadly as those students grow up and talk to other people.) But you can also have a substantial effect through volunteer work in the local community – or just plain conversations with family and friends about the issues that concern you.

One of the things I like about this approach that you get direct feedback – when the energy you’re pouring out is personal and close to home – about how well it’s working. You can see a direct change in the world around you (or not) and adjust what you’re doing until it’s the change you want. That goes whether you’re sending out energy, or doing physical tasks.

I’ll give one recent example: over the summer, I rearranged my library. (My, in the sense that it’s the one I’m responsible for, as a teacher librarian at a school.) I wanted to create a more intentional sense of space use, and to avoid a couple of ongoing issues. That’s a physical action – but it’s rooted in a desire to change the energy of the place, and to direct the kinds of intentional work I want there (things that are a lot more fuzzy and indirect.)

And yet, despite those things being indirect, I’ve had *many* comments (from both faculty and students) about how much they love the new space. Not from everyone, of course. (A few students have been put out that the corner I can’t see from my desk no longer has tables, and instead has shelving). But in general, people have been very enthusiastic – and more to that, the noise levels and traffic patterns have worked out the way I hoped. (Lots of quiet conversations, but not tons of people being purely social, or distracting others.)

But I also recognise, that at this point in the school year, I don’t have a lot of ’spare’ energy. I’ve been working 50 and 55 hour weeks. I’m still getting my sleep schedule down so that I get enough sleep before I wake up at 5:30. I’ve been coming home tired, with my brain full, and my energy at low ebb – because I’m spending a lot of my energy and attention getting my work year off to the best possible start, and doing my best to support the students and faculty I work with.

That leaves very little energy left to send out vaguely with no particular direction.

And doing so, in fact, makes me wary. Besides the fact that I don’t actually thing it’s terribly effective, one of my first jobs as a priestess is to take care of myself – because no one’s going to do it for me. It’s up to me to make sure I eat a sensible diet and get enough sleep. It’s up to me to get some exercise in there. And it’s up to me to make sure I don’t drain myself to the point of uselessness unless it’s truly a critical need.

The past few weeks, I’ve been able to do a good job at work (though I find my concentration disappearing rapidly at the end of the day sometimes, no matter how much I try to get it back.) I’ve been able to keep my home mostly clean (though I have some cleaning to do today.) I’ve been able to check in with friends and have some enjoyable social time.

But I also know I need to take care of myself, or I won’t be able to do all of that next week. And the week after. And so on. (And I have some things – like our upcoming Pagan Pride weekend – that are going to demand more and more energy from me between now and the event in early October.)

And I’m also aware of some other things. H1N1 has started going around at the school I work at (and as a librarian, I’m particularly prone to exposure.) Exhaustion does a number on your immune system. That long-term management of chronic conditions (asthma and migraines) means I need to be extra careful not to drain my reserves (especially in the fall, which is my worst season for allergies.) And I need to balance the shielding and personal energy management that being around a lot of teenagers with strong emotions tends to require for me.

Which means that “send general energy to a vague cause” is not only not high on my list of things to do, it’s not even on the list at all. It almost never is, unless I’m in a situation where I actually have excess energy (and the attention and time to direct it properly) which .. well, rarely happens. A couple of times a year, maybe.

Instead, I’m going to keep doing the stuff that’s closer to me, that I can see a direct impact in, so that I can use my energy, my focus, my attention, my time in a way that has as much impact as possible. And where I can adjust and refine what I’m doing so that it’s as effective as possible. I certainly continue to do things like communicate desires to my elected officials, or to encourage and support places that produce greater understanding of people from other cultures or places on the planet. But most of what I do is closer to home, and those more distant things are things that have a clear direction, specific desire, and a well-defined goal.