It’s a thing many Pagans say: “We are between the worlds”. It signifies that within the contained context of ceremonial ritual, we are apart from the mundane—that we are somehow outside of the natural world, and suspended in a space wherein all is possible. Where magic can happen.
It isn’t something I say. I know that whether or not I have drawn the circle or otherwise created the felt sense of a container of sacred ritual space, I am still in the natural world, which is the only world there is. Many things are possible there, but not all. We are constrained by physics, by the nature of sacred Reality. What is found there is safety to experiment—to play—and to connect with one another and the greater whole of the Universe in manners which may be surprising, powerful, transformative, and profound.
Still, the key to ritual freedom, to making the magic of ritual, is suspension of disbelief and release of the stiffness of the internal critic’s voice, of embarrassment and shame. Just as we must do this to play let’s-pretend, to enjoy a book or a movie, so must we surrender our critical minds to the moment in order to submerge ourselves in ritual.
So, rather, I might say, We are here, free beings in sacred space, where so much is possible. Where we may be ourselves, naked hearts before the glory of the Sacred World. Joy is found here, and change, and release, and power. Welcome.
But I digress.
Because we all live in many worlds, don’t we? Not literally, but poetically: the world of home, the world of work, the world of family, the worlds of differing circles of friends. All are facets of the great glittering gem of the one world, but they can feel as different as Earth and the Moon.
Since Pantheacon, I have indeed been between worlds. Part of me, caught in the warm liquid swirls of community and exploration and pleasure that are the Con for me, and the rest plunged back suddenly into daily routines and workaday meetings, tasks, and deadlines. It has been a deeply challenging transition this year, and I didn’t give myself enough time for readjustment. I’m pining, a bit. And disenchanted with my ordinary life, lacking as it is all the newness and near-constant stimulation of the conference.
So what is a man to do, under such circumstances? How does an Atheopagan reintegrate into ordinary experience following a peak experience?
Well, I start by taking care of myself. I have begun my Spring Fast again, eschewing alcohol until the vernal equinox. This weekend, I will tidy my home and catch up on household tasks that weigh upon me. I’m taking time to look at the sky, to watch the sunset and enjoy the shining stars. And, sheerly for self-preservation, I have been trying only to track the barest sketchy outlines of the daily sewerage emitting from Washington, D.C.
Ritually, I light candles on my Focus and contemplate the relics of Pantheacon that rest there. I love and am loved, I think. I am respected and a leader. I am helping to build something meaningful. My community is strong.
Reflecting on the love in my life, on the remarkable, beautiful humans I have been blessed to count as friends and loved ones, I feel blessed. I feel empowered and strong.
At work, I have struggled to focus and be productive, but the sheer volume and urgency of the work drive performance whether I feel up to it or not. Once I have caught up on my sleep after this weekend, it will be better. And I have a friend at work whose interesting mind and respect for me have helped me to feel stronger in that arena than I might have otherwise. We had a visit this evening and it was a real shot in the arm.
But more than anything else, I have begun to plan, looking forward, to create some more of the kind of juicy joy that I had at Pantheacon in the coming months. Not at anywhere near that scale of event, of course, but on the scale I can manage. So I’m thinking about a little gathering for High Spring, and planning for Moon Meet in August.
The latter is really exciting: an Atheopagan festival, where our ways are the mainstream. Where atheists and agnostics and scientific pantheists and naturalistic and humanistic Pagans can explore together what it means to be ritual-enacting, Earth-revering cosmological naturalists, not in the margins around the godtalk of the theists, but as the norm. It’s going to be great!
So that’s how I do it: a little extra self-care to protect the tender parts that came to the surface during the Con, a continuation of my religious practice, and a look to the future when I can have some of that sweetness again.
In these hard times, all are needed. We need to keep coming together, to support one another as we can, even though great distances may separate—but not divide—us.
Take care, friends. Be good to one another, and yourselves, in all your various worlds.