If the mind is a garden

A friend of mine on Facebook made the comment that if your favorite Disney movie in childhood was Hercules, as an adult you were either gay or a polytheist. (In their case, they are both.) The first time I saw this, it was merely funny; the third or fourth time Facebook showed it to me, a depth charge went off in my brain.

The question of one’s favorite childhood Disney movie is a frequent one in online memes and conversation. Is your heroine Ariel or Mulan? Do you favor The Emperor’s New Groove or The Lion King? Are you an outlier whose favorite was something by Dreamworks, such as Anastasia or The Road to El Dorado?

I don’t have a favorite childhood Disney movie. This is not solely because my father was of the opinion that Disney was evil and the original fairy tales were far superior to Walt’s bowdlerized versions. It’s not that I didn’t see any Disney movies, even. My Aunt Margaret took me to see Sleeping Beauty when I was four or five. I have a vague memory of seeing the one movie that Disney will never re-release or remake, Song of the South, and being so upset by it that I began sobbing hysterically and we had to leave the theater. I think I saw Bedknobs & Broomsticks in the cinema, and learned about the Magical Defense of Britain before I ever read what Gerald Gardner wrote about it. I saw the delightful short features based on the Pooh books of A.A. Milne on television, on The Wonderful World of Disney. And my dad and I went to see The Black Hole in 1979 and promptly pronounced it the worst movie we had ever seen, an opinion to which I hold to this day.

But my childhood took place during the dark ages of Disney, between the glorious animated features like Snow White and Dumbo and before the new golden age of the 1990s, when Disney began releasing their classics on video and making new films that children born in the ’80s and ’90s would think of as classics and childhood favorites. It took place before the VCR. How can I explain the difference it made to my imagination that gathering around the tv to watch the sole annual broadcast of The Wizard of Oz? Or the sole broadcast of A Charlie Brown Christmas and those other Rankin-Bass animations that dotted the month of December? It was more similar to the way our ancestors gathered by the fire in winter to hear stories that were not permitted to be told at other seasons of the year than to our present bingeing of streaming content.

The dominant force in my childhood imagination was not Disney. Disney was not ubiquitous. The dominant forces in my childhood imagination were books: Mary Poppins, The Black Cauldron, Grimm’s fairy tales and Andersen’s, Narnia and the Lord of the Rings. The words of the writers, not cinematic versions. My idea of animation, of cartoons, came neither from Disney nor anime, but from Warner Brothers, from the Bugs Bunny cartoons that were rerun on television every Saturday morning, with their sly humor and references to opera. They made my father laugh as much as me, with a breathless tenor giggle, because he’d seen them in movie theaters when he was a kid, played before the main feature.

I saw the original Star Wars trilogy in the cinema, as a child and then a teenager (and remember vividly that my mother couldn’t believe Han Solo and Indiana Jones were the same actor). My sense of science fiction, however, had already been formed by Star Trek, the original series, watched in reruns on a big black and white console tv. My parents had quite different tastes in fiction, and my interests were different from theirs, but all three of us would sit down and watch a Star Trek rerun or any other science fiction drama. I think I probably saw every sci fi show that aired in the 70s: Space 1999, Battlestar Galactica, Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, and, thanks to PBS and independent stations, classic Doctor Who, with Tom Baker as the Doctor. I am grateful to have lived before the era of grimdark sci fi and seen shows that were hopeful about humanity’s future among the stars.

My childhood imagination was a wild place, more like a secret garden than a theme park or a playground. Yes, it was sheltered and cultivated; my mother actually had some regard for movie ratings, and I didn’t see Jaws until I was an adult. But it was also unplanned, haphazard, open to multiple influences, teachers, librarians, grown-ups at my church, as well as my parents. My parents wouldn’t take me to an R-rated movie, but they put no such restrictions on my reading, and I read both adult-level books on comparative religion and racy novels stolen from the bookshelf behind their bed. Science fiction, fantasy, books, television, cartoons, hymns and the Bible and mythology, all planted their influences in my mind. When I think about that, and then I think about how whether you take your child to see a Marvel movie, let them watch The Little Mermaid on video, or take them to see the next Pixar film, it’s all the same thing… I see monoculture. I see minds like endless fields of soybeans or corn, planted with one thing, heaped with fertilizers as the natural fertility of the land is sapped by year after year of the same crap. I see wasteland.

I think I’ll close the gates and sow some new seeds in my garden. I don’t want any of the genetically modified stuff that only lets you grow that variety of the plant forever more.

Blogiversary

WordPress has kindly informed me that on this day in 2007, I signed up with their blogging service. At the time I was married, involved with a druid order, writing mostly fanfic. I started writing about my wrestling with the druid studies I was pursuing and went on to document years of trying to find the right religious and magical tradition, path, place, spot, label, whatever, with forays into what I was reading, watching, listening to. There was a November when I blogged every single day, the blogger’s version of NaNoWriMo. There were months where I didn’t write at all. I started more than one blog on the site; some are still extant, some have been deleted, pretty much everything is buried somewhere in my Google Drive.

I am a writer. Writers write. It’s a useful mantra, because it’s true. I’ve used the site 750words.com for daily writing for almost as long as I’ve been blogging; in fact, this post was drafted there. Before I became accustomed to composing everything on a keyboard, even poetry, there were pens and notebooks (and there are still pens and notebooks in my apartment, waiting, hoping to be used). I started writing as a child and have never stopped. It is, along with my engagement in religion and my erotic energy, the great throughline of my life.

These days I am single, having been divorced and then lost my ex-husband to cancer. I sit lightly to labels, traditions, organizations, having found that “lightworker” is a useful bag in which to carry my Hermetic magical training, my devotional polytheism, my interest in multiple forms of religion and magic. I accept being called pagan, polytheist, and Episcopalian with equal aplomb. I call myself queer and bisexual and am learning that my gender may not be exactly what I thought it was. I watch some television–I’m already hooked on Star Trek: Picard–listen to a lot of Hozier, read fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. One thing that hasn’t changed is the presence of my companion bird and avian life partner, Rembrandt the cockatiel, who’s been with me going on twenty years.

And I write. Every single day, I write. Here’s to sharing more of my writing here.

I… appear to have written another story

This one is fanfic, and a crossover at that:

Two Serpents Meet in a Bar (1207 words) by MToddWebster
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Good Omens (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands – Relationship
Additional Tags: Crossover, Walk Into A Bar, Alternate Universe – Angels & Demons, Wine, Innuendo
Summary:

Crowley and Garak meet in Quark’s bar. That’s it, that’s the story.

 

Let’s talk about something else

There are a number of topics I’d rather not talk about right now, gentle readers, including but not limited to my hiatus in writing, whether trans women are really women (they are), and whether all goddesses manifest as Maidens, Mothers, and Crones (I think not). At a certain point one has to look at some of the shenanigans on the internet and say, “Not my circus, not my monkeys,” or perhaps, “Not my theology, not my deities.”
So let’s talk about something else. Here’s a suggestion: Are the Greek and Roman deities the same beings?

The ancient Greeks and Romans certainly identified their pantheons with one another. The Greeks interpreted the gods of Egypt in terms of their own gods; Zeus was Ammon or Amun, Dionysus was Osiris, Hermes was Thoth. The Romans interpreted the gods of the Celtic and Germanic tribes as Roman, building shrines and temples to Apollo Belenus and Mars Cocidios. Even late-comer Antinous was identified with Belenus.

So here is–I don’t want to call it my personal gnosis. Here are my impressions. Better yet, to borrow a fandom term, here are my headcanons about the gods, the things that are canonical for me, in my head.

Christian philosopher Nicholas of Cusa wrote that “God is an infinite circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere”. He was thinking of the Christian god, but I would apply those words to Hestia and Vesta. The hearth goddess, the sacred fire whose presence creates home and altar and temple, she is surely the infinite center of a circle whose circumference is everywhere and nowhere.

If I were to draw a Venn diagram of Hermes and Mercury, their two circles would overlap almost entirely. Hermes is a bit more tricksterish, Mercury concerned a bit more with business and commerce. But I tend to invoke them in the same breath, and to honor them together with Thoth, Seshat (the Egyptian goddess of records, archives, and libraries), and Hermanubis (the son of Isis and Serapis).

Aphrodite and Venus, on the other hand, seem to me to be quite distinct. My mental image of Aphrodite is of a golden-haired beauty who appears to be in her twenties, although if you look into her eyes, you see she is much older. My mental image of Venus is of a dark-haired woman in her forties–okay, basically my mental image of Venus is Gina Bell as Sophie Devereaux in Leverage. Dark-haired, olive-skinned, always perfectly dressed, and simultaneously the mom friend in any gathering and the embodiment of what a man desires in a woman, able to show each particular man the face he desires to see.

I have to admit that my perspective on Zeus and Hera has been influenced perhaps beyond saving by the myths about them I read as a child. I know intellectually that Zeus is more than the chronically unfaithful dad, Hera more than the scold who hides her hurt beyond anger at the wrong targets, but my emotions say Nope. Jupiter and Juno are easier for me to relate to, separately from those myths and from Zeus and Hera, as the god and goddess of the sky, of rain and cloud and weather, and as the granters and guardians of sovereignty, along with Minerva. They were worshipped as a triad on the Capitoline Hill in Rome, and I tend to approach them that way. Jupiter guards the sovereignty of the state and desires that it be good and just. Juno guards the sovereignty of women and, by extension, other minorities. Minerva guards what I would call intellectual integrity, public reputation, virtuous conduct as a citizen.

Apollo is just the same everywhere. The Romans were quite direct about having imported him, and likewise Dionysus, even if they called him Bacchus. I don’t have much relationship with Diana or Artemis, but my headcanon is that they are not the same goddess, but have closely overlapping interests. Demeter, Persephone, and Hades are such major deities for me that I have little sense of Ceres, Proserpina, and Dis Pater at all. My headcanon for Demeter, incidentally, is absolutely Majel Barrett as Lwaxana Troi in Star Trek: The Next Generation. She even calls her daughter “little one” instead of her given name.

So that’s the end of my round in this game, gentle readers. Stop by and tell me who you think is the same or different in the pantheons of Greece and Rome, or anywhere else.