com·part·men·tal·ize verb \kəm-ˌpärt-ˈmen-tə-ˌlīz, ˌkäm-\
: to separate (something) into sections or categories
: to separate (two or more things) from each other
: to put (something) in a place that is separate from other things
I remember sitting in a stress management workshop earlier this year. I am always interested in learning new ideas regarding stress management (especially in the…
There are so few Kemetics, it seems pointless to say “you aren’t like us, take a hike.” Especially if it’s someone who doesn’t actively cause problems for anyone.
Unfortunately, for many people, simply existing is somehow seen as a ‘problem’.
We’ve got to change that mentality if our community is ever going to be as good as it could be.
I don’t get helmsinepu’s criticism…?
He’s not criticizing my post, he’s criticizing the people who have been shitting on others for wanting safe spaces in our community. He’s saying that it makes no sense to shit on our fellow Kemetics, esp with us being such a small community.
unfortunately, there are other sections of the Kemetic community that are not nearly as inclusive as tumblr is. And these weird lines in the sand can create a lot of problems for people :<
Oh! My reading comprehension goes down when I’m tired LOL
But yeah, that is true and is unfortunate :/ I find that true in a lot of pagan-and-or-polytheism spaces ><
And the “there’s so few of us” argument applies so well to so many different polytheist groups. Polytheists and Recons (as opposed to NeoPagan and New Age practitioners) are a small enough group, it always bothers me to see infighting between traditions! Strength in numbers, people!
As for the compartmentalizing, I totally get that. My life has been an exercise in this since I was 12 and first started to realize I was gay. Then I became liberal. Then Pagan. Then tattooed and modified. Certain pieces of this are still hidden from certain people in my life, especially living in the South. Thankfully, I’ve been able to be pretty open in most facets of my life outside of family, but the OP is absolutely right in that we shouldn’t have to be that way.
I’m pretty well in agreement. In some ways, we do have to become our own priests, though, simply because we are so spread out, but I absolutely agree that there are some people more attuned to one aspect of the path or another. It’s too bad we aren’t all in closer proximity to one another to truly have that sense of physical community that some have found.
I think that most of what we do, as G(R)Ps does not (necessarily) require the services of a priest or priestess. Insomuch as few rituals are being performed in significant enough numbers within whole communities. Most of those who I know and associate with in G(R)P who have any semblance of membership beyond the individual level, are family traditions.
For now, a great deal of what we do has been developed or adapted from folk tradition, which tends towards rituals at the “lay” level. Further, since many of us are rather demanding when it comes to the proper application of pre-Christian labels, there remains a very stringent set of criteria for anyone who could seek to adopt (or more properly have bestowed upon them) the title of Druid from within our disparate communities.
I believe that we are on track in our development, and hope that in perhaps a generation we can begin contemplating a much wider, sustainable sense of community and structure.
Absolutely. I didn’t mean to imply Druid status, only that we often have to do everything for ourselves as opposed to relying on different members of the community to each carry out a role and then come together to create the whole. But I definitely agree that, within a generation or two, this is likely to be a much more realistic goal.
I was seven when Teacher gave us paper dolls
of the Greek gods to color. I gave Hera
purple robes. I knew her hair was auburn;
I knew she wore peacock feathers.
I gave her my mother’s eyes.
The divine mother, Demeter, I never cared for;
I colored her in earth tones but drew no background.
Her daughter of the torch and pomegranates,
I liked more, saw myself in her rich red gown,
in her darkness.
Nearly two decades later I find them,
careful crayon colors faded.
I don’t know how I knew then
that Iris was blonde like my baby sister,
that Hestia had dimples
like the friend I would meet in high school.
Who can say what’s real? Tell me
I imagined it, dreamed up the features
of people I hadn’t met yet and painted them
onto goddesses no one worships.
Show me the line – solid black, a picture in a coloring book,
or the perforated edge of a paper doll –
between imagination and knowledge.