Life Stories
by Jeffrey Pierce

I've been asked countless times, "When do you find time to practice your path? You're so busy!" That's the beautiful thing about being pagan. Because paganism honors not just Nature, but Life as well, we're practicing our path each and every moment we're alive. A gentle breeze caresses my cheek and I think of Air and all of the possibilities it holds. Two crows caw from an overhead tree and I'm reminded of their message of mirth. We don't need circles and fancy rituals when there's an entire world around us that's practically screaming, "Notice me! Be present! Honor the moment!" All we have to do is stop, breathe, and listen.

The other morning on the way back from taking the kids to school, I began to make a mental note of the lessons that I encounter just during my morning commute. Watching the flow of traffic around me teaches me about energetic interaction and manifestation as spaces open in traffic, cars enter and leave the flow, or a single driver's actions influence countless other people around them. I've been paying close attention to flocks of birds as the wheel and soar across the sky in beautiful synchronicity, learning from our winged brothers and sisters the secrets of following another's lead and the dynamics that are involved in that process. A difficult morning of traffic reminds me that I tend to get frustrated when my own energy field is extended too far and that simply pulling it back in will make things right once more. Bumper sticker philosophy fills my drive. A song on the radio reminds of lessons nearly forgotten in dusty memories and I consider how they apply to the moment before me. The recent article that I wrote on holistic and linear thought was formed during the same twenty minute drive. Tiny changes in the natural world are noticed as we pass the same trees, the same parks, the same carefully tended lawns and gardens on a daily basis.

Maybe my schedule doesn't allow me to get out knee-deep in the wild as much as I would like, but it would be arrogant of me to assume that just because we've built up a civilized world, that it holds Nature at bay. Life is everywhere, in every moment. All we need to do is breathe it in.

As a parent, one of my callings is to teach our children about the world around us and the path we walk. When they're old enough, they'll choose their own path. Our eldest, Munin, is strongly leaning toward Norse paganism. Bear, our son and next oldest, is happily undecided although he likes to participate whenever we do something as a family and is deeply introspective. All of our children have the freedom to choose their own path and we regularly remind them that what Bri and I practice is only one approach to spirituality and that many of our closest friends and family honor other beliefs.

The last few weeks have been filled with rainbows in our corner of the world. It seems that we see at least one - if not several - on a weekly basis. If you think about it, Oregon would seem to be the perfect place to breed rainbows. We're known for our rain through the winter and spring, which means that every break in the clouds has the potential to cast a multi-colored arc across the sky.

A rainbow appears during a family walk (photographed January 17, 2011)

We were driving to school the other morning when a rainbow formed across the sky in front of us. "Do you know the story of the rainbow?" I asked, expecting tales of Noah and the Ark. Munin began to answer, but I gave her the look that says, "I know you know - and I'm proud of you for that - but let the younger ones learn on their own." Bear thought he might, "Kinda remember something about it," but his approach to spirituality doesn't require him to hold onto anything but the memory of an experience.

"The Norse believed that the rainbow was a bridge that could lead you anywhere," I told them, simplifying the original tale. "It doesn't just lead to places in our world, but you could take it anywhere you wanted. The Rainbow Bridge could lead you to the land of dreams. Or to see fairies. Or anywhere you can imagine."

There was a chorus of "Cooooool..." from the backseat. Munin was nearly wetting herself as she struggled to stay quiet and not reveal what she knew.

A second, "I'm proud of you, but shush," look from Dad helped the situation.

"Now, remember, the Rainbow Bridge can take you anywhere. Not everything out there is good and happy. To keep scary stuff from coming into our world, there's a mighty warrior named Heimdall who guards the bridge, making sure that nothing bad can ever come into our world. And just like Heimdall watches over the Rainbow Bridge and protects us, your mom and I watch out for all you and protect you too."

"I protect you too!" blurted Munin, unable to contain herself any longer.

"I do too," said Bear. "But my dad protects us the most."

"What we need to remember is that we watch out for each other and protect each other," I continued. "That's why we were all born into the same family. The gods knew that each of us would love all the rest of our family and that together we'd create a home where we're always safe and protected. I think it's pretty cool that we all ended up together when there's such a big world out there. It must mean that each and every one of you is very special."

There are countless lessons in our family that add a little magick to the world, that empower even the youngest in our clan, and that knit us together a little more tightly than we were before. But it's the life stories that add so much to our world. We all have them. Santa Claus is a perfect example. A life story is simply a magickal myth that rekindles that sense of wonder in all of us. When we're out in the woods, looking for dragon eggs and faerie homes, they're real even to the adults who know them as oak galls and hollows in trees. We play and imagine. Attempts to spot a bird called a spoonbill while at a local wildlife sanctuary rapidly turn into quests to find where Spoonbill Dragons might roost when the leaves return and their green dragon scales will blend into the treetops once more.

Our kids have nightmares so infrequently that it becomes a novelty that they proudly share in the morning, rather than a cry of terror in the night. A big part of that equation is the love, encouragement, and empowerment that is a constant multiple times a day presence in their world. But I think a part of it is also filling their world with so many magickal stories that there isn't room for scary stuff to sneak in.

I remember when I was a young child that we regularly passed a field with a large pile of debris - mostly sticks - in the middle of it. My mom told me that it was a giant's house. Each time we hopped in the car and headed that direction, I would plaster myself to the window, peering out of the car to spot where the giant lived. When I was little, I hoped that I might see the giant if he ever left his house. But even when I was older and knew it was just a piled of debris, I still looked.

It will always be the giant's house to me.

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Originally published in Old Ways on January 20, 2011