The Searcher Journal

The Winter Solstice once again finds me looking back on the past months during the wee hours of the night.

It just so happens that this late December, the world around me has been encased in a certain amount of snow and ice. Enough to disrupt pretty much everything in the region. I’ve actually never seen it quite this bad down here.

And I’ve never had it quite so accurately reflect my own past year.

The snow makes things in the urban arena bright. Sources of light are plentiful, but the darkness often swallows them up. The snow catches and reflects the bulk of that once lost light, illuminating even the darkest night with a somewhat eerie glow.

It makes everything seem navigable.

But it’s not.

That same snow that reflects so much light and lets you see where you’re going also works against you. It pulls your legs out from under you as you step on a spot of ice. It slows you down and chills your bones as you trudge through it.

Give it half a chance and it will kill you.

Over this past year, I’ve had a few things I’ve relied on–systems that have worked quite well–turn on me and work against me. But as a side effect, they’ve also provided quite a bit of illumination, cutting through some blind spots and making seen some long hidden dark corners.

This past year, and the one before it, have been a time of complacency and stagnation for me. I’ve been frozen in place, able to see clearly, but unable to move in any given direction without losing my footing.

Now, as I pass through the darkest part of the Solstice–awake and aware of where I have been–I know full well that the coming sun will bring with it a true light and useful warmth. That light and warmth will eventually grow and, in time, will thaw the entrapping ice and snow.

Over the next handful of months, there will be many changes. Plans that have been simmering in an igloo-like incubator (safe from the frostbite, but still held in reserve) will spring forth and make their own way in the world. New ideas will push their way out of the tundra and take root with the strength to serve as handholds, steadying all who pass by on the treacherous ice.

Most importantly, though, I choose to do this. Even before the thaw, I’ll be picking my way along a path I’ve looked at for a long time.

The going will be slow at first, but there will be movement.

The sun will rise. The ice will glitter, then melt. And the path will once again be clear.

PC110022, originally uploaded by KierDuros.

When Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas hit the screens, it very quickly became one of my all-time favorite holiday films.

Mostly because it had my favorite holiday (Halloween, in case you can’t tell) blended in with the much more popular one.

Mostly, but not entirely. The movie (if you haven’t seen it) deals with Jack Skellington, the king of Halloween Town (where it’s always Halloween, of course), discovering Christmas. Misunderstandings and some poor decisions happen, and, ultimately, things work out pretty well for all involved.

The main thrust of the story, like so many other Christmas-themed films, is the discovery of what “Christmas” really means.

The main thrust of the story is one of self-discovery, like so many other Christmas-themed films. The secondary theme is the discovery of what “Christmas” really means.*

For those who are some flavor of Christian, the easy answer is obvious: It celebrates the birth of Christ the Savior. For those who are devout in their Christian faith, there probably isn’t any other answer needed outside of that one.

Thing is, Christmas has become much more than that.

We probably have Macy’s and Coca Cola to blame.

See, commercial interests have done more to advance the idea of Christmas more than any official church body ever has. By pumping advertising dollars into images of Santa Clause, snowmen, and polar bears, they’ve spread the secular mythology of the holiday around the world many times over.

I was raised Catholic, so early on I was very familiar with the religious angle of things. Starting from that point, it’s kind of difficult to reconcile all the rest of the holiday hoopla. In many ways, the sacred and secular versions of Christmas are at odds with one another. That dissonance, while not spoken about much growing up, still irks me a little.

But what I’ve discovered (or decided, which may be more accurate), is that at the core of both versions of the holiday is the spirit of love, giving, and hope.

At it’s core, Christmas is about how we can all be better than we normally are–and how we should strive to be better all year long, not just on that one day.

That answer comes to us from any number of places, perhaps the most famous being the Yes, Virgina, There is a Santa Clause editorial. Propagated more by (another one of my all time favorites) Miracle on 34th Street.

These days, I tend to focus more on the deeper secular meaning of the holiday. It’s more palatable in many ways in the multi-cultural world we live in.

I can see why many on both sides of the sacred/secular divide still find it offensive that Christmas is pushed so much, but I hope that, someday, we can all be a little more accepting of the secular bits of it.

With things being as nasty as they are out there in the world, I think we can all use a little of Rudolph’s inner strength and Santa’s jolliness and Frosty’s good cheer to make things a little better for everyone.

[* Edited to clear up the film themes. Further proof I shouldn't write when I should be sleeping.]

As someone who stands outside of all the mainstream religious institutions, there are some things that, once upon a time, were kind of tricky to do without bending or breaking either one’s beliefs or the law.

Back in the early days of the World Wide Web, a group came along that made doing at least one of those things infinitely easier.

The Universal Life Church hit the Web kind of big in the mid to late 1990s. I was in college and involved more than a bit with a group of self-identified pagans, witches and other assorted metaphysicists. Creative and caring people, all, we were thrilled to hear that we could now become ordained as ministers with just a few clicks of the mouse.

What did that mean? Mostly, at that time, for most of us, we could wave around a fancy title and wistfully drone on about how we were now “official” in one sense or another. On a deeper level, though, it meant that in the eyes of the law, we were now able to do things that only the hierarchy of the major religions or duly appointed civil officials could do. Things like officiate weddings and create congregations.

Many who become ordained by the ULC do nothing other than smile with the knowledge that they’ve “bucked the system” just a little bit. So there is little danger of things actually going bad.

Those who do use their new credentials, do so to perform weddings for their friends, help build community, and take on the task of becoming educators and spokes people for their particular brands of faith. They are empowered to become better, they seek out the knowledge and wisdom–or use their official ordination to legally put that knowledge and wisdom to good use.

The world has changed a lot since the ULC first hit the web. Minority religions have gained much more recognition–usually by tooth and nail legal battles against those who just don’t understand where they’re coming from. Wicca and a few other pagan religions are officially recognized now and there’s not quite as much need for the “anyone can get ordained” credo of the ULC.

More than a decade since I first clicked through the original ULC website, I’ve re-registered and become (again) an ordained minister. This time, I’ve dropped the few dollars to have all the paperwork printed up and sent to me.

This time, I’ve got a much more clear purpose. Years of actual work and contemlation, study and practice, have lead me to the knowledge and wisdom that I think any practicing minister (of any faith) should have. Now I can proudly and more legitimately lay claim to a title of authority–no matter the issuing body.

But more important than all that, I’ve been asked to officiate the wedding of a dear old friend’s sister-in-law.

And that–that bit of trust and respect, that call for responsibility–would make me jump through just about any hoop to make it happen.

Whenever I go into a new place for the first time, be it a public space or a private one, I like to get there before the big crowd shows up.

If at all possible, being there alone is preferable.

In that time, before the rolling froth of individuals churns through the aether, I can get what I like to consider a baseline reading of the location.

It’s nothing too fancy or complex… just a feeling for the default state of things.

Why? Because then, when things get wild and crazy later on, I have an anchor point–somewhere to link my own personal balance to, somewhere to retreat to if I need to let a storm pass.

Sure, without that baseline reading, I can still go by my own tried and true baseline, my personal Universal anchor point. But that leaves me feeling very disconnected from the world around me and truly reduces my effectiveness in restoring balance to a situation (if such action is needed).

It’s been my experience that most people–especially those who are just starting to get the feel for the deeper energies of the world around and within them–just go bobbing along with the tide or spend all their energy fighting the direction of the current. Neither of these reactions is exceptionally conducive to creating change or encouraging personal growth.

By finding an anchor point in the regional baseline–in the raw egregore of the location–you share a connection with everyone else there. The difference is, you have a solid reference point from which to judge how things are going. You can differentiate between “This isn’t what I like” and “This is actually going in a bad direction.” More importantly, because of that connection to the location and the masses that inhabit it, you can serve as a pivot-point to help redirect negative energy and assist in avoiding unnecessary conflict.

How do I do it? Mostly just be quietly opening myself up to the energies of an area. Deep breathing, an open mind, and being aware of my own personal center all help. When the connection with the local baseline is made, I feel a distinct “thunk” of things falling into place. Like the dropping of a metaphysical anchor. From that point on, I can take better control of my own motions through the environment–either letting that anchor skitter along that baseline or dropping it full down to let me hold my position.

Of course, totally pulling up (or cutting loose) that anchor is also an option. If you’re going to do that, though, you better have a quick exit strategy planned or be ready to bob around a bit violently if you’re in stormy weather.

Between knowing your personal baseline and being familiar with where you are, you’re automatically in a better position to deal with whatever comes along–be it good or bad.

Just this past weekend, while on my way out of a party for a friend of mine, I was stopped by a lovely young woman.

“I know you,” she said.

“From where?” I was curious as I had noticed her a little while earlier and couldn’t shake the feeling that she seemed a little familiar.

“Probably from another lifetime,” she said, not the slightest bit unsure of herself.

“I’d accept that,” I said with a smile, wishing that I wasn’t already running a little late for the next place I had to be. Giving her my contact information I said, “Please be sure to find me again. I’d like that.”

And off I went to next stop for the night.

But that moment has stuck with me.

Those moments always stick with me.

And there have been a good number of them over the years.

I do most definitely believe in reincarnation of one flavor or another. I’ve had enough personal experiences to make that belief unshakable. As is the case with most metaphysical things, though, I don’t ever expect anyone else to buy into the idea. So it’s always something a little special when someone broaches the subject right off the top. Even more special when there’s a chance our paths have crossed before.

This sort of thing really came into focus for me when I hit college. Very quickly, as I met many new people, some resonated with me more than others. As we discovered more about each other, we found not only a number of common interests but some very unusual commonalities as well. Key among those strange overlaps were memories of things neither of us had done in this lifetime.

My first reaction is usually to write it off as overactive imagination–gleaned bits of insight from regular interaction percolating through the subconscious and presenting imagination dressed as memory. That got more difficult as the details got more specific. Even more so when we’d get together and compare notes we’d written before we knew each other and find the same striking similarities of vision.

The Universe does not waste anything. Everything changes, is taken apart, reformed, reused. Science tells us that matter and energy are at least somewhat interchangeable, that there is a conservation of mass, that matter (in the broadest sense) cannot be created or destroyed.

If we hold that to be true, than our physical bodies alone are made of bits that have been used before. All of our base material was once part of something–or someone–else. We are star stuff.

And if our physical bodies can lay claim to such a vast and impressive pedigree, why not the non-physical parts of us as well?

There is currently no reliable way to measure those ethereal bits that may or may not make us who we are–that whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. But for those of us who have been touched by insight into the cycles we all go through, lifetime after lifetime, the value of that quantity becomes clear.

Without a doubt, I can say we all go around and eventually come back again. Our paths cross the same people again and again, each time letting us play different parts for one another. Sometimes we’re lucky enough to realize those deep connections and work through to something greater. Sometimes its only long after the fact that we realize how far back a love or friendship can be traced.

I don’t know if the girl from the party will ever cross my path again in this lifetime, but I’d like it to happen. Not because she was attractive or because I think its a novel way to make new friends, but because exploring those possible connections brings all involved closer to being more complete.

Have you ever felt that kind of deja vu when meeting someone for the first time? Have you ever compared notes with a friend and discovered you share a secret history?