Being Pagan - the middle years

My student and I research, consult elders, and although neither one of us has ever been to a Heathen Ritual we hold our first Blot in August of 2009.  My student begins to speak to me of another coven in the area.  It is lead by a woman I had heard only rumors of, all of them bad.  I knew that she had been part of Mike D.’s group many years ago, and that at some point she had been banished by Mike D.’s Superior in New Orleans.  I had been told to never have contact with her, and it took some convincing but my student eventually won me over.  We had both been asked to leave the same group, what harm could it do. 

I will never forget the night I met the woman, I will refer to her as my High Priestess (HP).  She was wonderful, warm and very, very knowledgeable.  She graciously took me into her home and let me basically interview her until well past midnight one night.  She dispelled all of the rumors I had heard of her.  She and her group began to attend several of our rituals.  Many in her coven had either been asked to leave Mike D.’s coven, or had left of their own accord. I was welcomed with open arms.  It was not long after that I began to attend rituals at the HP’s home.  The HP’s rituals were wonderful, transfixing, soul fulfilling, and magical.  I remember telling her after my first ritual at her home, that I felt my “magical cherry” had been popped.  I had experienced true Pagan worship, not just someone playing at it. 

When Jay’s Grandmother, Momma Muriel, died she left her land and home to us.  Mike D. and his family moved into that house in the spring of 2009.  Him living on the property, me being asked to leave his coven, and now having a woman, he’s superiors had banished, on the property made our relationship difficult to say the least.  Mike D. taught me an important lesson in life, that not all Pagans are good people.  He was an ass and power hungry.  Mike D. paraded around town as a 3^rd degree high priest and knew less about his faith then I did.  He read no books and did no research on his faith.  Mike D. brought destruction where ever he went. 

He and I had a conversation on my front porch one night.  One of his coven members had recently left and began studying with another coven in town.  She had a very bad car wreck and was in a comma for three days.  He said to me, “you know it is on the tip of my tongue to say that she deserved it for leaving the coven.”  I knew at that moment I wanted him off my property and out of my life.  To curse her like that was unacceptable.

It took a while.  We encourage him, gently, to search for his own house.  We helped him pack.  That packing helped confirm my suspicions on what kind of Pagan he was.  His Pagan book hoard contained two books.  His altar was covered in dust and not one of the first things he packed.  Obviously it was not important to him.  In fact he left many of his magical items in the house. This was the confirmation of something I had felt for a while.  Mike D. was playing at being Pagan.  He was in it for the power, not the knowledge or for the worship of the Gods.  In the end he trashed Momma Muriel’s house, stole from us and owed us money.  Turns out we were not the first in town he had done this to.  We tried to sue him, but the lawyer we used ended up getting disbarred.  So we never got out stuff or our money back. 

Jay and I stayed away from PNO and the local Pagan community at large for a long time.  We were afraid to run into Mike D.  Recently he left the area.  We have since come out of hiding and felt free enough to go back to PNO.  Turns out, we were not the only ones to do so. That night I sat with two old friends and listened to the last days of Mike D. in this community, and it was not pretty. His former coven is now trying to pick up the pieces and go on.   He had come here, from somewhere up north, and in the end blew thru this community like a hurricane.  He left the people in this community broken and shaking their heads at the destruction he wrought.  None one was sad to see him go. 

The HP, my student took me to, was a real woman of faith.  I still love and respect her to this day, despite what she might think of me.  She is deserving of my admiration and love for all that she taught me.  She and her coven gave me a spiritual home when I needed one the most.  My student and I stopped holding ritual as we became absorbed into the HP coven.  My student and I eventually parted ways.  I felt I had nothing else to teach him.  He and I remained in the coven for many years, and I was eventually initiated as a member.

There was a point that I became arrogant and cocky towards another member.  You see I had been working and studying and I wanted to become the HP’s right hand woman.  The member I was mean towards, I felt had come in and taken my place.  I was wrong.  We sat and confronted each other one night.  She was nothing but gracious towards me.  I was in the wrong.  I had let my want of a position, power if you will, take over.  It should not have been about me helping with ritual and wanting to be a leader, it should have been about worshiping the Gods.  I felt I was being pushed out.

I am an avid crocheter and knitter.  I met a woman in a local crochet group who claimed to be a witch.  Her name was Melinda.  We had known each other for a while and I wanted her to meet my HP.  I brought Melinda to her house, where she acted rudely.  She offended and disrespected the HP and her family.   I did not know this until over a year later.  I either did not notice or I was in the other room.

The HP coven was quite large at the time.  Melinda, her family, Juno, her wife, and a few other friends decided to start our own coven.  We called it Holda’s Hands.  I tried to be active in both my new group and the HP coven.  Our dates never lined up, I was always busy with Holda’s Hands while my other coven was holding ritual.  Soon I began to not receive notices of when events were being held.  I really thought nothing of it, until Melinda when to jail. 

She was arrested on an old outstanding warrant from Tennessee.  She was held for 14 days before she was finally bonded out.  Then she came to live with me for two weeks, because she did not want to be in her home by herself.  In those 14 days she was held I learned a lot about Melinda, including that a lot of what she had told us was lies.  She had not grown up as a witch and had not raised her kids that way.  She had not worked in places and done things she had said she had. It did turn out that she was a con-artist and a thief.  The outstanding warrant from Tennessee was for theft in access of $10,000.  While she was in jail, she was fired from her job.  It is my guess that Melinda was stealing from the company she had been working for, something which I cannot prove at this time. 

We had all been duped by Melinda.  She had come out of jail and insisted she was pregnant, again at 50.  That turned out to be a lie, like too many other things.  Melinda had been like a mother to me, especially when my own mother robbed my house and then refused to speak to me.  Melinda was one of the few people that ever saw me have a panic attack that was so bad I regressed to a younger age.  Part of that was brought on by dealing with her.  In the two weeks that Melinda lived with me, I go to see her true colors.  She did everything for me and the berated me because I could not do it to her satisfaction.  She threw tantrums when I told her, “No” and did not do as she said. 

I finally insisted that she go back to her own home.  It was shortly after that I cut off all communications with her.  Holda’s Hands split over the matter.  Only Juno and her wife, Kay, stayed.  Close to Mabon I made a phone call to the HP.  I told her some of what had gone on.  I wanted to know when the next ritual was so that I might attend.  I wanted to come back home.  She was angry with me, over things Melinda had done in her home.  Things I did not know about.  I wanted to sit down with her, over a glass of wine, and explain how I had been duped by this con-woman, and how sorry I was for anything she or I might have done.  I was never given that opportunity.  A Facebook message arrived a few days later from the HP telling me to cut and burn my initiation cords and to never step foot back on the property.  I was devastated.  I never understood what I did wrong.  I still don’t. 

I told you that recently I went back to PNO, and sat and talked with old friends.  We shared our stories of where we had been including the one I’ve just finished telling you.  On the ride home, I began to feel such a divine since of grace.  I felt Holda had moved me, like a piece on a chess board.  She had moved me out of Mike D.’s coven to a place of real learning, the HP coven.  She had then moved me from the HP coven to where I currently am.  I had been moved ahead of danger, years in advance.

I could not sleep that night so at midnight, Holda’s other holy hour, I went into my altar room.  They had been hanging above my altar for many years.  I never had the strength to cut them as told.  That night I took my maiden belt and my initiation cord off the wall.  They represented 7 years of hard work and learning.  I cut them and I bundled them to be burned. I realized, that even given the opportunity I would never go back to either group, because I am happy where I am now. 

Ilsa

 

Being Pagan - the early years

I think becoming Pagan is a little like making gumbo.  No two are ever the same.  They vary not only from person to person but from region to region.  Do you serve it over rice, over potato salad or with nothing at all? All gumbos have a few basic parts:  the roux, the liquid, vegetables and meat.  But all are variable and most of that is based on geography, who taught you to make gumbo and personal preferences.  For your liquid do you use water or stock and is your roux light or dark?  What vegetables to you put in?  I add onions, garlic, bell pepper, and celery.  I don’t like okra, but where do you stand on Okra?  Is it true gumbo without okra?  Since gumbo literally means okra.  And then there is always the real test.  Is it chicken and sausage gumbo, or is it seafood?  Most of us in North Louisiana make gumbo with chicken and sausage, because seafood is more expensive and harder to get.   Most people on the coast make it with seafood because it is cheap and plentiful. 

There are many wonderful and delicious variety of Paganism out there.  The list of what is Pagan and what is not Pagan I think has changed over time.  Now when I was coming up Paganism meant anything that was not Abrahamic (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam).  So this meant religions with long traditions like Taoism, Shinto, Buddhist, and Hindu were still included.  There are other beliefs such as, but not limited to: Voodoo, Santeria, African Tribal, Native American Spiritualities and other religions of First Peoples, that kind of fall in the middle.  While some Pagans may be interested in these religions and / or borrow from these religions, that does not make the religions Pagan, in my mind.  All of the above religions are currently active in their regions of origin.  No one in them is trying to reconstruct anything about them.  They are wonderful beliefs, but they are not we in the Pagan community usually speak of when we say Pagan.  They stand alone.

Paganism, sometimes refers to as Neo-Paganism, tends to be, but is not limited to, things that are Indo-European in origin and Kemeticism or the belief in the Egyptian Gods, is usually thrown in for good measure.  So when I talk about Pagan I am referring to religions such as, but not limited to: Wicca, Witchcraft, Asatru, Heathenry, Slavic, Hellenic, Roman, Reconstructionist, and Druidic.  This is by NO means a comprehensive list.  That’s what we have Wikipedia for, thank the Gods!  There are many other branches of the Pagan tree that I don’t know of.  I am always learning more. Now within the above named religions there are many, many variations.  Wicca has lots of variations.  I have heard of over 20 or 30 different kinds of Wicca. I invite you to seek out the variations in all the above religions.    

Eclectic is a word you are going to hear a lot.  It is a word usually referring to people who have multiple Gods from multiple Pantheons.  This makes up a very large portion of the Pagan Population.  I have one friend for instance who is devoted to Yemoja, an Orisha, and Ganesha, a Hindu God.  She is also interested in Kemeticism or Egyptian Gods.  She does not consider herself Hindu, Voodoo, or Kemetic.  She considers herself Pagan.  Remember sometimes we chose our Gods and sometimes they chose us.  What you believe, I hope will be fluid.  That you pick up things, adding or subtracting, over time as you develop your religious recipe.  That your gumbo grows to suit and nourish you. 

For most of my Pagan life I have defined myself as a Heathen of some type.  Heathen refers to the native religion of Germany, Denmark, Scandinavia and Iceland.  Basically anywhere the Vikings lived.  Asatru and Heathenry are usually interchangeable terms.  I had been doing the Native American thing, which leads me to the pamphlet on Heathenry.  Then Holda had appears to me.  My family is of Germanic origin; we speak German, still have family in Germany, and still keep some German customs.  So following the Gods of the Germans was easy for me, because I have ties there.  Your story will be different.

You will find that Wiccan’s make up the majority of the Pagan movement.  The community I became a part of was filled with Wiccans, a Kemetic, a few Druids, and in the beginning no Heathens.  While I knew many on-line, it took me two years, and trip to the Pagan Unity Festival in Tennessee, to meet my first Heathens.  They have become true friends to me.  They called themselves Wayists.  They were essentially Druidic Heathens.  They were also unbelievable devotees of Holda’s as well.  I was so overwhelmed I cried.  I thought at first they were apparitions or spirits made flesh.  A gift to me, from Holda for having been faithful, and indeed they have been.  We quickly exchanged contact information and I remain in regular contact with them today.  I have said on many occasions that I was Heathen with heavy Druid leanings.

Maddie had taken me out to our local PNO, Pagan Night Out.  These events are held all over the country.  Check your area for one.  Ours meets at a local restaurant on the 13^th of every month.  It was there I meet a man I will only identify as Mike D.  He had a Polish sounding last name, so I told him about Heathenry.  I hoped maybe he would convert, then I would have a buddy and not be alone on my path, but that didn’t happen.  He did invite me to his ritual.  So Maddie and I went.  I liked the people. It was a big coven at the time, probable 10 or 15 strong.  I started getting involved with his coven, but I never officially joined.  I spent several years with them. I was given the honorary title of maiden, for my work with the group. In the ritual I was given a special belt, which I kept for many years.

I was also active on-line, at the time, building Njord’s Nest, which was based out of a Yahoo Group.  We called it Louisiana’s Kindred.  We were an email list of Heathens, trying to reach other Heathens in the Louisiana area.  Prior to Katrina there seems to have been a physical Heathen group in New Orleans, but after Katrina though people were scattered to the wind.  Other than that, there were no Heathen groups in the Louisiana area.  At least none that were public.  Njord’s Nest became a resource for people in the early days.  It was thru Mike D.’s coven that I met a man who would become my first student.  My student and I began to put together a Kindred, a Heathen group, along with some of his friends and family. 

I never hid the fact I was Heathen from anybody.  As Njord’s Nest was growing and our local chapter, Holda’s Hammer, was as well, l I reached out to Mike D.’s superior for help.  We wanted to make bylaws.  That’s kind of when all hell broke loose.  I was an honorary Maiden in Mike D.’s group, Co-founder of Njord’s Nest, and Gythia, or High Priestess, of Holda’s Hammer.  This was all widely known.  Mike D. goes to see his superior in New Orleans.  He returns and comes to me with a message from them.  Unless I immediately cease and desist, trying to run my own group, I will be stripped of my title and asked to leave.  I am confused and taken aback.  I am also told his superior refuses to help me with the bylaws.  She does not want her Wiccan group in any way associated with Heathenry.  And it took me a while to understand why.  There are those among the Skinhead and other hate organizations that claim Heathenry as their religion.  I am not one of those, neither are my friends, nor were any of my students. 

It takes a few weeks but I make the decision to leave Mike D.’s coven.  I will not give up, Njord’s Nest and Holda’s Hammer, and what I have worked so hard to build.  It broke my heart, but I left.

Ilsa

Pagan FAQ

I wanted to put together a little list of some of the questions you may be asked now that you are a pagan.  I am going to give you my responses and some ideas on what you may say. 

Can you do a spell for me? Or a love spell?

Whether you want to work a spell for someone is entirely up to you, whether you really like this person, and you feel your abilities are to that point.  My usual response is to tell someone how to do it themselves as it will be a much stronger spell and hopefully work.  As for a love spell, I have yet to find a reputable witch who can do such a thing.  Most experts agree love spells don’t work.  You can make a lust spell that is pretty powerful, but love and lust are two different things. 

Do you worship Satan?

You are going to get this question.  It is best to have a preplanned answer.  Mine is, “No! Satan is a Christian construct.”  Unless you are left hand path this will probably be your answer as well.   It is best to do some research into Satan, so you may explain how you are different.  As I have said before, know your craft backwards and forwards, because half of your life you will spent educating those around you.  I finally got my mother to stop asking me this question by showing her my altars, in my altar room and explaining them.  I finally asked her, “Do you see Satan anywhere in this room?”  When she answered, “No.”  I told her never to ask me that question again.  My husband also threatened her.  She has finally gotten the point.

Can you fly on a broom?

Now I like to have a little fun with this one.  I say, “Yes!  The laws of physics bend just for me!”  I laugh and then tell them, “of course not.”  I explain the legend comes from when ladies used to rub a hallucinogenic compound on their brooms, and then straddle them with no panties on. They believed they were flying. 

Can you turn by boss, ex-lover, or mother-in-law into a frog or other creature?

You can have fun with this one as well.  But at some point you are going to have to tell them, No.  If you got into magic to do things like this, I hate to disappoint you, but magic may not be for you.  Transfiguration only works in Harry Potter.  I find that this person may need to talk about why they want this done to this person.  Sit and listen to their problems.  Listening and a compassionate heart are the best tools a witch can have.  They may just need someone to talk to.  Be there for them. You are a witch for a reason.  I feel being a witch or a pagan is about serving the needs of those around us both human and nonhuman.

Can you curse someone for me?

There are two answers to this question.  Yes and No.  Yes, curses can be done.  Sometimes they are effective and sometimes they are not.  To curse someone is not for the novice witch and DAMNED SURE not to be taken lightly.  Magic is a powerful and precious thing.  It is not all sparkles, rainbows, unicorns and lollypops people.  It is not all black and white. There is a lot of gray area too.  You have got to understand that what you give you get back, witches say three fold and Druids say 3x3x3 or 9 fold.  If you do a curse you are going to have to take your hit points.  Shit may fall apart in your life; you may lose your health, your job, your home, or your family.  All kinds of bad shit can go down because of what you have done.  And you can’t just say, “I’m sorry.  Forgive me!” and get out of it. You need to weigh that against how bad you want to hurt this person and what is going to happen to you and the ones you love.  For damn sure don’t do it for someone you just met, someone you want to impress, or for someone who doesn’t understand what and who you are.

If you are in that kind of situation, where you feel a curse may be necessary you need to consult your elders and those around you.  Most of the time all it takes is invoking the right god / dess for the situation, calling the ancestors and lighting a candle.  Karma will take its course.

Have I ever cursed someone?  No.  I don’t have that knowledge. But I know people who can. I have called for people’s karma to come to them in this life and not the next.  I regret that.  I did not have all the facts in that situation.  It took years to learn all the facts involved.  I have put people in jars to stop them, to bind them.  My health is bad enough, and I love my family too much to put them at risk, to do this kind of work. 

Did you put a curse on me?

You may be asked this at some point.  Assure the person you did not.  Explain to them, what has happened is the result of their actions, not anyone else’s.  They may not like hearing that, but it’s probable true.  They may just be looking for someone to blame.

Can you read my cards? Or my palm?

That is up to you.  I am a very slow card reader.  I am still learning.  I trust my intuition, but I also use a book and take notes during my reading.  I usually say yes, if I feel well.  I explain that I am slow and still learning and for them to give me time, but yes I would love to practice on them. I like readings where I have the person with me.  I use the cards as more of a counseling tool and to get people to talk about what is going on in their lives.  It may also reveal things that they did not know, the future or things they may not want to talk about.  It is best to have discretion and some tact when handling these delicate situations. 

As for price, some of you may feel you need to charge.  That is up to you.  I feel we are born witches to help our community.  Many people feel it is best to give a gift in exchange for a reading.  I had two people who used to read my cards, both smoked.  So if I asked for a reading I would give them a pack of cigarettes.  What you take in exchange is up to you.

Are you a good witch or a bad witch?

I think this goes back to that Satan question.  In almost 40 years of living and almost 10 of those years spent as a witch I have come to believe people are both.  We are both good and bad.  All of us have a shadow self, or a side we don’t like.  We are capable of incredible kindness and intolerable cruelty.  It just depends on the situation. 

My current answer is I am a white witch, but don’t push me. 

This idea of good or bad witches goes back to; one how the media and history portrays us and two Abrahamic religious thinking of the world as good and bad.  Magic is energy.  It is neither good nor bad, white nor black, it simply is.  There is a whole lot of gray in there.  A situation you may see as bad may turn out for the best.  You never know how you are being moved ahead of the game.  You may be being removed long before a situation ever gets bad or harmful. 

Then the idea is why you became a witch or pagan.  Was it because you were looking for the gods and wanted to give them worship or was it because you thought you could acquire some power to hurt people?  The answer is up to you. 

Ilsa

 

Animal communication and Finding Holda

I don’t remember a time when I didn’t love animals.  The walls in my nursery had animals on them, and I even had Bambi curtains.  Being a little girl I remember my momma teaching me to pray for the animals.  She has always been an animal lover.  I’ve been saving and rescuing dogs since I was little.  People would just dump their unwanted dogs at our house.  We’ve even had them dumped as young as 2 or 3 weeks old.  We kept most of them and rehomed where we could.  The only time I did not have a dog is when I went to college and then shortly after.  I used to tell my friends in college, “as soon as I graduate I’m going to get a dog and dishwasher and in that order!”  LOL! 

I guess then that it should come as no surprise that I am an animal communicator.  I think the person who was shocked the most was me.  I have always had a deep connection with the creatures, dogs in particular.  Like I said before I am a funny lady, always cracking jokes.  I have always done the dogs voices.  Spoke aloud for them, and spoke to them.  Known what they what and how they thought.  I have ready many books on dog and animal psychology. Their research mirrors what I knew already that animals do not think the way we do.  Some of their concepts make no sense to us and some of ours make no sense to them. 

Yes I’m crazy, and been to the psych ward to prove it.  But Schizophrenia has never been part of my diagnosis.  Now when I tell you I hear their voices, it is in my head and mostly my heart.  Animals may also speak by sending pictures to your mind. I’m sure if I could smell the way they do, they would send me that as well.  I have never heard them, except in two cases, with my ears.  Therefore these are not auditory hallucinations. Yes I have told councilors this and they look at me a bit weird, but never call for the straight jacket. 

You will find, as you study pagans in general, that this gift is not unheard of.  I know many in the community who speak with trees and plants, some who speak to birds, and even a few who can speak with the rocks. 

Dogs have been my friends when there was no one else.  I believe it was my dog Texas, one of our rescues who helped me to first learn the language of the dogs.  Texas was a beautiful half Lab, half Border Collie that my daddy found as a stray on a location.  He was sleeping under dozers, covered in oil and mud.  It took three baths to get him clean.  Texas was with us 10 years.  He was my best buddy, the one I told all my secrets to, and I believe now probable my first familure.  He died six weeks after I went to college, the vet said of hep c from eating something dead.  I believe he died of a broken heart from missing me. 

Dogs and most animals have a different sense of time then we do.  The watch the way the light falls, the moon and the cycles of the seasons.  They understand routine as well.  That daddy will be home every day about sunset.  I even had one dog, Sassy, that would dance on our heads, at dawn, on every other day.  Because that is when her former owner, Jays grandmother, would get up for dialyses.  She must have had some concept of the ability to count as well.  But the idea of a future, as we understand it, is foreign to them.  Everything is about now, and this present moment.  So when they freak out that you are leaving to go to the store they have two general thoughts.  One is that you will never come back.  The other is that you are going somewhere they cannot protect you.  They believe their job is to love you and protect you.  This is part of why they freak out when you take them to the groomers or the vet.  They often associate the two with physical pain and the pain of being away from you.  They believe you are never coming back.  This is why they are so excited to see you. 

I told you I’ve had two experiences in which I really heard the dogs speak outside my head.  Both times I was sleeping.  The first time, Jay and I were dating, but not yet married.  I was living at home with my parents.  I was asleep in my bed when I was awakened by talking. 

I heard, “Should we wake her up?”

“No, let her sleep.  She had a rough night.”

“Could you move over please?”

I was confused.  There was no one in bed with me, just the dogs.  I was so disturbed by this I went to my pastor at the time.  I was told I heard my angels talking.  I believed him, obviously he was the expert.  But why would there be two angels, and why would one ask the other to move over???  Many years later I was again awakened by voices. 

I heard, “Mommy!  Mommy!  Mommy!  Move the covers and let me in.  Are you okay??  I had to go pee.”  I opened my eyes to me lifting the covers and letting Punka, my Dachshund, jump in the bed.  She had indeed been outside to potty.  No one else but the dogs calls me Mommy.   I began asking other pagans in my community if it could be possible I had heard my dog speak to me.  They told me it was definitely possible.  I know now my dogs were talking amongst themselves and in Punka’s case directly to me.

In the early days of my pagan path, I was working as a dog groomer.  After my encounter with Punka, I began to believe that I could in fact speak to the animals, that I was an animal communicator.  It kind of became known around the office.  One day I had a client come in and speak with me.  She asked me to talk to her dog for her.  She had been robbed, but the dog had been unhurt.  I said I would do my best. 

As I groomed the dog, I laid my hands on him.  I began to ask him questions out loud and he began to transmit pictures to me.  I was a bit taken aback by what he had told me.  That he knew the people who robbed the house.  The robbers had been in the house before.  The dog told me they were friends of his human brother.  The dog told me that he had hid because he was afraid they would take him as well.   When the dog’s mom came to pick him, I gave her the description of the robbers I had been given, as well as the way the robbery occurred and the red truck they had been driving.  What happened next I did not expect.  She came to me a few months later and told me, thank you.  The robbers had indeed been in the house before, and they were friends of her sons.  Also a suspicious red truck had been seen in the area around that time.  For better or worse it seemed I had the gift.  I was floored.

We had just moved to this land, not long before the above story took place.  This land is very wild and full of land spirits.  One day my kids are going just nuts, barking their heads off, about noon. 

I asked the dogs, “What is it!  What are you barking at?”

“Momma!  It’s Momma!”  That just made no since to me what so ever, I’m Momma.  Just because I can hear what they say does not mean I always understand or translate correctly. 

“Momma who?” I asked.

They looked at me stupid and said, “Momma of the dogs.” 

I leaned over the couch and sure enough I saw, with my third eye, what they were barking at.  With my third eye I saw a woman dressed in white with a white horse, coming up from the creek bed.  I had seen her before but told no one.  The fact that they could see her too amazed and comforted me. 

I immediately got on the yahoo groups and began emailing my pagan friends all over the world, telling them this story.  Most of them believed her to be Rhiannon aka Epona, goddess of horses.  But it made no sense to me that a horse goddess would come to me when I had no tie to horses.  But I put a horse shoe on my altar just in case.  No the dogs had said, “Momma of the dogs.”  As I have mostly Germanic dogs, Dachshunds and a Rottweiler.  I thought I would look up Germanic dog goddess, so I Googled the words, and there she was… Holda. 

It took me some years of research but I did find that in her maiden form sometimes she is seen dressed in white, bathing in creeks and rivers, sometimes accompanied by a horse, and noon is her holy hour.  What the kids and I had seen was Holda.  I still believe that to this day.

Holda was my first and still is my main goddess.  Now she is known by many other documented names including but not limited to: Hulda, Frau Holle, Frau Holt, Percha, Bercha, and Herka.  She is the Germanic goddess of the dog, domestic animals, children, winter, snow, lakes and streams, infertile women and is sometimes associated with caves and forests.  She has been seen in all three aspects of Maiden, Mother and Crone.  Although it is perhaps as her crone or grandmotherly state that she is best known in.   I have seen her in all three.  She is known throughout Germany and among the Pennsylvania Deutch.  Many fairy tales and much oral tradition surround her in both places.  Using the internet, many who believe in her, have banded together to share their local heritage of her, as well as their own stories.  In 2011 Garden Stone published “Goddess Holle,” to date it is the only book in English totally devoted to her.  I believe she stirred me in the caldron of life.  I believe has been with me since the beginning, guiding me ever gently back to her.  I encourage you to look into her and see if she may be the right Goddess for you. 

I believe every animal speaks their own language.  Different animals, different things that are important to them, different ways of thinking, and what feels like to me different frequencies.  Dog is my main language.  My cat is rudimentary, as I have no cats and I am deathly allergic to them.  I have a pig, but have yet to hear him speak to me.  I understand most of what he says with body language.  I still have no working knowledge of bird.  The pictures they send get all jumbled in my head.  They come so fast.  Also they often send me colors I don’t understand.  I mentioned this to a bird friend of mine.  Apparently they see colors we cannot, like infra red and ultra violet.  My head is just not tuned for that.  I seem to be tuned into mammals and only at close distances. 

Goat took me a while to learn.  I think it is lower and slower then dog.  Star and I talk all the time.  We say normal things, like I love you, go this way, come here for a cookie, etc.  Mostly what I get from Star and Kali talking is, “OH!  Have you tried this plant!  Oh!  It is so good!  Oh! but what about this one here!!!”  Probable the most earth shattering conversation we have had is over what each finds valuable in life.  She and Kali value good plants, variety, and the ability to walk freely around the property and browse.  Star likes to nibble on my wedding ring.  I explain to her that it is valuable.  She likes to say, “It’s just a shiny rock.  If you can’t eat it, how valuable can it be?”  point taken.  I ask her how she feels about the fact humans eat animals.  She says something to the effect that animals know all their lives that someone may eat them.  They consider it an honor to give their lives for those they serve.  The least we can do is be thankful. 

I think one of the best conversations I have ever overheard, and they do talk to each other, was between Star and Ostara.  We were milking.  Star is always great in the milk stand.  She never kicks.  Ostara was just the opposite.  She would get in the stand, put her head threw to eat her grain, as soon as I locked her in and started touching her udder, she would freak and start kicking.  I did not want to hobble her.  After a while she settled down.  I think in part because of the conversation she and Star had.  Star told Ostara that she needed to give me milk.  She said, “It is an exchange.  They give us grain and a place to live.  We share with them our milk.  Now you just need to settle down.  She’s not going to hurt you.”  Ostara listened to her mother.  We had few problems after that.

I have also had conversations with other animals.  My favorite one was with an Elephant.  My friend and I had gone to a fair.  The Elephant and its owner were in an outside ring giving a demonstration.  It was funny and quite difficult at the same time, as they were both talking.  I could hear the ring master and then right after him, was the Elephants voice saying almost the same thing.  Example:

Ring master:  “I will now give him a loaf of bread to eat.”

Elephant:  “I will now eat this loaf of bread.”

The Elephant loved the crowds and you could feel lots of love for his owner as well.  The Elephant offered rides and pictures after the show.  My friend and I hung around.  After everyone was gone I approached them both.

 I said to the owner, “I know this is going to sound a little crazy but I am an animal communicator.  I would like to try to speak to your Elephant.” 

The man was more than happy to oblige, saying; “I am interest to see what you have to say.  We have been approached by an animal communicator before.”

I laid my hands on the Elephant and began to ask him questions.  He was so funny.  I just remember him asking me again and again if I wanted to ride.  I told him, no I just wanted to talk to him and ask him about his life.  He said okay.  I asked if he was treated well.  He responded that he was and he loved his owner very much.  That he was looking forward to sitting down and having a snack now that the show was over, and was I sure I didn’t want a ride? 

I told the owner what the Elephant had said.  He kind of chuckled.  Apparently I had said just what the other animal communicator had said.  I thanked them both and watched them walk away, into the shade to enjoy a snack. 

My dogs have never told me anything earth shattering either.  I also don’t think, they think as much as we do.  They have lots of free space in their brains, most of the time observing the natural world around them.  They tell me they love me and they are happy.  I can’t ask for more than that. 

Ilsa

What she left behind

Oma’s life was not a beautiful fairy tale that ends happily ever after.  This woman, who had survived so much, was about to have to survive a lot more, from a man who she thought would be her savior. 

Grandpa tells me many years later that Oma had escaped back to Germany with the kids.  Mom and her brother must have been little, as Grandpa says she was speaking, but Mom has no memory of it.  Grandpa says, “It took me a while to find them, and bring them back.  When I did the kids could not speak English anymore.  It took me a month to beat the German out of them.”

I talked with my mother recently.  She said her first memory is of Grandpa beating Oma.  Oma then walked into the kitchen, with all her children and turned on the gas.  I don’t know what or who stopped her.  I’ve been in that place of abuse where you think you have no way out.  Now remember this is in the late 1950’s there was no national discussion on domestic abuse, no shelters for battered women.  She had lived a very difficult life with two kids in Germany.  I do not think she could imagine trying again with four.  She had run away and he had found her.  No place was safe for her or her kids.  She was trapped.  For this woman who had survived so much, death, at that moment, seemed like her only way out. 

The fact that Grandpa beat Oma and molested the kids was not a well known fact in the community, and had never been talked about publicly.  Nor was the fact that he would often leave and go to sea and leave Oma with no money.  No money, no groceries, nothing.  It was another way to control her.  Had it not been for a family friend, who let her borrow the money to buy things like food and shoes, they would not have survived.  Everyone knew my Grandfather was an ass.  Everyone, but my father Jeff, was afraid of him.  Grandpa was a big man and no one ever stood up to him.  I think few outside the family understood that he was mentally and emotionally abusive at all times.  James Parker was nothing but a bully. 

When I was in my early teens my Grandfather remarried to a woman named Barbara.  She, for the most part, was a nice lady.  She was a great baker.  Before she would marry my Grandfather he had to convert to Christianity.  My Grandfather was a long avowed atheist.  Oh what men will do for some pussy! Grandpa converted.  It was all a lie.  He never spoke of his new found faith or of Jesus.  To this day, I believe it was all an act.  I believe he died an atheist. 

We, Grandpa, Barbara, my parents and I, were active in a local church.  My mother came out when I was 19 and began to tell those around her about the sexual abuse she suffered at the hands of my Grandfather.  It split the family down the middle.  Most of the church and the community did not believe either, because he was well respected in the community.  He was seen as a self made man.  Barbara believed for 24 hours, until Grandpa convinced her otherwise.  I have refused to speak to her since then.  But I understand.  She chose to believe her husband, rather than her step-daughter.  My mother is messed up because of what my Grandfather did to her.  You cannot convince me otherwise.  I was in the room with her when she confronted him.  I was there when he admitted to what he had done. 

It was not until the last few years, and having lived with Mike, that I began to understand the depth of Grandpa’s disease.  He was a pedophile.  I remember being little and hiding in the closet, for whatever reason, and there was this trunk.  Oma caught me in it one time and was very shocked an upset at what I had found.  Turns out it was a trunk full of porn.  I must have got in there so frequently she put a trunk with my toys next to it.  My Grandfather worked on many Merchant Marine ships in the Orient.  I wonder now if he chose Asian assignments so that he might have ready access to children involved in the Asian sex trade. I wonder now if he married Oma just to have access to her kids.  And then there are my own impressions.

They begin to surface in dreams.  In these dreams I was trying to tell myself I had been raped by my Grandfather.  I did not believe them, at first.  Then I remembered something that had happened the first time I ever made love.  Mike and I were getting ready, he climbs on top of me and for about 2 or 3 seconds I wanted to freak out.  I wanted to claw Mike’s eyes out and all I could think of was my Grandfather.  I wanted to get away.  I pushed it down and rejected it.  Mike and I finished, and I did not think about it again for many years.  I mentioned it to no one.

It has taken some years, but I now believe, despite my mother threatening him, that he did indeed attack me.  I believe at least twice, before the age of five.  Before I could form real memories of the abuse, understand or tell.  I knew my mother had been assaulted.  I have never asked her for details.  Because I just cannot deal with that. I don’t want that in my head.  My councilor and I were able to recover the memory from when I was two using a self induced semi- hypnotic stat.  The details, of which, I shared with my mother.  She was shocked that my details matched hers.  I believe both times, that I know of, I was attacked in my sleep.  Both times I woke up.  I don’t know how many more times I was attacted, and did not wake up. When I was 5 I had surgery on my urethra.  I was told it was too small and I kept getting Urinary Tract Infections from too many bubble baths.  I wonder now if it is because I was being molested.

I had hated my Grandfather from the time I could remember.  Every time I was around him, he made me want to vomit.  In fact it was Texas, my beloved dog, who gave me the first clue that he was not a good man.  Texas refused to leave me when Grandpa and I were outside, often standing between us.  Dogs know if you only listen.  I shared my feelings with my family who told me, “You must love him!  He is your Grandfather and deserves your love and respect.”  I was taught to negate any instincts and feelings I had in order to tow the family line and pretend all things were normal. 

My hope, in you reading this part of the story, is that if you were attacked you understand you are not alone.  My other hope is that when a child comes to you with such feelings you never, ever tell them to ignore them.  That you trust those feelings and understand that something is wrong.  That you will not insist that they must do what is right, when everything tells them it is wrong. 

There were moments when my Grandfather was a wonderful man.  He taught me about the stars, gardening, talked with me about his voyages to exotic places and started me on a love of science.  He even helped me stand up to a bully once.  I wept so much at his funeral that I was almost asked to leave.  I fainted at his coffin.  After my mom came out, I refused to speak to him, or see him.  I am told he died calling my name.  Now as my Oma had the same name I am not sure which one of us he was calling.  I am happy to say that my Grandfather is currently in Hell, serving a sentence for all the things he did to us.  He can no longer hurt anyone!

Oma died August 20, 1983.  Thirty-two years ago to the day of this writing.  She was 57.  She spent the last year of her life fighting Multiple Myeloma.  By the time they found it, she was already in the advance stages of the disease.  It metastasized to her bones.  The end was not pretty and made me an advocate of euthanasia.  She remained married to my Grandfather until her death.  I was not allowed to attend her funeral.  I was only 7.  I understand it was so packed that the men stood outside to let the women and children have a place to sit. A woman who had gone from knowing no one in the community, to a community that overflowed with love for her. 

Oma’s life and her death has had a transformative affect on my life.  When I was 11 I began doing genealogy and research on my family. I doubt I would have gone looking for answers about my family if she had been alive. I would begin in my late teens collecting stories about her.  The story I have just told you, of Oma’s life, has taken the last 25+ years to piece together.  I am constantly learning new things about her.

At first there were only rumors that Oma had been in a camp.  I could not understand as she was not Jewish.  I did not know that more the Jews went to the camps.  At first I thought it was because she did not look like an Aryan, you know blond hair and blue eyes.  Oma had brown hair and green eyes.  Then I believed she was in one of Stalin’s camps, but now it seems she was in a German labor camp outside of Danzig. I’ve been trying to put her life back together and understand it in the context of history. She left behind a hand written account of her survival during the war in Poland.  From which I borrowed heavily for this article.  A copy of that article is on file at The National Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. 

What I remember of her life is very little.  She was warm, kind and gracious.  She was a gifted hostess and cook.  I remember singing with her, crocheting and knitting with her, cooking with her and lavish Christmases at her home.  I remember her stanch patriotism and how proud she was to be an American.  I remember the unconditional love she gave me.  Something I am eternally grateful for.  I remember thinking in my little girl mind that she was my mother.  My first memories are not of my own mother but of her.  She has colored the way in which I see reality. 

It is odd now that I would become the caretaker of her history and her story.  My younger cousins come to me and ask me to tell them her story and my memories of her.  I am honored to do so.  Her story has left behind a legacy of courage, and bravery in the face of adversity.  To never give up hope, to never surrender and to keep going even where there may be no end in sight. 

Three of her four children are still alive.  She has seven grandchildren and several great-grandchildren.  We are scattered thru out Texas and Louisiana and see each other for weddings, funerals and share our lives with one another on Facebook.  We retain good ties with our family in Germany and my mother even went to visit some years back. 

For many years I wanted to write a book about her life.  I was going to entitle it, “What she left behind.”  Although not a book, I am happy to have finally shared her story with the world in these articles. 

Ilsa

My Grandmother, the spy

What happens to her between October of 1945 and December of 1953 I know very little of.  I must give my thanks at this point to the National Archives and what becomes the CIA.  I’ve spent a lot to time trying to research history surrounding her story on-line.  I was Googling trying to find any Armanski’s and trying to find any history on the name, other than the fact is seems to be another name for Armenian. I don’t understand.  There are very few Armanski’s, maybe 20 – 30 or so left worldwide. I have tried to contact some to them.  It is my guess that Oma’s father, Conrad, must have had brothers.  I am beginning to believe the name is made up.  That the family name is originally Arman and they added –ski to make it more Polish.  Maybe to work?  I don’t know and what’s worse is no one at this point can tell me. 

So one night I am just Googling away and I Google Oma’s name, “Ilse Armanski,” for shits and giggles because I know it is not there. I am shocked to find that a file exists on her in the National Archives.  That it is a file by an agent, in what is to eventually became the CIA.  Now there had been rumors in the family that Oma was a spy and that she was later blacklisted.  It made no sense.  How could she have become an American citizen then?  I sent away for the file.

What I received I did not expect.  There were over 200 pages of documents on my Grandmother, her family, her children, and the fathers of her children.  I was floored.   But I am ever grateful for that agent.  He presented me with a 6 month window of her life, during those mystery years, that I would have otherwise not have known.

The family is alive and intact, but life is very hard.  They have resettled in Bremen, Germany.  Why there I don’t know.  During these years Oma gives birth to two little boys, both with different American Servicemen fathers.  What these men promised her, I don’t know.  Both had families back in the states.  Soldiers having children with German women seems to have been a problem for the US government.  The Americans issue statements that tell these women that just because they have had children by Americans they have no rights to anything.  The agent reports Oma going on base frequently.  She goes to one of the fathers to beg for money to feed her child.  He slaps her and berates her. 

The agent reports that Conrad is a communist.  He does not work.  Now if that is because he is too old, hurt in some way or unable to find work I don’t know.  Conrad tells his girls one day, “Get back out there.”  I think, but as of yet cannot confirm, Conrad was pimping his girls out.  I asked Grandpa one time, what Oma did after the war to survive.  He simply said, “She did what she had to.”  It always made me wonder if she was a sex worker.  I can understand.  She had few skills and was a woman with kids to feed.  You do what you have to.  My other question is where did she learn English?  Did she learn it in school?  Did she just pick it up?  She had to have known enough to get on base and communicate with these men.  And my Grandfather’s German was rudimentary at best. 

It is during this time that she meets a man who turns out to be an agent of the Czechoslovakian government.  I don’t know what he says to her, but she ends up going with him for three days.  She later says she is taken into Czechoslovakia, and taken before a high ranking man.  He asks her to steal a Starscope, which is a precursor to our modern day Night Vision.  The then gives her money and sends her home.  She arrives home, spends the money and never, it seems, tries to acquire the Starscope.   She uses the money to buy coats for her family, shoes for her children, and I believe her first camera.  She begins to take pictures of her family, for the first time since the war.  The agent assigned to report on her states that she does not have the mental capacity or the necessary connections to steal the Starscope. 

At some point the plot is revealed and she is taken into custody.  She must write a full confession of all the events that occurred.  It even makes “Der Spiegel,” the local newspaper.  They make her sound like a fool.  I believe she did not have the connections, but she also didn’t have the heart.

Oma meets my Grandfather, James “Buddy” Parker, at a party in January of 1954.   He is a Merchant Marine.  They are married a few days later. My mother and her twin are born nine months later.  I asked my Grandfather one time where they were conceived.  He says, “On our honeymoon, cruising on a boat off the coast of Italy.”    They go back to Germany where he leaves her.  He arranges passage for her on a ship back to his home in Corpus Christi, Texas.  She arrives in America knowing no one but her husband.  It is probable one of the first times she is truly alone. 

At some point during all this they begin to understand that getting her two other boys out of Germany is going to be difficult.  So they remain with her family in Bremen.  It takes them almost a year.  They finally have to have the Lutheran Church step in and help them. 

They do a little state hoping, going back to Grandpa’s home in Louisiana, then Washington state, and then finally back to North Western Louisiana to stay. 

Ilsa