Book of Shadows: Seeking the God

I apologise in advance for the lack of coherency you might experience reading this blog post. I will likely copy it into my book of shadows at a later date, as you’re experiencing these thoughts and feelings with me as I explore them, and my initial thoughts are always rough.

For a while now, I’ve wanted to find my patron God (or Gods). I like having invisible friends, but most of my invisible friends are females.  I don’t have any enbies or good strong men on my team.

It wasn’t always this way. When I was nineteen, Messiah and I were doing a ritual in my lounge room. I got to the point in the ritual where you offer a prayer to the God, essentially inviting him in. And I stopped and said to Messiah, “Why do I bother? God isn’t real.”

The whole room lit up golden in a bright flash in response. I am, and I am here.

I didn’t drink back then; in fact, I was terrified of alcohol and all the people who drank it. I was 100% in control of all my faculties that particular night.  And yet, despite knowing the Gods never rise to the bait and prove themselves, knowing you can’t trick them into it, He did me that kindness.

For a long time after I was Team God, all about the sun imagery and horns and hooves. I didn’t have a name to call on, but at that point I was still very much a book-learned witch and all my books said Wiccans worship “the Lord and Lady” so I rolled with that.

Over time I began to see hints, catch glimpses of someone during my trance work (you know, back when I had time for trance work!) and I ran in pursuit. For the longest time, I thought I was following Pan. Maybe Cernunnos. Turned out, I wasn’t. I was following a Goddess who I’d never heard of before, Elen of the Ways. I’m still getting to know her, but even before she showed me her face, there were two huge problems I had with finding the God.

Problems I still have. They are:

1. Rape
2. Hunting

If you’ve ever read any of the old myths you’ll notice many of the old Gods were rapists. Some of the Goddesses, too. Pan sure was. A rapist and a massive drunkard. A lazy bastard who took long naps in the afternoon and partied all night. Not really someone who reflects my values.

But it’s not just Pan.
Zeus, Odin, Poseidon, and Seth come to mind too. I’m sure there are many other divine abusers.

I asked a favour of a Goddess once, and she asked me to become a feminist in return. At that point the only thing I hated more than a feminist was a vegan. (I know, I know.) So, I wouldn’t be a very good feminist if I threw my energy behind a deity who wouldn’t respect someone’s personal boundaries, now would I?

Second is the hunting thing. For all you non-Wiccans, The Horned God is both the predator and the prey. He’s a sacrificial God. The idea is that he must die so that we can live. We see that theme in a lot of faiths and a lot of myths. Lugh is also a sacrificial God. He dies with the grain and nourishes our bodies. (Super short version!) With the Horned God, it’s a similar story. He has a duel nature, representing both the wilderness and the hunt. He’s a protector, but also a hunter. The keeper of balance. Sometimes he kills the deer, sometimes he is the deer.

Even when I ate animals I was strongly opposed to hunting. In hindsight that’s stupid, but we were all young once. At any rate, I could never understand how someone dedicated to protecting the wild, someone who was half deer himself, would then go and shoot some deer for the people to eat. He’s supposed to be balanced, but where are they myths where he kills the humans to save the deer? Why doesn’t it go both ways? I still don’t get it.

But the theory goes that it’s a sacrifice, right? It’s the circle of life. The deer must die so the humans live, and the humans are grateful and venerate the deer, so it’s a respectful exchange. I’ve used all these arguments to justify shit to myself, I know how it goes.

Except then I found out that not only do humans not need to eat animals at all, they’re actually real bad for our health. Shit.

Now I’m not beating up on ancient cultures. Listen, longevity wasn’t something they cared about. They were in it for survival. But it’s a different world now. I’m practising a religion that didn’t even exist back then, so I can afford to be a bit progressive.

Beyond that, a sacrifice is a willing gesture. These animals aren’t offering themselves up, we’re murdering them. Do what ye will, but be honest about it, eh?

And so here I find myself again, kneeling in front of the altar, asking: Who may I serve? What work can I do? What is your name? Where can I find you?

Where are the Gods who were good husbands and kind fathers? Gods who expressed their emotions; who weren’t warlike. Weren’t killers, or hunters, or rapists? Gods who were more loving than lustful?

Where is the vegan God? And—here’s the tough one—am I entitled to worship him? See, there’s a whole other issue I haven’t touched on. Cultural appropriation is a thing. On a real basic level we need to be aware of cultural appropriation because people of colour are often disdained for a practice, then white people do it and are applauded or they make money off it, and/or they completely misrepresent whatever it is they are attempting to copy. This is a thing between the Asatru and Wiccans too. Many Asatru have requested that Wiccans stop using/calling/worshipping their Gods.

In short, I wouldn’t want to dedicate myself long-term to a God of a culture I didn’t belong to.

So I have my Goddesses, both recognised and “discovered” (that’s code for made-up).
Elen and Caffeina are with me always, and others meet with me though out the year. I’m never lonely, but I can’t help but feel that someone is missing. That I’m ignoring part of myself; part of my craft.

Over half my life spent as a Wiccan and there’s still so much to explore. So much binary thinking to break apart. For now, I will keep showing up. Keep making offerings and catching glimpses of His power in my husband and the sunlight on my shoulders. The beat of the drum, the steps of the dance, the song half-heard in the distance. And when the God appears, I will be here.

Miriam Cumming is a wife, mum, and witch. When she’s not making a brew or drinking one, she writes Wiccan fantasy novels and plays with stickers. She has recently released Get Your W*tc# Together – a spell workbook for witches and muggles, which you can get for free by signing up to her newsletter.