Don’t listen to those who warn you that honesty is dangerous. They are afraid. It is okay to be afraid, but our strength comes from facing those fears. There is tremendous value in honesty, in openness, far more than they understand.

But I know. And you know. A single wounded man can change the world. An open heart is an avenue of transformation. Don’t listen to those who build your fear. What have you to fear? What can honesty do that is worse than what we’ve survived? What can openness cause that is worse than closing ourselves off and hiding the most real part of who we are?
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Note: In my tradition posessory work is a method of allowing your body, in a controlled manner, to be inhabited by a spirit or diety for the purpose of communication, oracle, or other magical effort. It is similar to horsing or being ridden by the Loa of voudoun or being taken by the holy spirit of the pentecostal traditions.

I’ve practiced posessory work for several years. I’ve never considered myself particularly adept at it. I’ve had experiences and felt that I was capable of controlling and releasing control as necessary, but I’ve never felt as though I have any particular calling or ability to enact it.

More and more lately, the experience of posession has been growing more potent and more overwhelming for me. At Starwood I was posessed several times. I found myself more and more open to the experience and more at ease with the process than ever before. Through my mouth came words and messages for specific people, for those present, and for a much larger audience. As part of a group experience I felt the energy move between the posessed individuals. I felt the various spirits holding their dialog through our lips, and though I’ve done it before it was different this time.

The biggest difference is in degree. For the first time I’m finding it very difficult to recall what the spirits said through me. This is typically a sign of the depth of the posession, and it’s something I’ve never experienced before. What surprises me is that it felt similar to other experiences where I can remember the words and messages. The only difference is that there is a blank spot in my memory where much of what was said should be.

From this evidence, and the reports of witnesses I think it’s clear that I’m developing as a medium rather quickly, and in a manner I hadn’t anticipated. It’s clear to me that as I grow secure in my own path, the spirits will continue to come through me in increasing quantity and regularity. I’m a little anxious about this, but not scared. I’m anxious because it’s an unexpected development in a path that I thought was fairly clear before me. I’m anxious because I know that the work of a medium is demanding on the body and the mind. To rise to this work I need, more than ever, to open my heart and mind and strengthen my sense of self.

I’m an odd sort of activist. I think the best way to change the world is to exemplify the change you are trying to create. I think that letter writing campaigns, marches, and protests are less effective than people believe. I think there is emphasis on noise and the assumption that enough noise creates change.

It is that assumption that I challenge. True change is more subtle than the alteration of a law or the defeat of a bill. True change, lasting change, occurs in the hearts and minds of society, and you can not legislate that. I feel deeply that legislation meant to protect and defend can often be a form of intellectual violence, and that the minds and hearts of people opposed will harden against that violence.

As a result, my personal activism has always been that of exemplification. I believe that by demonstrating the benefit of my beliefs through enacting them I influence and help to create those beliefs in the people around me. I believe that this change is far more effective and lasting.

But my time at starwood caused me to realize something. The slow and steady effect of personal congruence and exemplary activism is sometimes not enough. There are times for specific direct action. There are times, when we are faced with direct injustice, that we are forced to realize that other action must be taken.

As a result I’ll be writing open letters to the organizers of Starwood and the stewards of Wisteria explaining my thoughts and feelings about what is going on with their festival and land. And I will be encouraging my brothers and others who attended the festival or who visit the land to send similar letters. I believe that the land is in pain and that it is being abused by the people who should be caring for it. I can not only promise to exemplify a better way in my life, although I do. But I must act, in some way, against the ill that is being done right now even though I have no direct authority in this arena.

I witnessed something at Starwood that made me realize something I’ve never put into words before. I’m part of a lineage. I have been taught, and am continuing to be trained, by Amatheon. He is a great teacher. He is a man who has given more of himself than I’ve ever seen. I am often humbled by him, and I am honored to consider him my friend and colleague, and I am blessed to be his student.

Too, I have been trained by his students who came before me. Kamion and Coriander. And from each of them I have learned important lessons. They’ve taught me how to be myself inside the lineage I am inheriting. Each has their own gifts to offer, and I have been blessed to recieve from each of them more than I deserve.

Too, I have learned from my fellow pupils. As we have grown and walked the paths together we have learned about each other and about the universe we inhabit. Each of them has offered me an open heart and a well of compassion that has given me the strength and support to continue on my path. It is my hope that I have given them such support in turn.

I mention this, because I was appalled when I witnessed two presenters teaching techniques they were taught, and failing to give acknowledgment or deference to the man who taught them, when he was standing right there in the workshop with them. Instead of saying “This man is our teacher.” They said “We learned this from a friend.” Instead of sharing their lineage and tradition they acted as though they were founts of wisdom unto themselves.

I can not begin to express how offended I was on behalf of their teacher. I suspect it is not my place to be offended or upset. But I am. As a student, I feel the lack of acknowledgement diminishes all of us.

I will confess, their tradition is vastly different from my own. It is possible, though I find it unlikely, that their tradition has specific ways of honoring or not honoring their teachers. However, I do not know this to be true, and it is not truly relevant. Why? Because I’m not talking about them. I’m not even angry with them so much anymore. My anger, which was very strong, clarified my thoughts on the matter. Brought me to a place of recognition.

I’ve realized, as a result, how very important the lineage I’m a part of is becoming to me. I have been taught by Amatheon. My students will be able to say that they were taught by me, and that I was taught by Amatheon. Future generations will be able to recite their lineage, and in so doing they will remember the sacrifice, the effort, the love that I was taught with, and that I try to teach with. They will remember where they came from and they will call our names as ancestors of their knowledge.

This is not about legacy, although legacy can easily be conflated here. It is about memory. It is about respect. It is about humility. If we can not pay respect to our teachers, how can we pay respect to the spirits, or the Gods? What do the Gods think of a man who does not honor his teacher?

One of the good things to come out of Starwood this year is a realization about the Brotherhood. I have plenty to say about the Brotherhood of the Phoenix. I’ve been involved since the first public ritual, and I’ve been part of the organizational core in official and unofficial capacities since I became a member. But I learned something new last week.

The Brotherhood is ready to make a mark. We’re ready to stand up and be counted. I know this because I watched my brothers act seamlessly all week. I watched things get done as though we had done them a hundred times. I saw my brothers make men feel welcome in our hall. I saw them rise to the occasion to counsel and support others at the festival. I saw them reach out to take care of each other when emotions and energies ran high. I heard their words when we talked about the bonfire, when we discussed the land we walked upon, when we held vigil for the lost, and when we said goodbye to the land. I listened to my brothers promise the spirits and the gods, that we will be good caretakers of the earth. That we will listen to the land. That we will do what we can to create a world where mankind lives as part of the ecosystem, not apart from it.

And I heard the spirits respond. I listened as they thanked us. I listened as they said goodbye. I listened as they spoke through my brothers and as they spoke through the animals and through the wind. I know that they heard us, and I know that they believed us.

And just as importantly, I believed us. I believe my brothers will give back to the earth. I believe they will take up stewardship of the land. I believe they will learn to live in communion with each other and with the world. I believe we will teach others to do the same. I believe the spirits of the urban world are watching us, waiting for us, and I believe we will speak with them. I believe we will discover things we did not expect, and relearn things we’ve forgotten.

One of my favorite pagan elders, Andras Corben Arthen said: “The founders of our ways are still here. They are the mountains, the trees, the lakes, the rivers. They have not left us, but we have stopped listening.” I believe that we are ready to start listening again. And I believe that we are going to start showing our feathers.