Beltaine Eve: Please support Women Religious (like Bridget)

We stand on the eve of Beltaine, today the 30th of April, and I am writing to ask for support for the most recent Catholic Church attack on religious sisters here in the United States. The Holy Father recently asked for a doctrinal investigation of US nuns, and found that though "there has been a great deal of work on . . . promoting issues on social justice and harmony," there hasn't been enough work on .... "right to life from conception. . ." and supporting "the church's view of Biblical Family life and human sexuality." (Doctrinal Assessment of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious).

Let's put that into English and what you get is: nuns are doing too much social justice work with the poor, and not enough work on the church's stand on abortion and homosexuality. In other words, American nuns are helping real people and not just threatening American families that don't conform to the Church Hierarchy's vision of patriarchal, nuclear families.

 Damn them nuns. They are always off doing work the Bishops don't like.

This is hardly the first time a church has questioned what women are doing.

Back in 1990 the Methodist Church flipped out when a Women's Week at a Dallas Methodist church included prayers to Sophia and use of the language Mother God. Go back to the 19th century and you have men in religious denominations telling women to go off and pray together alone, or worrying about what women did when they prayed together without men.

Go back even farther, and look at the history of the Beguines, 13th and 14th century "nuns", who rejected traditional orders, worked with the poor, coined their own money and had huge followings. The Beguines were expected to work, either in teaching or caring for the sick, to support themselves. They were mystics, and lived not in religious orders but in communes. Pope after Pope condemned them throughout the 13th century, though some groups held on until the Protestant Reformation.

Women, women, women, we just really are a problem for the churches of the world.

Yet the recent attack on Catholic nuns is just one more attack on all women in religion - whether it is pagan women, Jewish women, Hindu women or Buddhist and Muslim women. We are suspect because we take care of the poor, because we don't follow hierarchical goals of restricting families, because we support various forms of reproductive rights.

 No I am not saying we as women all agree. Heavens, no. However, we agree more than we often realize, and I say that as a woman on the border of religions who has pro-life and pro-choice friends in three of the world's major religions. I have fundamentalist tea-party friends and cloistered friends and Orthodox friends and friends with hijabs. And every single one of my friends works with children, speaks out for women's economic and social equality, for women's rights to explore God and deity and the holy without men on high limiting us in anyway.

 I know lots of Catholic nuns. I know nuns who teach, who care for the ill, who fight for justice all over the world, often standing up to guns and authorities. Nicholas Kristof in the New York Times points out that nuns were the first feminists. (Read his awesome editorial here.)

And let's remember, Saint Bridget, the saint I puja and follow, was a nun. A nun who welcomed all to her door. Change.org has a marvelous petition to support the nuns in America. Sign it here. And get out there and speak out for the nuns of our country, for the women who are doing the work that I would argue the church should be doing. American nuns are our sisters.

 Here on Beltaine Eve, let's stand with them, with Bridget, with women of all religions who are changing the world.

Wanting, Laws of Attraction, and Desire

Ok, I'm plugging away in two graduate programs (counseling and ABA), and I've finished my Life Coach certification (yay!) and started my life coaching business teaching social skills to pre-teens, teens, and young adults with special needs. I spend hard hours each day planning local presentations, writing articles and press releases, meeting with my first clients, and still homeschooling my kids and feeding the dogs. Yea, phew! However, behind all the work is a vision, and I continue to have Bridget on my ass about getting out there with the spirituality of ABA. Her vision and my vision are relentless!

I am learning how to build my own business website as fast as I can, along with enewsletters, ebooks, online marketing and website monetizations (anyone want online tarot readings here??) I take two steps forward, and one back, every day it seems! Friends send me information on manifestation, the Law of Attraction, instant healing and how to use spiritual practice to build personal and monetary success. The Law of Attraction reminds me of good old spell casting! One of my favorite spells goes along familiar lines: "I call to me the power of (state your desire), and I release from myself any blocks to receiving (name the desire again)." It is a great spell, by the way, and should work well with manifesting.

One of the interesting things my friends tell me about manifesting is the importance of NOT stating or thinking: "I want." Want, so the theory goes, points to the lack of something. Thus I want money translates into universe speak to "I have no money," and then the universe responds to that lack by sending more wanting, and so you don't get money. It is an interesting point, and I've spent the last month or so trying to erase the word "want" from my vocabulary. I am using the words of intention instead, i.e "I intend to have 3 new clients by the end of March," (that worked), and "I intend to publish a new blog post every week." (worked as well!)

Between the intentions and the spell casting, my life is super busy ("I release from myself any block from getting an A this semester. . ." and "I call to me the power of a new house. . ."). Between spell casting and intentions and manifesting, I've gotten a wonderful new home for me and my kids, straight A's (so far) for the semester, great recommendations from clients, three upcoming speaking engagements, my life coach certification, a business plan that several business coaches have all approved, and a bunch of new friendships.

But I really miss the word want.

I do want, despite the manifesting, the spell casting, the laws of attraction. I want more. I want a diet coke. I want a retirement account. I want my children to get all the education they need. I want national health care. I want to end global warming.

And some of these things I lack (retirement, national health care, a diet coke), and some are more than just personal lack. I want nationalized healthcare beyond my own lack of health insurance - I want a society that provides for all people like every other industrial nation on earth.

Which brings me to desire. In current American speak, "I want" implies desire. As in "I want you." As in "I want hot sex." As in "I want public transportation for all." Desire is a sexy word, and can imply sex, but it is also more than sex. I desire political change as much as I desire good sex. (Hey, both are important!) Desire has become this word we rarely use, and want has mostly come to replace it. Yet even setting aside the laws of attraction, wanting has a lack implied to it, as in the noun form of the word. Want can mean poverty, loss. To be in want is to be without something important, necessary. Thus I want nationalized health care is apt, in that we in the States don't have either nationalized or adequate health care anywhere. We are all in want.

But I want to embrace desire. Because my desire for nationalized health care is beyond the lacking and the state of want. I desire nationalized health care as a deep wellspring of my being. I believe in providing for all and nationalized health care is part of that wellspring of me. I desire hot sex the same way, and I desire education for my children, and I desire just retirement for all, and I desire time and energy with my friends and loved ones and I desire new roses in the spring. Desire is more than want, more than lack, more than sex but certainly part of our innate sexualness.

Audre Lorde, that marvelous Black lesbian feminist poet and activist, wrote of the politics of the erotic. She wrote about the incredible political wellspring that the erotic can be, that in embracing our sexuality and erotic selves we come close to being whole, true, empowered, aware, political. Lorde named the erotic one of our inherent resources. She wrote of desire as a source of great strength and power. (Read her amazing essay here)

And I remember my own sermon, for my ordination back 24 years ago (eek!). I preached that evening on wanting. I spoke about the way we are taught to want in our culture: we want a diet coke. we want a new car. we want a new ipod. Wanting becomes commercialized. I spoke 24 years ago on wanting as a means to find our deepest longings, which inevitably leads to political change. We want clean air. We want clean water. We want safe schools. We want good jobs.

Now I am thinking of Lorde and my own sermon, the laws of attraction, manifestation, spell casting. I support prayers and spells and puja, and I am manifesting, attracting from the universe, and working with universal laws everyday - for school, for my kids, for Bridget. And I've started looking carefully at my use of the word "want."

And no matter what I attract, what I spell cast for, what I pray for, I still live as an embodied woman, alive with desire. Hey everyone, go puja, go pray, go manifest. We are living in amazing and changing times, and I want to encourage all of us to get out and manifest, spell cast, pray. But I wanna make sure we none of us give up desiring. Desire is at the heart of so much of our power, so much of creation, so much of change.

Surely desire is inherent to attraction anyway. Go desire something, someone, some change. Just desire. We can build some laws of desiring, on the journey of our soulpaths, on our walk with deity. So go desire. Desire with all your heart and being. Who knows the power and energy we will find, in our own simple, heartfelt desire.

: )

Bridget bless, everyone.

What to do when a deity rides your ass!

Sorry for the crass blog title, but for the last week Bridget herself has been on my case - usually around 4:30 a.m., and sending me Her message for my life. I am in my semester homework cycle - ahead, but barely, and starting my coaching business in earnest, and driving my teen all over Ohio to music schools so she can audition for college. In other words, Bridget I am busy! I need my sleep! Can you not just hold off?

I've had other deities visit me; Lugh showed up a year ago or so. I had offered my usual Lughnassad bread and beer for his holiness, watched the fireflies come out as you do on an August 1st night, and never thought much about it. Suddenly on my porch I had Lugh himself sitting down, taking his beer, and quietly hanging out with me. I wrote about my experience with Lugh over on Celtic Nation, and was met with some skepticism. True, I am not a huge Lugh follower. I think much of the skepticism came from the boys, all saying - covertly - what would Lugh wanna do drinking beer with silly little Bridget worshipper you? No one at Celtic Nation had ever doubted my relationship with Bridget or Aengus.

Anyway, Lugh has hung about and been a quiet and calm presence this past tumultuous year and a half - 4 school programs (two down, and two to go) plus starting the business, returning to part time work and the usual of rearing two kids with autism spectrum disorders. I think Lugh has been lovely in lending me energy. He is still about, and shows up for beer or a quiet break from his life. If you don't believe me, oh well.

Bridget showing up is no surprise. She too has been in my life since my visit to the Orkney Isles when she was the world all around. Bridget leads me in my mothering, in my poetry, my blacksmithing, and now my work as a healer. I mean, I do what Bridget does. Of course she is my deity!

Her appearance last week, however, was neither warm nor nurturing. At 4:30 a.m. she would flood my dreams and then my waking pre-dawn self with blogpost ideas for my business website, with story ideas, with magazine articles that need writing, with ebooks to write. Writing writing writing. Bridget has a message and she is using me to get it out there and she doesn't care about my sleep.

After three days of her early morning wake-up calls, I finally got up and re-vamped my business website completely, added new categories and pages, and most importantly, talked about the spirituality of rearing special needs children. The minute I wrote that post, offered coaching for parents of special needs kids, and planned some upcoming parenting workshops for spirituality and prayer, she eased off and let me get some sleep.

So whadda ya do when a deity rides you like this? Well, the simple answer is do what you are called to do! Lugh says hang out and have a beer, and who am I to argue? (Lugh may hang about 'cause I am so happy to give him mine!) Bridget wakes you at 4 a.m. and says write a blogpost, just do it. It woulda been better if I had gotten up that first a.m. and written every idea down right then. Sure more ideas came, but after three days of re-writing - and early wake-ups - I finally got the words down that Bridget wanted, and her insisting presence moved on.

Deities come and speak to us. Angels send us messages. Spirits lead us to classes and teachers and friendships we need. Saints send us poetry. When a deity rides your metaphorical butt, the best thing to do is ride your muse, follow your inspiration, heed the call from within.

And be ready to follow again, 'cause once you start puja to one Saint or Deity, be aware, more will always follow.

Here's to your sleep! Follow your spiritual path! Some days, sleep is not as important as the work we are called to do!

Happy Imbolc Y'all!

Ok everybody, Happy St. Bridget's Day. Time to honor my puja to Bridget with a post!

I have spent the winter starting my own coaching business, working with special needs teens and young adults, and happily already have two clients. Yes I need more. I also needed a website (done!), marketing plan (done and evolving daily!), a business plan (done!), legal stuff (some done, some left to do), and a new phone (done!) Lots of hard work and hard planning. The coaching part is the easiest!

During this time of building and visioning, I have been following a mated woodpecker pair in my woods. Pileated woodpeckers abound here in SW Pennsylvania, loving the woods and streams of the Laurel Highlands. These are huge woodpeckers, too, 16 to 19 inches high, with a lovely red streak on their heads, and a call rather like a laughing hyena. I love them!

I see the woodpeckers most in the summer; they love the mulberries in my backyard, and flit from the woods in the hollow up to my yard, grab a berry, and fly back. They are huge, like crows with red, flying back and forth all day long on a June day. This winter, however, they have been hanging closer to my house, gathering daily in scrub woods at the back of my yard, and chittering together all day. I have been blessed to watch my pileated pair dancing in the trees! I called my local zoo to ask what pileated woodpecker dancing means, and they said that they had no idea. Ok.

So of course, with dancing woodpeckers in my yards, my augury spirit was called forth. What can dancing woodpeckers mean as a call from the universe or from Bridget?

There are numerous Pileated stories in First Nation myths: Pileated woodpeckers brought flutes and music to the Lakota; an Annishinabe tale credits the Pileated with helping a warrior defeat a giant, and the warrior put the giant's blood on the woodpecker's head in thanks. Woodpeckers beat out rhythm on trees, and are connected to drummers, music, and the heartbeat of the mother.

Woodpeckers are also hard headed. Their skull is reinforced with extra bone so they pound away at trees and find bugs, grubs and ants for food. Woodpecker bills are both tremendously strong and long enough to find insects. Woodpeckers don't sing to announce their presence, they pound instead.

For Cherokee teachings, woodpeckers are associated with discernment, learning to find truth, and knowing when to speak (pound on trees) or stay silent and still. Elder RedArrow calls Woodpecker the teacher of personal truth, persistence, hard work and honor. Woodpeckers have the ability to discern truth from lies, and to find hidden secrets with their excavations of trees for their nests.

While I spend this winter watching the pileated pair in my yard, I am holding hard to their message of persistence and hard work. I am building a new career that is flexible for my family, and hard work and following inner truth is something I am determined will pay off! Woodpecker, then, is leading me in hard work. As Elder RedArrow says: "Woodpecker is telling us that even if something seems difficult to do, not to give up. To do what works, even if it is unconventional. To set your own pace, your own rhythm."

My own rhythm is something I clearly appreciate! When I first read that woodpecker represents drumming, I was not sure how to understand this teaching. I don't like drumming; I like - no love - to dance to drumming! And I see myself as dancer and weaver and not drummer and musician. (Not that gazillions of musicians aren't part of my life!)

Yet Woodpecker augury for me this St. Bridget's day is a message of persistence. Of not giving up. Of hanging in there and following my own inner drummer. I am building so much these days, building a new life and new vision of my world, and every time I am tired and walk into my back yard, Pileated Woodpecker is there, calling me on, dancing in trees, laughing and calling me and pounding on for truth.

This Imbolc, I am listening to Woodpecker. And Woodpecker is telling me to listen to myself.

May you find this sacred day special and prophetic; may you find your inner voice in the fires to sacred Bridget; may you follow your path.

Happy Imbolc.

Oh, the Places You'll Go at Burning Man!

I have been behind blogging again! And I am working on a post for augury as I write. But in the meantime some awesome inspiration from Dr. Seuss, via Burning Man!

Enjoy!

Love them Vikings! (Half Were Women!)

It's been awhile since I've posted on archaeology and history, and I've been wanting to write about recent excavations on Viking history in the United Kingdom. Like research into Anglo Saxons, the archaeological picture continues to grow and change into a diverse and peaceful view of immigration and settlement back at the millennium - the first millennium that is!

Of course, there weren't any "vikings," anyway. Viking is a verb! Folks from way up in Norse countries went off a-viking. Ok, the word does appear once in awhile as a personal name, as in Viking son of Eric. But in general, one goes off to viking. And that's what the Norse peoples did from the 8th century C.E. onwards - sailing off about northern Europe and all the way to Greenland. (Some interesting historical linguists are connect the verb viking to vika, the old Norse word for a distance of measure at sea! very cool research, see it here.)

Since the 1980's archaeologists have been questioning the quintessential Victorian construct of Vikings - those horn-helmeted giants in sheepskin raping and pillaging across the entire North Atlantic. Of course the written record of Norse plundering comes down to us from non-Norse Christians, a notoriously unreliable source! Later centuries would seize these descriptions in both Scandinavian political movements and Wagnerian opera. Most movie depictions of "Vikings" reflect 18th and 19th century Viking revivalism.

The archaeological findings just don't reflect any of Wagner or the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. And some of the most enjoyable scholarship is about Norse women settlers. You know, those women who went a-viking with their families, settling all over England, and now showing up again in studies of Norse burials. Those women, often with children, who point to a whole different "Viking." Those women, often buried with swords, who point to a different history all together.

It turns out scholars are estimating that Norse settlers in England were at least one third, if not half, of all "Vikings." And grave sites previously presumed all male, are being measured by osteological standards, instead of assuming that a sword in a grave means a male in a grave, and suddenly the ratio of grave finds changes completely! Since scholars already know that swordplay was part of all Norse children's education, and that girls learned with swords as well as boys, it is hardly surprising that Norse women were buried with swords beside them - yet still archaeologists are reporting their new findings with amazement.

The presence of Viking women graves with swords alongside is especially heartening for my swordplaying daughter. She wanted a Celtic persona in the Society for Creative Anachronism, not Norse - despite the scholarship about Norse girls and swords. So I put our family personas into 11th century Devonshire, where Norse settlements were established and where a nice Brythonic speaking family might know some sword-wielding peers. This also places us close to Anglo Saxon friends, recreating their own newly understood archaeological studies of equally peaceful Anglo Saxon settlements. These new grave finds in England have energized our family: gee, I was pretty smart choosing early 11th century England, which, based on archaeology, is appearing increasingly multicultural and cosmopolitan.

As is all of Europe. Research on the collapse of the Roman Empire is showing ongoing trade continuing across Europe, and pre-Roman Britian had significant trade with the Mediterranean for centuries. It's about time to reclaim history when it was truly peaceful - throughout England scholars are finding cemetaries with Anglo Saxon, Celt, and Norse people - all identified through DNA - buried peacefully together. Which suggests living peacefully together.

And once again archaeology proves that our history was far more complicated than we thought.

So hurrah for Norse women, who went a-viking with their families. Sword-wielding and shield-bearing, their remains point to an amazing past and culture.

(photo courtesy of http://cathyscostumeblog.blogspot.com/)

Helm Magic

We have been back from our family's annual camping trip to Pennsic for a few weeks now, and I need time to write a post about helm magic. Pennsic is the annual, worldwide gathering of the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA), when this year over 13,000 people camped out for two weeks in sweltering August heat in Southwestern Pennsylvania. As I have written before, it is impossible to explain Pennsic completely to one who has never been: it is 13,000 people camping in a huge, open field in August; it is 13,000 people recreating the Middle Ages from archery to brewing to period campsites to reconstructed bog-finds clothing to men, women and children wearing shining armor and bashing one another with PVC weapons. Really.

My kids drug me into the SCA, again as I have written before. They all enjoy youth boffer fighting, that shining-armor/hitting one another with pvc pipe sport, that, thankfully, is wonderfully and safely taught in our barony (yes there are kingdom and kings and queens and barons and baronies and dukes and all. . .) by the fabulous Lady Zoe. (If not for Lady Zoe, I would have overruled the kids and never allowed them near a boffer!) At Pennsic, the youth fighting is carefully and lovingly overseen by a group of men and women knights, whose dedication to the sport is awesome to behold. Yes, many of the adult fighters are walking around semi-drunk; yes the adult fighters, especially some of the guys, are annoying and pushy louts; yes I think grown men need to think about why they like to put on stainless steel in 90 degree heat and bash one another on the head (no I don't question the women in armor as they all tell me the same thing: they love hitting men - and who can argue with that?). Yet the youth fighting knights are all loving, giving, and dedicated to helping youth learn the sport and chivalry itself.

So pacifist, feminist me spends two weeks each summer watching my kids don their armor and hit each other. Ok, the first year or two I went to every fight and sweated every knock they each took - not to mention being pulled in as a marshal (in other words referee) when occasion demanded (I still have a reputation as being useless at teaching fighting but also as having been scrupulously fair and hard on everyone - a reputation I rather like!), but nowadays they are old enough that I don't have to supervise anymore. I have also watched my eldest daughter and my only son grow tremendously in the sport.

For many years, my eldest was the only girl on the youth battlefield. The boys treated her terribly. In boffer fighting, the hittee has to "take their blows," and it is all honor system as to admitting whether or not you the hittee has taken a blow that kills you. "Not taking your blows" is unchivalrous, an insult, and ultimately will draw unwanted attention from other fighters, parents, and finally the marshals.

For many, many years, boys would not take their blows from my eldest daughter. Yet the boys' behavior was so obvious, and my daughter so reliably took her own blows, that year after year she has won awards for her chivalry and behavior on the field. Now, since my eldest is at least 50 lbs. lighter than the boys on the battlefield, her ability to win even when everyone is as chivalrous as possible is limited, and she would dearly love to win some tourneys due to prowess and not just her amazing chivalry. Yet, year after year, she has stuck to fighting, won tremendous respect from many of the more serious boys, and also won tremendous respect from the knights in charge. In my own schoolwork this year, when the work has been overwhelming and the possibility of ever learning all this vocabulary and theory seemed impossible, I have deliberately thought of my eldest, hanging in there at every practice, taking her blows, losing over and over but not quitting just from the sheer love of the sport. My eldest is an inspiration.

And so to helm magic. Pennsic, that wild and indescribable village/ren faire/art festival/camp out combined, has its own magic. One of my kids' friends is an avid musician, has mild ADHD and is often difficult to manage, but has and still loves Pennsic and the SCA with utter abandon. Over the years Pennsic musicians have gifted him with musical instruments for his Middle Eastern persona, from a gift scholarship for an oud two years ago to a saz this past Pennsic. Giving to kids who show their willingness to work is part of the SCA culture. And it can bring amazing experiences! Last year I was shopping in the marvelous, amazing, gobsmacking and huge marketplace (picking up some badger's claws, the kind of thing one can do at Pennsic!) when my eldest daughter came running into the tent where I shopped. She was sobbing and incoherent and clutching a helm.

Helms, by the way, are just what you think they are: those helmets from knights in shining armor movies we have all seen. That shiny helmet is the piece de resistance of a good knight. In the SCA helm rules are strict and affected by modern medicine: hockey helmets work with some additions for chin and neck protection. Of course, your adult and youth boffer fighter dreams of a good, metal helm, though. Getting helms, visiting armorers at Pennsic and trying on helms, decorating helms (animal tails and horse manes are popular) - all are daily points of conversation.

The helm my daughter carried while in tears was stainless steel, a step up from my daughter's older helm which rusts endlessly. It was also quite small, fitting for my petite daughter's head, but not many of the fighters in the SCA are as small as my daughter. I hugged her while adults gathered around and my daughter explained through her tears that an armorer she admired had watched her try on the helm over and over all Pennsic, and here in the last days, had decided to give her the helm since she wears fighting favors and medallions and clearly is an active youth fighter. The helm itself was worth several hundred dollars, an amazing and magical and loving gift. Just finding a helm to fit her was itself amazing, let alone having the armorer give it for free! My daughter didn't know if she should accept such an expensive gift, but all adults there and in our barony camp reassured her that yes, giving away is part of the SCA and part of Pennsic. My daughter, the one who hung in there never winning year after year, was getting another kind of recognition for her love of boffer fighting. That in and of itself was a day of magic, and I have written about that kind of Pennsic magic elsewhere.

And so to this year. Returning to Pennsic with her new helm ready for fighting (all helms have to be padded and inspected for head safety so that blows to the head won't cause brain injury - this isn't football), my daughter was in her last year as a youth fighter. For the first time she didn't make every single fight practice, but still participated in tourneys and joined her friends on the battlefield. There she met a mom with a teen son in the sport, whose son actually has been a grand friend and supporter of my girl in the world of mostly-boys fighting. The mom was searching for a new helm - hard to find for many women, since the armorers mostly make their wares for men. Like my daughter, she needed a small helm for a small head. And of course my daughter had a helm to sale. By the end of Pennsic, this mom decided to buy my daughter's helm, at a price she could afford, and which will help my daughter with her own fighting costs. My daughter made a special price for the mom, who knew others were interested and willing to pay more. And my daughter knew how hard it is to find a small helm and wanted to make a price to help this mother.

And when the sale was complete, the mom herself broke down and cried - she had never thought she could find a helm that would fit her or that she could afford one if she did. For the second year in a row, a woman fighter, who like my daughter may never be the top champion or even that successful in tourneys, was herself finding a way to be honored as a boffer fighter. My daughter was so happy she was able to pass on the helm magic that she herself experienced. And all of us watching were in tears as well. Anyone who has ever been an underdog, worked their butt off with no hope of recognition, or ever felt that they did something they loved just out of love and never any hope of winning will understand all these tears. That is what this was.

For me the magic was eye opening. I theoretically get it when adult women tell me they love fighting in the SCA and bopping men on the head. Our just retired Baroness is one of the best fighters in our kingdom, male or female, and every kid in our Barony is so gobsmackingly proud of her. However much I dislike the drunken men running around Pennsic with pole arms, I have learned to love and respect the women who fight and challenge sex role stereotyping as well as they assert that chivalry is for women, too.

Yet the incredible reaction of my daughter and this friend's mom to their own metal helms, so much a part of chivalry and knighting, spoke to me of metal magic and Bridget. My Goddess of blacksmithing and healing is also a goddess of armorers and women knights in shiny helms. She is the goddess of girls and boys and men and women learning to take their blows, and she is the goddess of anyone willing to pass on magic. I had not seen helm magic before this Pennsic - I had seen adults teaching and leading youth as magic, and I had seen tremendous attention to crafting and art as magic, but now I realize helms are magic, too. Helms have meanings of power and art, prowess and healing. My daughter and the friend's mom both cried healing tears when given - nay, awarded, their helms. Ok, I still really hate boffer fighting. Yet I can see the healing and love there, too.

So that is helm magic. Bridget at work in mysterious ways. The Goddess at foot on a battlefield. As I continue my journey as a blacksmith, I find more and more ways Bridget the Goddess of blacksmithing, and patron saint of smiths in Christian traditions, lives as central to our lives. Next time you pull out a cooking pot that is stainless steel, think of my daughter and her helm. Or the next time you cook on cast iron think of the mom who bought my daughter's old helm. Metal magic, through Bridget, is all around us.

Our last day at Pennsic, the circle of helms became complete. Another mom with a fighting son asked my daughter if she had heard the story of the girl youth fighter who had gotten a free helm from an armorer? My daughter smilingly explained the story was true and she was that girl. My daughter's helm is becoming part of Pennsic magic, Pennsic myth, and helm myth. I know that everytime the story passes on, Bridget is smiling.