by Starhawk
The word sacrifice literally means “to make sacred.” The tasks worth doing, worth committing ourselves to with wholehearted passion, are the tasks that serve what is truly sacred to us, what is most vitally important. The following is a meditation I use over and over again, both personally and with groups.
The Sacred Task
In sacred space, go to your place of power. Ask yourself, “What is sacred to me? What is most important, so important that I don’t want to see it harmed or compromised? What would I be willing to take a stand for, to risk myself for?” As the answers come to you, you might choose a symbol for each one. (“I see a redwood tree to stand for the trees and the earth, a beloved child’s face to stand for the children, the homeless man on the street corner to stand for justice.”) In a group, you can speak these out loud.
Breathe deeply, and go back into silence. Think for a moment about your work, your relationships, the way you spend your days. Ask yourself, “Are my best energies aligned with what is sacred to me?”
If the answer is no, ask yourself, “What do I need to make a change, to bring my best life energies into alignment with what is truly sacred to me? Is it support? Courage? Luck? Is there a sacrifice I would need to make, and am I willing to make it?” As the answers come, realize that this is your task.
If the answer is yes, if your best energies are being used in the service of what is truly sacred to you, then ask yourself, “What lies in front of me now?” Envision a road leading out from your place of power. What do you see immediately in front of you on that road? This is your task, the shirt that you must weave. What do you need in order to undertake this work? Support? Luck? Courage? Are there nettles you need to grasp? Is there a sacrifice you would need to make, and are you willing to make it?
Return from your place of power.
In a group, you might go around the circle, naming your task and asking for the support you need in order to undertake it. Alone, you might put symbols of what is sacred to you on your altar and consider whom you might ask for support.
Suppose your task is something you don’t want to do or that requires a sacrifice you are unwilling to make. It is not always easy to tell if the images that arise for us are truly coming from the deepest source of all life or from some layer of guilt or illusion within us. If a task is truly in alignment with what is most sacred to you, it will feel joyous even when it requires hard work or sacrifice. It will present itself with a sense of calm knowing, not with anxiety or frantic urgency. The sacrifices it requires will be inherent in the nature of the task, not extraneous suffering for suffering’s sake. And it will never require you to go against your conscience in any way.
One of the advantages of being in a polytheistic tradition is that, even if the Goddess herself tells you to do something, you have somewhere to go for a second opinion. You can say no to the Goddess. To gather power, we must freely choose to take up our challenge—and unless we are free to say no, we are not free to say yes.
Great tasks may present themselves in rituals, dreams, or visions. For me, they’ve often come in much more mundane circumstances—as a thought or an idea that might pop up while I’m driving down the freeway or having a conversation about something else. They carry a certain energetic quality I think of as a “feeling of doom.” Clichéd as that phrase is, for me it is an anchor to a certain calm, neutral, almost emotionless state characterized by a heavy sense of inevitability. When I turned twenty-one, my mother gave me an electric typewriter as a birthday present. At that time I had no intention of becoming a writer, but the first morning I sat down to type, the feeling of doom overcame me. For fifteen years, Reclaiming had discussed the idea of writing a book to document our teaching material. I had firmly resisted involvement with the project, until one morning on the boat back from Gozo to Malta, I was talking with the friends who had gone with me to visit the Goddess temples there. The idea of this book came up, and sure enough, there was the old feeling of doom. At that point, I knew that the writing was, indeed, part of my task.
The Feeling of Doom
Reflect on the moments in your life when you have made a crucial choice or taken on an important task that was right for you. How did you know it was right? Are there particular qualities of energy or emotion you can identify that characterize that state? Is there a color, a phrase, an image, a bodily feeling that goes with it?
What has happened when you’ve listened to that feeling? What has happened when you’ve gone against it?
In a group, share your insights. Alone, you might wish to record them in your journal.
Be alert to the presence of that feeling. When it arises, know that you are being guided toward your true task.
Warning Signals
Just as a certain energy state characterizes our true tasks, we may find that particular energetic and emotional states are signs of danger, signals that we are about to turn down a wrong path. This may be a good moment to renew your anchor to your core state and review the exercise on identifying your inflated and deflated states. Often we make our worst choices when we are either puffed up with self-importance or sunk in self-hate.
Reflect on the moments in your life when you have made a wrong choice or taken on a task that is not truly yours. Can you remember what you were thinking? What energy characterized your state at that moment? What emotions or bodily feelings? Is there a color, a phrase, an image, or a place on your body you can anchor to this state as a warning bell? Are there different warning signals for different kinds of wrong turnings?
Again, share or write in your journal about your insights. And be alert for your warning bell when you are making choices.
Healers and activists are especially prone to the dangers of certain kinds of inflation. Reya is a Reclaiming teacher trained in shiatsu massage. She warns of what she calls “heroic thoughts or emotions.” If as a healer I start thinking, I’m healing this person, I’m reducing their suffering, I’m taking their pain away” —uh-oh! Danger, danger! Western medicine has become a heroic act that actually has little to do with the person who is ill or the situation that needs resolution. All the light and glory shines on the healer, while the person who needs the healing is left out in the cold, energetically. I generally suggest people take a big step backward from whatever is making them feel heroic and let others take over some of the work.”
Activists can easily get carried away by the heroic thrills of facing dangerous situations or doing dramatic acts. If we receive a lot of attention for our actions, and our sacrifices are carried out in front of TV cameras, our focus can gradually shift from the work itself to how we look doing it. And we may neglect the thousand and one unglamorous daily tasks that truly lay the groundwork for change.
The Person with the Pickup Truck
How do you know if a task is truly yours or can be delegated to someone else? Consider the metaphor of the pickup truck. In most city-based communities, there is often one person who for whatever reason owns a pickup truck. (In the country just about everyone owns a pickup.)
Owning a pickup truck is a mixed blessing. When something large and bulky needs to be moved, when the giant Goddess puppet needs to be transported to the ritual, when the garage is being cleaned out, the Person with the Pickup Truck is called upon to serve.
A wise Person with the Pickup Truck might ask some of the following questions:
Can this really be moved in a pickup truck, or is this a job for something larger—maybe even a dumpster or a garbage truck?
Is mine the only pickup truck available?
Is my truck available, or is it already full?
When we take on leadership in a group, some part of us may want to be the one to solve every problem, resolve every conflict, dry every tear. But to do so becomes disempowering to others and leads to exhaustion and burnout. When I’m teaching, when I’m leading a group or priestessing a ritual or a Witchcamp, I find it useful to ask myself, “Am I the Person with the Pickup Truck in this situation?” —th
at is, am I the person here who has the skills, experience, and knowledge to be helpful? Do I have the energy to take this on, or is the situation critical enough that I need to deal with it regardless? Am I the only person here who can be helpful, or is someone else already handling the situation?
One of the reasons we co-teach or teach in teams and collectively priestess rituals is so that no one person always has to be the Person with the Pickup Truck. In passing on our skills, in training others to take leadership, we assure that there will be many pickups in our communities, and trucks of various types and qualities. If someone has an emotional crisis in the midst of a ritual, I might be the Person with the Pickup Truck. If someone falls forward in a seizure during the grounding, I’m deeply grateful to let someone with medical training be the Person with the Pickup Truck. I can use my skills to support her by keeping the group calm, holding the energy of the circle, and channeling healing energy while we await the paramedics.
When we are the Person with the Pickup Truck, we have a responsibility to carry through our task until it is over. Hilary was once literally the person with the pickup truck who had brought the giant Goddess puppet to the ritual—in this case, the tenth-anniversary Spiral Dance a decade ago. At the end of a very long day and night, when the lighting crew was still high on ladders slinging heavy and breakable pieces of equipment over everyone’s head and the more dedicated of us were pushing brooms, a bleary-eyed Hilary came to me and said, “I’ve got to take care of myself. I’m going home. Can you find someone else to take the giant Goddess puppet?”
“No!” I wailed in panic. “You can’t! You can’t leave me with the giant Goddess puppet! You are the only person with a pickup truck here!”
She did indeed take the puppet, and thus began our long friendship—the point being, if you take on a task, you can’t drop it halfway unless there is someone in place to pick it up, or you may end up doing damage. It’s better not to bring the giant Goddess puppet to the ritual at all than to bring it and abandon it. When we take on a task, we need to consider how to end it as well as how to begin it and how to harbor our energy so that we can carry it through.
Finding a Source of Strength
When we know that a task is ours, we need the strength to carry it out. Magic could be called “the art of finding unexpected sources of inner power.” Our tools, our skills, and the ongoing relationship we have built with the elements and the Goddess can help us renew our energies and face our challenges.
In sacred space, go to your place of power. Ask yourself, “Where can I find the support, the strength, the courage, or the luck I need to take up my task?”
Turn slowly and face the four directions. Notice which one draws you. Imagine a path into that direction. Breathing slowly, feel your feet on that path as you begin to walk. Feel the texture of the ground underfoot and the weight of your body as it shifts. Look around you; notice what you see and hear and feel and sense.
As you walk along this path, you begin to notice your helpers and allies. Who or what is there for you? Take time to explore, to speak and listen. Where can you look for luck? What do you find that can be a source of strength and courage? How can you hold and carry that source within you?
When you are ready, thank your allies. Walk slowly back to the center of your place of power. Turning counterclockwise, face and thank each of the four directions, and then return to the circle and your ordinary consciousness. In a group, you may share your visions and suggest ways in which you can help each other stay connected to your sources of strength. Alone, you might want to record your vision in your journal and place a symbol of your strength on your altar.
Resting in the Goddess
Sage reminds us that we are never without support. Even should we find no human sources of help and courage, the Goddess is still present, still offering her love.
“If you take time frequently to let yourself rest in the presence of the Goddess, then in a moment of crisis the pathway is open, and you can be very deep and present in the moment at the same time,” Sage says. She suggests the following meditation:
In sacred space, sit before your altar with a cup filled with drinking water, juice, or milk. Invoke the Goddess, and picture her sitting opposite you. Take time to let your image of her develop clearly. How does she appear to you in this moment? The way you perceive her may give you information on what you need from her at this time.
Breathe deeply, and imagine that her heart is a cup, filled with love for you. As you breathe, see her cup begin to overflow. Let her love for you flow into your cup, charging your drink. If there is some special quality you need—courage, or strength, or health—you can imagine her cup overflowing with that quality as well.
Take your time; just rest in the Goddess’s presence. When your cup feels full, drink in her love. Thank her, and from your own, overflowing heart send back gratitude. Open your circle.
In the Outer Path we move beyond personal healing and self-transformation to take on the tasks that can heal others and that can potentially change the world. Rose’s task is to weave twelve new souls, to reintegrate the wild and the human, to restore balance to a broken world. In the Reclaiming tradition, we are concerned, ultimately, with weaving a new soul for our culture, a garment of healing that can restore our balance and reintegrate us with the natural systems that sustain life. This work is neither simple nor easy, but deeply challenging. We are called not just to heal ourselves, but to offer service to our communities, to the Goddess, and to the earth. We aspire to become culture healers.
Every culture puts its shamans and healers through some sort of testing or ordeal, whether that takes the form of a Sun Dance for days without water, or of grueling years of medical school. Some challenges, of course, lead to deeper spiritual growth, while others may be more in the nature of a sadistic indoctrination into corporate workaholic culture. But the core of underlying wisdom is that healers must have fortitude, must be able to put aside their personal needs and give priority to the needs of others.
A healer must be able to bear pain. In Rose’s case, she bears the pain of the nettles, which sting but do not damage. Therapists must be able to bear the pain their clients bring; doctors must be able to withstand the suffering of their patients without withdrawing or turning away. To be calm and confident in the face of suffering, we must have tasted some of it ourselves.
The Goddess tradition never asks for self-abnegation, nor do we promote asceticism. But to gather true power, fortitude is necessary. A midwife stays through the duration of a birth. She can’t simply yawn halfway through and say, “I’m tired. I’m going to take care of myself and go home.”
Taking care of ourselves has become something of a New Age watchword. Many of us have indeed learned that unless we take care of ourselves, we have nothing to offer anyone else, and that too much focus on fixing other people may be a way of maintaining their disease and avoiding looking at our own problems. But to learn magic, to gather power, is also to sometimes push ourselves, to test our limits, to go beyond our zone of comfort and ease.
Obviously, a balance is necessary. Part of the work of this section is to explore that balance. How do we know when we are being truly generous or simply codependent? When are extraordinary efforts really called for, and when are we simply in a workaholic pattern? What are the ordeals that expand and empower us, and when are we falling into the age-old women’s pattern of putting everybody else’s needs before our own?
Cynthia, together with her partner, Patricia Storm, together founded Diana’s Grove, in Missouri. At any given time, they might be teaching workshops there, organizing Witchcamps or retreats, teaching their Mystery School program, and balancing a hundred demands for service that can range from healing an emotional crisis to clearing a blocked water line or removing a fallen tree. Cynthia has had many opportunities to contemplate questions of balance.
“The only way that self-care and service— ‘other care’ —can be balanced is when I strive for i
ntegrity,” Cynthia says. “Then what I do, I do from a wholeness that feeds me and serves my vision and the world I want to nurture into reality. I find that integrity is a misunderstood word. It isn’t an invitation to do what I want, but a commitment to be true to myself and my vision or service. When I am in integrity, I choose my actions. I act for me, and I act to sustain the community and world that I value.”
Melusine is another Witch who has taken on a big task. She was the first Witchcamp teacher we trained outside of our local San Francisco Bay area community. She lives in a small town in British Columbia, where she serves on the City Council.
“Where I live, the local council had done some incredibly stupid things,” she told me. “They had clear-cut our park after some trees came down in a storm, and they had an official community plan that wiped out three neighborhoods. I had appeared in front of the council numerous times. I’ve always been a great rabble-rouser. But I thought, ‘If I really want to make the world a better place, I have to put my money where my mouth is and run for office.’ It took me a year to make that decision, because I knew it would be a very steep learning curve and a lot of things would fall by the wayside as far as teaching and workshops and my personal life. But as a city councilor, I use every skill I’ve ever learned at Witchcamp: moving energy, when to speak and when to keep silent, timing, and shielding. And I’ve learned a lot about being true to myself and about not being afraid to say that I don’t know. It must have worked, because I increased my voter support by 25 percent in the second election and solidly defeated the woman who was my perpetual opposition.”
Although there is a certain amount of glamour in being elected to public office, the work and responsibility outweigh the glory. “A lot of what I do is very mundane,” Melusine admits. “It’s committee meetings, it’s showing up at Mrs. Swanson’s house when she’s having a little tea because the neighbor ladies are upset about the digging on their street. It’s all the little things that will never get into the papers. Like crushing the nettles, it’s doing the ongoing, painful, boring work.”
