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When people find out that my main spiritual path is Minoan, they usually want to know more. And somewhere in that round of questions, they'll ask how to "do" Modern Minoan Paganism - what the rules are, the forms each practitioner must follow, and so on. When I tell them that it's a largely spirit-led practice, some people balk. That's understandable.

We live in a society whose most influential religions have whole books full of rules to follow, required forms of worship that are prescribed down to the exact words you must say, the exact ideas you must believe. We're taught from an early age that deviating from these rules will consign us to the flames of Hell or some equally horrible fate. It can feel positively heretical and even frightening to walk out onto a spiritual path that doesn't tell you what to do each and every step of the way. And of course, if there are rules, that gives a certain type of person the opportunity to notify others when they're doing it wrong.

Everything around me is dying.

Is the quest for perfection a worthy one?

No matter what form of art I've explored, there are always people trying to hold up a mirror of perfection.  Some use it as a moving target for them to aim their practice to, motivating them to work harder, pushing them along.  Some people take that to an extreme, and never find satisfaction in anything they do because it falls short in their eyes.  They deny themselves credit and possibilities because they feel their work doesn't measure up. Their work might never see the light of day because of their fear. 

Why fear? Because others use an elusive ideal as a means to tear down others who don't fit THEIR idea of what "perfect" is.  Even if they wouldn't even attempt to try it themselves.  They too are trapped by fear and insecurity - of failing short.  But it's easier to talk the talk than walk the walk. 

But the reality is this: There is no perfect film, song, book, dance, building, or work of art. Nothing we create is ever truly perfect - it is all inherently flawed, because that is both our nature and the true disease of time. A work can never be all things to all people. It's not meant to be.

Yet within this unavoidable imperfection, a work IS perfect. It is a pinpoint perfection of that moment in time, that decade, that experience - of the creator and those who interact with it. Perfect dwells in the liminal, the intangible, the shifting land of hopes, dreams, desires, and memories.

What works for one moment may not work for the following one.  That's how time works.  Society is always moving, we as beings are ever-growing and changing.  What we deem worthy or commendable in one situation or timeframe may fall out of favor in the next.  And vice versa. 

Working artists know this.  They know perfection is a lie.  We fall in love with our latest work of art, and then move on to the next one.  We see our work as a series of steps in a spiraling staircase that only ends when we end...or the work ceases to exist.  Each piece of work is part of a larger pattern - and if we rip out those threads solely because we later deem them imperfect, then we fail to see the beauty of the pattern. 

It's important to keep this in mind whether you're considering an artistic, metaphysical, or spiritual practice.  (And often all 3 may find common ground!). 

A friend of mine has a chalkboard: Things to Be Thankful For.

Yesterday, going past, I took up the chalk and wrote:

Guys Without Shirts.

It's the kind of weather that they named the Summerland for, and finally, after a long winter of visual deprivation, the shirts are coming off.

Thank Goddess.

Don't get me wrong: I appreciate rippling pecs and box-grater abs as much as the next (gay) guy.

But they're not required. Young or old, rounded or taut: it's all beauty to me, and yes, I always look. As the sage once said: The contemplation of beauty is its own reward.

When peonies bloom and shirts are shed, it means that Summer, our beautiful, poignant Summer, is come: burgeoning, urgent, and always O so brief.

And so with poet Dan Pagis I see, and I say:

The world goes wild for Wonder Woman. J.K. Rowling's official Harry Potter sequel comes to Broadway. And a look back on the acclaimed show The Leftovers as it ends. It's Airy Monday, our news segment on magic and religion in popular culture! All this and more for the Pagan News Beagle!

It's been a hard spring for many of us, including this Priestess. We've been doing a lot of emotional housecleaning, facing fears, putting to rest old selves, and navigating a world that seems to be determined to show us its cruelest face. It can be hard to find even a moment of peace, of gentleness, of compassion. That's why I'm delighted that Kuan Yin, She Who Hears the Cries of the World, has decided to visit us this week. 

Kuan Yin reminds us that if our compassion does not include ourselves, it is incomplete. She also reminds us to release judgement. This does not mean that we cannot be discerning, or that we cannot decide to remove ourselves from situations that are toxic or harmful. Rather, she reminds us that we can use our discernment and compassion to transform ourselves and others. 

When we talk about flying the nest in human terms, what we mean is a sudden, dramatic exit from a place of comfort and safety to having to fend for ourselves. I find it interesting that this is not what birds do. As it is very much fledgling season right now, I thought it a good time to explore this.

Aquatic birds leave the nest not long after hatching. Fuzzy, excited and with no idea about anything much, they are led to water. Floating comes naturally to them, and momma duck, or in the case of swans, both parents, will get to work teaching them how to survive. Young swans will still be with their parents into the winter.