At the Crossroads: Anyone Bring a Flashlight?

A day in the life of one witch’s attempts at community organizing, group leadership, public Paganism, and joyous shenanigans. Balancing inner work with external obligations, a professional career with public Paganism, and a full social calendar with gratuitous amounts of sleep.

  • Home
    Home This is where you can find all the blog posts throughout the site.
  • Tags
    Tags Displays a list of tags that have been used in the blog.
  • Bloggers
    Bloggers Search for your favorite blogger from this site.
  • Login
    Login Login form
Trivia at the Crossroads

Trivia at the Crossroads

Trivia is a social worker, freelance writer, minister, and priestess. She loves to have a good adventure. Follow her exploits on Twitter (https://twitter.com/TriviaXRoads) and on Tumblr (http://triviaxroads.tumblr.com/)!

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
December Check-In

Hey.  How are you doing?  Are you taking care of yourself?  Are you feeling okay?

 

Last modified on

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
What is Remembered

“What is remembered lives,” the old Civil War captain said solemnly.  He clutched his gray hat in his weathered old hands. 

“What is remembered lives!” shouted his comrades – more civil war soldiers (both Union and Confederacy), Regulators, fighters from the American Revolution, escaped slaves, freed men and women, Red Coats who loved the king, and Victorian ladies with big hats and tight bodices.  Those of us among the living shifted on our feet.  We were a bit tired from walking, but warmed by hot cider and laughter and stories.  Around all of us, both the living and the dead, danced and chanted little white ghosts.  Their faces were painted white and their costumes were generously sprinkled with shimmering glitter.

...
Last modified on

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
A Love Letter

I love October.

I mean, I really, really love it.  Do you know that fluttery, warm, sparkling feeling you get when you hold hands with your beloved, when you catch the eyes of your crush, when you see a message or note with that special name on it?

Well, my calendar is showing that special name.  October’s eyes are bright.  October’s hands are cool.  October’s name is like sweet honey on my tongue.

Ah, October.

Last modified on
Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Lizann Bassham
    Lizann Bassham says #
    beautiful! thank you!
  • Trivia at the Crossroads
    Trivia at the Crossroads says #
    Thank you for taking the time to comment, Lizann. It really means a lot! And I hope October has been fabulous to you this year!

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Lessons.

I recently facilitated a large, public ritual at a local state park.  A lot of friends and old regulars came, and we were lucky to have a few new faces, too.  One of our surprise guests was a young mother who we have known for a few years but don’t get to see very often.  She comes to events when she can, but I really only end up seeing her once a year or so, at most.  Much to my surprise, she brought her kids with her to the ritual.  They’re sweet, clever little devils, and they have a history of being somewhat rowdy and in need of a lot of re-direction.

The children came rushing up to the altar as soon as the family arrived at the park.  This was one of those moments where Childless Trivia thought in panic “Ooh... right… kids…!”  I took time out to speak to them about the altar, making it very clear to them that they could look to their heart’s desire but touching was absolutely forbidden.  The children nodded solemnly and then went to go play on some rocks, immediately forgetting about candles, statues, and various other temptations.

...
Last modified on

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
When Community Fails

My friend’s mother died this past spring.

The stroke happened suddenly and her passing came a few weeks later.  Despite a lot of preparation for a worst-case scenario, the death hit the family hard.  My friend had a difficult relationship with her mother (something many of us can relate to, I’m sure) and her ambivalent thoughts and emotions have been complicating an already difficult grieving process.

My friend announced her mother’s illness to our group, but she kept the news of her mother’s passing to herself.  She had been out of town a lot to be with family, and it was only recently that I saw my friend since her family tragedy. 

Last modified on
Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Ann Edwards
    Ann Edwards says #
    I was interested in your comment "I as a priestess, did not show up at funerals..." Did you as a friend show up?
  • Anna Helvie
    Anna Helvie says #
    From 2002 to 2012, it was mixed. A coven member's father died and we did not go to the funeral. At that time it was because we we
  • Anna Helvie
    Anna Helvie says #
    My impression is that greater Pagandom has a substantial number of people who don't do well with these types of things, and that o
  • Anna Helvie
    Anna Helvie says #
    I meant "bring in a social worker who understands the nuances of bereavement and has specialty skills in this topic."
  • Ann Edwards
    Ann Edwards says #
    I'm sorry but this story struck me as almost a description of modern paganism. Events, celebrations, connections... but no true c

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
We are Fireworks

July 4th, 2016 marks the 7th anniversary of my ordination.  I had almost forgotten the personal importance of this day until I saw a blog post from another Pagan writer where she wrote about the anniversary of her own ordination.

For a long time ordinations were not something I took very seriously.  They reeked of organized, mainstream religion.  As a typical, angry, pseudo-anarchist young person, I had zero time for those types of distractions.  Ordinations seemed to be something that Christians had to earn after years of brainwashing seminary, or something that was handed to them by a congregation hungry for “the word.” 

...
Last modified on

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Let It Bloom

I was a professional barista in my past life.*  My job was more than just an after school or part-time college gig, and I was far more competent than those who steam milk into huge soap suds, who pull watery and weak shots of espresso, and who pump drinks full of syrup and sugar.  I was bona fide.   I had been trained by the best, award winning baristas in the area.  I read all of the latest coffee trade news and gossip.  I worked 40+ hours a week.  My cappuccinos were crafted to such perfection that all of the Italians in town would come flocking to the shop, bringing with them their friends and family visiting from Europe.  “The best cappuccino in town,” they’d say, as I poured the perfect micro-foam in the shape of delicate hearts, tulips, swans, or rosettas.  I went to trade shows, conferences, and competitions.  I had a job with benefits.  I was a professional.

But those days are far, far behind me.  I’m proud of my barista skills and training, but I am relieved that I no longer have to bust my butt for rude customers, demanding management, and lazy coworkers.  I don’t smell like milk or coffee grounds, and my arms aren’t dotted with burns or rashes from constant exposure to scalding hot machines or water.  It’s been years since I’ve slung espresso.  Much to my consternation, however, when I’m feeling particularly anxious or dealing with an especially troubling conundrum, my unconscious and dreaming mind often returns me to coffee shops and cafes.  In my dream worlds, coffee has become a literal manifestation of my anxiety.

...
Last modified on

Additional information