The Pagan Heart
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June-July 2005 Issue
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Dianic Witch
By Katya
After Catherine asked me if I would consider writing an article for the magazine about my experiences as a Dianic witch, I spent some time trying to decide if I wanted to (despite the tradition in Dianic worship of openness and confrontation, I am notoriously reticent about discussing my faith with people I don't know). And even if I decided that I would, what in Artemis's name would I talk about. Then I read a few editions and decided I might start here - in Whispers in the Dark. Very apropos for me. First a few details - I am Dianic Wiccan, following Zsuzsanna Budapest's tradition, although somewhat loosely at times. Until recently, I refered to myself as Artemic as I identified with Artemis, the Greek antecedent of Roman Diana. To me, while the two goddesses are facets of the Great Mother-Lover, they are also unique and should be seen as such. I have never felt the same connection to Diana that I feel to Artemis. Secondly, I am descended from a Pagan family. Not one of the faux "continued, hidden lineage" Celtic/European ones. My family is Lithuanian, and our people never put aside their Pagan faiths. When Christianity was taken on (as a way of preserving our sovereignity and autonomy) it married the Pagan faith and they became a dual system of beliefs cohabiting successfully for the next seven hundred years. The old groves and sacred springs were never deserted or desectrated. Wandering the land you find rock altars everywhere - ancient as the hills and still in use. I was raised Catholic, but also Pagan. Alongside the Christos, I also worshiped the Ancestor Gods. Sometimes I wonder if it is the combination of our very late conversion (late fourteenth century) and our Catholic nature that leads us to be more accepting of the Old Ones. Who knows. Finally, like many Dianic women, I am heterosexual. There is this pervasive myth that Dianic witches are lesbian man-haters. Neither is accurate. We do indeed have many women who are bi or gay, but we also have heterosexuals. We do not hate men - we are striving to bring balance and peace back to the world through the upholding and strengthening of the female. We work in female-centric groups and rituals since there is an overwhelming masculine weight to our existence. By providing some feminine counterweight, we hope to redress the weaknesses and problems this imbalance has caused and help tilt the world towards a more balanced way. A way where the feminine has an acknowledged place of veneration and power. My journey to becoming Dianic was not an easy one. Born in Lithuania, I moved here with my family when I was about nine or ten. It was a traumatic experience - as such things are. I spoke some English, but that was about the extent of my common ground with the local children. I was neither attractive, nor interesting to my peers, and became an object suited for teasing and minor yet devastatingly cruel childhood taunts - predominantly instigated and perpetuated by pimply, knock-kneed boys. Used to a thriving community where I knew everyone and the pack of children roamed throughout the village, the isolation this thrust me into was unfamiliar and terrifyingly lonely. I retreated into myself and into religion. I had visions of becoming a nun and escaping the world. I almost made it too. I had taken some initial steps (I actually became an aspirant, which is the second stage in becoming a nun) to devoting my life to Christ, but thankfully my Oma came to stay with us. She was a strong Catholic woman filled with the joys of life. And very much a Pagan as well. She "knew" all our local gods, visited their shines for the festivals, and followed rituals at home that brought harmony with life into our family lives. I had never realised how Pagan she really was until that year when I observed her through more adult, and more American-Catholic eyes. Wise woman that she was, she supported me in my path. But she also questioned me at every step, demanding I explain my choices. She knew I sought the santuary from a desire to escape, not love for God. And to her that was anathema. Hard enough I might deprive her of grandchildren - worse that I do so out of fear. No child of her blood could be so craven. Initially I felt great confusion and (shamefully) distaste for her. This was hard, for Oma raised me as a child while my widowed mother worked. This woman knew every crease of my body and every inch of my soul. It took a few years for me to understand this. At the time I loathed the question. The constant cawing sound of a raven perched at my shoulder, harse and unceasing - and unflinchingly honest in its demands that I open my eyes. And I realised I wanted to be that raven. By this time Oma had some English - not much - and some friends from the homeland. She'd heard of this woman who taught of the proud and powerful traditions we women had cast aside. No victim, my Oma, no "the men tricked us and overpowered us and stole from us". In her eyes we were able to defend ourselves. The fact that we hadn't meant we'd been foolish and allowed this treasure to slip away. Oma demanded I do some research. Read what this woman had to say. The fact that she came from one of the Old Countries was enough to snare my attention. Reading some of her material hooked me. I investigated some local Dianic groups and found myself a coven to join. Of course, confused and still bitter as I was (for I hadn't resolved my anger at my introduction to this country) I did the traditional thing and became a "Hyper" Pagan. I was so Pagan, so Wiccan, so Dianic I had pentacles instead of eyes. Everything I spoke revolved about my newfound faith, and my bitterness towards men. I became militant and hard...in many ways the antithesis of what attracted me to the religion. I was obnoxious about the Dianics who'd moved towards mixed-gender practice. I neither needed nor wanted men in my life or my religion. For a long time I walked the dark path with Artemis. I followed the enraged deity that allowed her lover to be torn to bits not the powerful yet gentle life-giving goddess. And it was very cathartic, but it served its purpose and still I clung to it. Then Oma intervened - again - and introduced me to this personable man she'd met at the coffee shop. While serving her tea and pastries each morning he had struck up a friendship with her. How, I had no idea - he spoke only English, and she maybe 100 words (ok, more than that, but you get the picture). And when Oma learned he was Wiccan, well, that settled everything. He must come home and meet her granddaughter. Poor Josh. Mind you, he'd just escaped a particularly traditional Alexandrian coven, feeling the overwhelming patriarchal masculinity they practiced to be most definately not for him. And here he was being presented (like some stuffed goose) for consideration by a rabid, foaming Dianic. Did I mention Oma told him I needed a man to help me find balance in my life? Lithuanian grandmothers are direct, even when they don't speak the language. Ten years later we are together and we have indeed found balance. I still work with the feminine only, and when we perform rituals together, Josh takes on the ancient role of Vegetation King, something quite compatable to my beliefs of harmony, balance, and peace. I have moved towards Astarte, the Canaanite goddess of love, war, and peace. I find we are very compatable, and this also meshes well with Josh's beliefs. Although he has a connection to Kernunnos, similar to mine for Artemis, he has found that in dual ritual work, Dumuzi calls to him. So we two Wiccans have developed a Canaanite-Babylonian tradition for our rituals. And this feels right. We have returned to a time when the Goddess was powerful and supreme, and the God worked with her in synchronicity, rather than imprisoning and weakening her. And this has brought balance to my mind and heart, and the courage to step out of hiding and face the world openly. |
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