Count Down to a (Same-Sex) Wedding #1

7 Weeks to Go

I haven't blogged much yet about the wedding, because there's really not been much to say. We've booked stuff, organised people, bought gorgeous dresses, and dealt with various big-and-small issues along the way. We're down to the fine detail now though (7 weeks yesterday) so I thought I'd start talking a bit about it.

Next week I'm going to blog about the wedding process itself, but today I'm going to talk about Civil Partnerships.

You see, according to British law, what we're having is not a wedding, and what we're creating is not a marriage. We're having a Civil Partnership Ceremony, which leads to a Civil Partnership.

Now, you might say (as a great many have done): what's the big deal? It's only words.

Yes, it is only words... and this is an argument that can be applied equally to both sides of the debate. It's only words- so same-sex couples shouldn't care. But, it's only words- so the religious right shouldn't care.

Hmm.

Civil Partnerships are a compromise. Right now they're a compromise for which I am grateful: it would be extremely difficult to marry form a lifelong legally recognised partnership with my darling girl if they didn't exist. (Leaving aside the fact that a dozen or so countries have introduced marriage for same-sex couples on equal legal and semantic footings and their societies haven't imploded, of course). But it's a compromise that mystifies me.

Let's imagine for a second that most world religions dictated that some people could own cats, and some couldn't. After many centuries, people realised that this cat rule kind of sucked. Non-cat people were clamouring for cats, and cat-owning people were coming to see just how stupid this was, especially when many non-cat people had been keeping cats in secret for years anyway. There needed to be an overhaul, but a tiny vocal minority of cat-owning people were predicting mass moral confusion and social disruption if the rules were relaxed (and asking why non-cat people would want cats anyway since they clearly rejected the faith of the Cat-Dictating God...).

So, a committee (it would have to be a committee) came up with a solution.
"Right," they said. "Here's the deal. You non-cat people can keep cats legally. We'll give you paperwork and everything. But... you're not allowed to call them cats. You have to call them Fur Covered Individuals. The sanctity of the word 'cat' is preserved for the traditional definition of cat ownership, but we wish you many long and happy years with your Fur Covered Individuals."

Who'd want to refer to their cat as a Fur Covered Individual for the rest of their life?

Who'd think that their god was stupid enough not to see through the deception?

That's the bit that mystifies me. Civil Partnerships are marriages. Civil Partnership Ceremonies are weddings. They do exactly the same things, excepting only the gender of the participants. If they are truly abhorrent to anyone's deity then nothing but a couple of flimsy bits of terminology stand between us and a thorough smiting. Using different words means nothing and fools no one.

So, whence this compromise? Is it born out of a belief that people really can fool their god by putting different labels on things? Is it a desperate sop to try to appease people who really do believe that smiting is on the menu? Is it a stubborn resistance to change, or a fear of the unknown? Is it simply prejudice, sanctioned and legalised as so many previous prejudices have been?

I have no idea, but it both amuses and annoys me that my lovely wedding and marriage have these artificial labels slapped on them. Poignantly pointless!

Awen

Awen (noun): poetic inspiration. From the Indo-European root *-uel, meaning 'to blow'.

I love the concept of awen. A wind blowing through your soul, bringing inspiration in its wake. I've only recently discovered the term, in reading about modern Druidic tradition amongst many other explorations of pagan paths. It immediately spoke to me, like few other concepts in any tradition have ever done. I know that feeling intimately, and seeking it forms a big part of my own search for a spiritual identity. For me, without spirituality there is no awen, and without awen there is no spirituality. The sense of connectedness and transcendence is something I have sought since I was young.

Music has always been one of my sources of awen. When listening I find it in music of all genres, from classical to new age to Enya to ordinary pop/rock ("Solsbury Hill" by Peter Gabriel and "Steer" by Missy Higgins are perfect examples). I also find moments of it when singing or playing an instrument in a group - those moments of transcendence when the ensemble combines perfectly and the music itself seems to come to life. It's one of the major reasons why I still love Anglican church services - there is a magic in massed voices that defies artificial boundaries between faiths.

The natural world, and its weather and the turning of its seasons, has always been my biggest source of awen, and it is what led me to paganism. Red berries against a blue sky, sunlight across the plains, a crayfish scuttling under a riverbank, the wind in my hair, mist rolling up a valley, thunder on a hot night, the first frost of autumn... when I am out there in the natural world, awen is everywhere.

Of course, the man-made world is not without awen either. Buildings that are old or odd or quirky. Artworks I like for no better reason than that they speak to my soul. (Here is one - I have seen the original in the Tate and was captivated). Crafts that are nifty or cute. An uplifting book scene or a really clever joke. When I open myself to it, awen is everywhere.

My desire to write fiction has been driven by childhood experiences of awen. It was lacking in my real life - we were not a religious family - and my main sources of it, then as now, were music, nature and stories. My formative years were shaped by books and stories told in electronic media that blew into my soul, inspiring me to act them out, extemporise, adapt and retell over and over again out in the half-acre scrap of garden and bushland that was my childhood temple. All of the books I've tried to write and the stories I've tried to tell have contained elements of this raw need to channel, create, inspire and share the sensation of awen.

Age 9, glowing with inspiration

 I've been thinking about this a lot lately, as I try yet again to put words on paper, or on screen as it is these days (and perhaps that's part of the problem). The wind of inspiration blows into me, and I come alive with the thought of the story I have to tell. I envisage it whole in my head, see it, feel it, live it out in little scenes in my mind, but when the words reach the page they seem to lose their sparkle. How do I maintain that sense of wonder, and the fierce spirit of inspiration? How do I keep the fire of awen burning for the weeks, months and years it takes to craft a novel? How do you keep your spirit glowing with purpose when you're burdened with money worries, or the toddler is being irrational, or when the housework never seems to be finished? How do you teach your heart to be open to awen every moment of every day? Not just for novel writing, but for teaching, and cooking, and keeping house, and nurturing my loved ones, and hoping and believing and growing?


What are your sources for awen (or whatever you would choose to call it)? What reminds you that it's good to be alive, or feeds your creative fires? Where do you get your inspiration?

Faith, equality and deception

Yesterday I had my first ever English parents' night. 28 parent interviews at 5-minute intervals. It was a long night, but mostly positive, and with some insights and breakthroughs that have put me on rather a high.

However, the process got me thinking a lot about what one tells others about oneself. The parents told me (probably unconsciously) many little facts about themselves and their family life during the interviews. I shared the occasional relevant thing about myself as well, but I found myself constantly on guard about what I felt I should not reveal.

I'm "out" at work to the staff - they all know that I have a girlfriend, and so far as most of them know, I'm only into girls. No one has a problem with it, and although I get a little bit of excess curiosity from the older staff members, generally it passes without comment (or with only friendly comments). I have not talked about my faith at work, and I deliberately choose not to wear pentacles/trees of life etc around my neck. Lesbian they can probably deal with, lesbian witch might be too much.

But, I would never have hesitated to wear a cross or a St Christopher...

I am careful not to out myself to the parents, either as a lesbian or as a pagan. On my class ethnicities list, two sets of parents identified as 'no religion' and one as Hindu, and the remainder are equally divided between Christian and Muslim. About half of the Christian kids are from white English families and I suspect they are not devout (I'm trying to remember a quote from Pratchett and Gaiman's "Good Omens" - when they avoid going to church, CofE is the church to which they steadfastly avoid going). But regardless, they felt it important enough to enter on their childrens' enrolment records. I do know that one family is serious enough that their child is not allowed to be read anything involving witches, ghosts or anything "dark".

I have no idea how many of the class parents hold homophobic views... and just about everyone seems to be wary of, if not actively antipathetic towards, pagans. Legally, they're not allowed to mind that someone of an alternative religion or sexuality is teaching their children. Morally, they're allowed to think what they want as long as they keep it to themselves. But it's very, very murky ground. It only takes one parent making a fuss, and there are so many things that parents can fuss about when it comes to teachers. A parent objecting to my faith or sexuality would never have to mention either in order to make my job a living hell.

So I keep silent, and it feels dishonest. But what price honesty?

And yet, every day in class, when the children aren't around to listen, I talk cheerfully to my headscarfed, Muslim teaching assistant about my lesbian relationship. She knows all about E and has shown not one iota of disapproval or concern. What she thinks privately I have no idea, but she is comfortable with the idea enough to ask how E is and discuss my weekends with her and ask about her son. I was wary the first time I mentioned E to her, not knowing what the reaction might be, but feeling that as I work so closely with her it would be a strain to hold back. I'm glad I did tell her, as it's been a very healthy demonstration of the fact that mere faith does not define most people.

So I hide my true self from the parents of the kids in my class. They could all be like my TA - cool with it regardless of their own beliefs. But it only takes one who isn't.

I would never hesitate to wear a cross. I would never hesitate to mention a male partner.

Equality in the law is nearly there. Equality in the community is patchy. I just want to be my whole self.

Decisions and Thoughts

It's exactly 4 months today until I leave for London.

I am SO ready to go. There are lots of people and things I'll miss, but the closer the date gets, the more I'm looking forward to the freedom of it. I need to get away from the too-familiar patterns of life. I need to get away from people who constrain me with assumptions and expectations that I should not have to meet. I need to get away from the constant scrutiny and questioning and everything.

In case it's not obvious, I'm feeling a little harassed at the moment! I love my family dearly but sometimes I feel like everything I do is under the microscope, and I'm tired of being constantly cross-examined and/or bullied about choices that are no one's business except mine. I am desperately looking forward to a fresh start and a nice solid distance between me and the people who think they know me.

I will miss them horribly, of course. But it will also be exhilarating.

I took a slightly scary step today and altered my units so I'm double-majoring in Literature and Theology. I wasn't going to do it, because it would interfere with my creative writing minor; but I realised that I couldn't get that minor without doing several internal units, and that's going to be impossible if I'm still in London, or if I'm back in Perth, may or may not be impossible, as I have no idea what I'll be doing! I can do the Lit & Theol double major entirely externally, so I've picked my probable units and worked out a schedule of study. I've decided to push myself this semester while I'm not working full-time, and do three units. Then I'll drop back to two for two semesters before jumping up to 3 again. At that rate I'll finish halfway through 2013.

The Theology major is a source of major (heh) confusion. Part of the reason I decided to go ahead and do it is that I have absolutely no idea why I'm so drawn to it. I just don't know what it is about having a degree in theology that is so irresistible, but it's drawing me towards it and I can't say no. It's absolutely bizarre. I've wanted things, many times; I want the lit degree, for example. But the theology degree wants me. I've never experienced anything like it. I'm so confused. It's not something I've planned or expected or anticipated, but it feels like exactly the right choice.

(I wanted to insert a macro in here with an In Soviet Russia, Degree Gets You caption, but I couldn't find a picture that I liked, so you'll just have to take it as read.)

There's a word in my mind, and writing it or saying it out loud is almost beyond me at the moment, but I can't chase it away. Ordination. There. Ha. Wrote it.

It worries me because it would be so hard to get people to understand why I was doing it. I'm a naturally religious girl in an apathetically agnostic family. How does that even happen? I'm becoming more and more comfortable with the fact that faith is an integral part of my personality, and I'm learning to talk about it without embarrassment. But such a public display of commitment to that faith? Some of my family might never speak to me again. I know that for a fact. Other friends and family might drift away, or never feel comfortable around me again. I would expect to pay an extremely high social price for making that commitment.

And yet, I'm not the slightest bit afraid of it. Just intrigued.

And THAT is scary. I'm scared of my lack of fear. Huh.

... Yes, I did say I was confused.

This is part of the reason why I just need to be away. I can't see or hear what I want to do over the shouting of social expectations. I'm craving the solitude of being a very long way away, so that I can hear myself think and work out where I'm going with this.

In some ways, the 8th of May is the end of the forseeable future for me. I have absolutely no idea what will happen on the other side of it. But I have no doubt it will be exciting and fascinating.

*

In other news, my ebook reader finally arrived today, and I've loaded it up with the complete Sherlock Holmes. Oh, the joys of reading :) *sings*

You win some, you lose some . . .

This evening I went out to a "fellowship evening for Christian singles" run by a lady from the Cathedral. I was approaching it with a healthy pinch of salt, given that "Christian singles" could mean either singles who just happen to be Christian; or singles who exude Christianness and can't finish a sentence without mentioning God in some way. The latter is *not* my style!

So anyway, I turned up and there were only women there, and I was the only one under 40. Possibly the only under 50, actually. For two hours it was nothing but these women chatting and patronising me (in the nicest way possible, but really, I don't need to be told that I haven't eaten enough crackers!). The only guy we saw all evening turned up about 9:30pm, right before I was going home. Ho hum.

On the upside, one girl my-age-or-a-bit-older-ish turned up at 9, and we clicked in the way one does sometimes. She's a primary school teacher and she was very interested in the fact that I'm doing a teaching degree next year. She told me to give her a call after the school holidays and organise a day when I can come down and have an informal prac in her class (I wouldn't be teaching, just observing and discussing). That's a fantastic opportunity and would give me a taste of next year which I'm really hankering after! So the evening wasn't a total loss after all.

***

Roll on the grand final tomorrow! C'arn the Eagles!