On Being Trans and Pagan

First of all, what with recent events being what they are, I encourage you all to go and support those protesting in the states. Give to help bail out those who have been arrested, and please get into letter-writing mode if you can’t protest.

That being said, I wanted to talk about something that struck me while working on a children’s drawing. This one in particular.

Now, for those of you who are visually impaired or who haven’t been following me for a while, this is an image of my very trans birdie beating a drum and singing while wearing a cloak and antlers. He is surrounded by a salt circle within which are placed a goblet, tiny cauldron with smoke coming out of it, a crystal, and a candle. Essentially, the little trans birdie is doing a ritual with the four elements and singing while incarnating the Horned God or some other horned deity.

Now, while drawing this out, it struck me that it could be seen as ‘hard’ to have the trans birdie invoking a masculine deity, as in it would be hard for a trans man to incarnate such an epidemy of masculinity. But then I thought that isn’t it overly hard for anyone to do?

Here’s my first point: the epidemy of masculinity, the Horned God, is equally far from everyone, trans or not, because they’re a deity and we’re mere mortals. No matter your view on deity, they’re that, impossibly far away, and we’re us. So, trans or not, we’re all impossibly far from this ideal personified, just as we are all embodiments of it. It’s a paradox, if you will, one that is solved only when a devotee offers up their body for possession during an invocation. Then, only then, does one truly reach peak ‘masculinity’.

But can only a cis man do the invocation properly? I don’t think so. I really think that, cis or trans or enby, or probably even a woman, one can invoke the Horned one (or any other male deity) in order to experience what it feels like to possess that energy, because, in the grand scheme of things, it is still a deity descending into a mortal body. To argue that it must be only ‘this type’ or ‘that type’ of body, in my opinion, is to argue over a millimeters’ difference when the deity has to cross aeons to reach us. The deity is already transcending so much in order to get into the body, is it really a big deal whether it’s male or female, so long as its receptive? I don’t think so. So long story short, my trans birdie (and all other trans men and enbies or even women) can do the ‘male’ invocations.

Second, while thinking on this, a thought came to me on the validity of trans masculinity. It came to me that, in paganism, one can be a mortal person and suddenly invoke a god, and be recognized as this god. During this invocation, the deity is recognized as such and treated with reverence required. So why don’t we apply this to transgender identities? This notion of being a female body hosting male energy that was invoked into it by birth is absolutely not so different from our deity invocations. Yet it brings to mind my interactions with pagans who kept saying to me that I was ‘so feminine’ and that I had ‘female’ energy (which was very upsetting for me). Why is it that, for deities, we can see the spirit but not for trans people?

I think that, as pagans, we tend to view the energy as being created by the body, rather than being summoned into it. We view them as interdependent and co-creating. But if we begin viewing the spirit as not entirely dependent on the body (at least in a gendered way), but rather as hosted by it, then we can see the difference.

Furthermore, for trans and/or enby people, I want to suggest invocations as a way to test out your gender. Are you considering becoming a man? Invoke the Horned God, or any other male deity you are comfortable with, and see how the ‘energy’ feels to you.

Why? Not only will it give you a ‘feel’ of masculinity, but often with invocations, the human/invoker will feel as if they have the deities’ body and accoutrements. In the case of the Horned God, one might feel as if they are bearing horns and a large phallus.

So try it out, and see if you like those feelings. You could even consider summoning the opposite and comparing and contrasting your emotions and sensations.

If this generates interest (or even if it doesn’t), I will make a full post about how to do a private ritual summoning deities for gender consideration. Hey, maybe even a ritual divination on discerning your gender/insight into your gender could be fun too.

So anyways, I want to wish you all a safe and happy day. Take care y’all ❤

Anxiety tips for COVID 19, Spiritually Speaking

flowers on opened book
Photo by Alina Vilchenko on Pexels.com

What with the sudden influx of people checking out my mental illness posts, I took a wild guess that people were reaching out for help. So, behold! I’ve decided to put together some self-help tips that try and take into consideration our limitations due to the pandemic. I mainly focused upon anxiety and worry, as it seems that’s what most people are dealing with in these trying times.

  • smudge/burn incense that is purifying and banishing of all negative energy. I am particularly prone to burning cinnamon (yes, the spice). Just pile it into a little pyramid (no bigger than an inch tall or wide, otherwise it might be too much heat for your holder), and light with a match.
  • Do a guided meditation (like this one) where you visualize yourself giving up all your worries to your favorite spirit.
    • Sit down comfortably. Close your eyes and relax. Or cry a little bit, that’s okay too. But whatever you do, relax and let your emotions come bubbling up to the surface. Feel them, hold them. Place your hands on your chest and try and, stretching your hands forward, visualize yourself taking these worries as tangible objects out of your chest and holding them out. Now, pray to a healing deity (my thoughts go to Bast or Sekhmet for this one). Ask them to take your worries away, to heal them and guide you through this pandemic safely.
      • The prayer can go something lie “I pray to you, O Great Sekhmet. Here are my worries, my inner plague. Please erase them from me, leaving me wiser and calmer. Let me, by your guiding grace, pass through this pandemic unharmed.”
    • After this, clap your hands and dust them off away from yourself. They are now empty and your worries are symbolically gone. Rest, focusing on feelings of rejuvenation and calmness.
  • Paint a Dagaz rune on your scarf/mask to help keep the virus out. You can use consecrated water to trace it invisibly as well.
  • Meditate on ice, Isa rune, to calm down and help you reach stillness. Visualize the rune in your chest, wherever you feel your worry the most. Breathe it in and feel it filling you, swelling and cooling down your worry. Exhale and feel it absorbing your worries and transforming them into cold calm.
  • Write down on a piece of paper a list of all things that are worrying you about this pandemic. Light a candle to Sekhmet or your favorite deity (simply say “I devote this candle to ___, to function as a channel of true speech between us” as you light it, or use your favorite invocation), and light the paper with the candle. Allow it to burn as you pray for her powers to destroy not only your worries but all harm that may come to you through this pandemic.
    • Prayer could go something like this. “O Great Sekhmet, here is a list of all that worries me, all that I fear. Please, with your burning powers, O Great Eye of Ra, destroy my worries and all harm that may come to me. Keep me and mine safe from this pandemic, this virus that engulfs the world.”
  • Offer up a prayer for all affected by the disease, such as This Brilliant One


I hope this was useful ❤  If you are suffering from something particular and want a prayer or ideas on how to cope with it spiritually, feel free to message me (I can send it to you privately) @ mdaoust245@gmail.com

flowers on opened book
Photo by Alina Vilchenko on Pexels.com

Finally! Meet Ranger! ~ Ranger’s Story – Chapter Two part Two


Instead, let us turn an eye to Ursula. What was she doing, wandering in the gods’ realm?

Well! Ursula was no minor goddess to trifle with. Few were those who understood how deep her anger went and how powerful her love could be. If they knew, why they would certainly give her the icy prince and leave good enough alone.

But they didn’t know that, did they? And now Ursula wandered the dark, striding through the mysterious pathways of the Void like only one blessed by the Void could. For many a god tread these paths and lost themselves in the unfathomable darkness, only to waste away and die within it’s strange embrace.

But I diverge. Ursula was a goddess with a plan. She was not Hakuzo’s favorite for no reason. She did not conquer nations by merely sneezing at them. No, she was on a mission for something, something so grand that it could tear apart the gods’ realm. A fitting way to wring what she wanted from those who stood in her way.

She wanted the keys to the pillars that upheld the gods’ realm. The pathways that allowed them to travel to their devotees. She wanted these, these forbidden keys that could both lock the gods away and destroy them.

And she was certainly going to find them.

Well, how do I know that? You don’t see the future, I hear you cry. You don’t know that she will find the fearsome tools of destruction.

Well no, I don’t know about where the keys are, but I know Ursula. And that, my friend, is good enough for me. For she poured out her very blood into the Void that day, sealing her fate to it’s with a ritual. She was bound to it, giving it her heart and soul in exchange for a mere trifle- the clues to the keys.

Ah, did the Void respond? Un-adept fools observing the scene would say that no, nothing happened. No great booming voice echoed from the darkness. No great neon sign flashed out answers.

Ursula would leave that meeting drained, exhausted, with nothing to comfort her, no signs offered that the Void had accepted her blood and treaty.

Or hadn’t they?

For far, far, far away, someone opened their eyes.

Let me introduce you to this new person and good friend of mine. Her name is Ranger.

She has reddish orange hair that curls around her oval face. Brilliant blue eyes. Despite her pallor, she is healthy. And now, she awakens.

Perhaps because there is a nurse shaking her shoulder. “Good morning!” the nurse cheers.

Ranger smiles at her from the hospital bed. She is in a tiny room all to herself, a little greyish white room. There are no flowers, no cards. There seldom is in asylums.

Her eyes latch on to me, then on to you. Then back to me. The nurse wafts on out, chattering about breakfast being soon.

Ranger lies back down into the pillows. “I dreamed I left this place.”

Always that dream. I sit on the bed next to her, fluffing her pillows as best as I can. She continues, eyes staring straight up at the ceiling.

“I go down the hallway. At the intersection I pull out a sword and unlock the world with it. I travel, but I don’t remember where,” her eyes lock onto me, hazy and drugged. “It’s always at an intersection though.”

I reach out and squeeze her hand. Poor Ranger.

Breakfast happens, a slimy tray brought in the room with a few half fried potatoes on the side. A radio plays in the hall.

I pat her on the arm. I want to comfort her. But as spirits, we cannot tell her what we know. We can only sit and listen. Besides, who would come for her? The numbers she used to call were all silenced now.

She looks at me as if reading my thoughts. “I should call the radio,” she said as if this was a revelation.

Uh, what?

She nods to herself, picking at her fries. “I’d really like to hear a song, an old one they used to play.”

Ah, nostalgia. Reminiscing about her youth maybe, of freely running through grassy fields and playing with dinosaurs.

Ranger finishes her plate, humming to herself and dousing her fake eggs with cheap ketchup.

The trays are cleared up. Ranger shuffles down the hall and talks to a nurse’s aid. They laugh at her and smile. She’s gone from troublesome to ‘cooperative’ in the past years and they like that. They bring her to the nurse’s office. She uses the office’s phone, all smiles as they supervise her with the phone. She has the radio’s number memorized, and the call goes quickly.

I walk with her back to her room. She is all smiles now and happily lays in her bed. Staring up at the white ceiling she sighs again. “One day I’m getting out of here,” she whispers.

I nod and pat her on the shoulder. But ah! Will you look at the time! We must fly, scurry, crawl on our way!

For on the opposite side of this city, carried along by this current of minute things being set in motion, Mars is nearly falling off his office chair.

Nearly. It would be quite a breach of composure if he did, now wouldn’t it?

But no, he is sitting on the edge of his chair, gripping at his armrests, brilliant eyes fixated on his half-open office door. Normally it is closed to keep the most hateable radio out as well as other people. But now – did he just hear what he thought he heard?

For now, he sits frozen as the old tune warbles on, a song of memory and remembrance. But that’s not what he’s waiting for. What he waits for is the Dj to repeat the name to say at the very end as the final melody dies, “Well that was a song requested by Miss Ranger. Now on to the news-”

Mars pales under his makeup foundation. A hand lifts to cover his mouth. He feels slightly sick. His mind is racing. Could it be? Could it?

In a snap he is no longer frozen. He snatches up his disposable private phone, the one he uses for all his blackmailing. There are no numbers registered in it, he has them all memorized. He dials one.

In a military base far away, the unfortunate Stephen answers. He is in a good mood. Everything is pristine in his laboratory and all his debts are paid off. What could go wrong?

“Hello,” says Stephen jovially.

“You are going to run a search for someone by the name of Ranger,” Mars says in a clipped tone. He stands from his chair and begins to pace. First to his desk, then across to where he prays.

Stephen gulps. He knows who this is far too well. He hunkers down, glancing around the laboratory. Luckily there is no one there to see him turn a pasty shade of green. When he is sure no one can hear him, he whispers just to be sure. “I’ve paid my debt!” he hisses.

“You are going to do the search,” Mars repeats, facing the giant window, watching the sun gently beam down over the city. “For someone by the name of Ranger.”

Stephen isn’t dumb. He gets the hint. He has a wife and kids. “Okay,” he whispers. “Ranger, first name?”

Mars pauses. He tries to remember. What was a child’s preferred name? Ranger was no real name, it was a whimsical fantasy from so long ago. So what had been the other made up name?

He shakes his head, irritated and unable to remember. “Just Ranger. Find anyone with that name and send me their information.”

Stephen is boggled! “Anyone? Can you narrow this? City, age?”

Mars is losing patience. His breath mists sharply. “Find, Ranger.” Or else.

Stephen wobbles on his chair. Mars hangs up.