Some Thoughts on the Recent PantheaCon

I meant to post this a couple weeks ago but came down with a nasty cold. But here are my impressionistic PantheaCon thoughts.

By turns revivifying, draining, overwhelming, recharging, hope giving, and ever so American in its hugeness PantheaCon charged up in the Doubletree Hotel owned by the Hilton hotel chain, which sits in the flood plain of the Guadalupe river, though from the hotel you would never know it flows nearby. Perhaps the incongruence and contradictions are appropriate—earth-revering pagans and corporate America, the rush of the adjacent freeways, the bubble of other worlds seeping from portals within a middle class generic hotel. Rhyd Wildermuth spoke on witches in a crumbling empire, on how empire is lodged everywhere in our mind/bodies. Walking near the hotel and to the Motel 6 where I spent the last nights of the conference (don’t even ask) on avenues allergic to pedestrians, I found a convocation of crows had gathered around the building; to me a good sign of protection, though for others it might mean something menacing (omens are relative and directed). I felt more of an exhausted empire myself in the landscape of onramps and tech ‘campuses’ and Denny’s. Here is America hyped and amped up, determined to race along until the fuel tank is empty, circuits of pointless rushes, oblivious to surroundings, as long as the ear buds are in and the smartphone is working.

***

In a smallish hotel room has been transformed into a temple. The entire room is lined with marvelous shrines, images of many deities, and pervaded with presences. Rhythmic song and people swaying, this is a place of transport in this very same mundane hotel, but here we are in another world; another culture is in birthed action. A place of Wide Branches and Deep Roots.

 

I speak one evening about the sea and filidecht to a surprisingly large group of attendees, we explore the cauldron of poesy. Beforehand I had gone outside into the pouring rain which purified me, and the otherworld lapped around my feet, momentarily took my glasses, and said it’s time to turn to that inward vision now.

 

A few days later I watched a construction site near the Motel 6 that had turned into a lake, with a small mound rising from the center by a construction crane. The floods rise in any landscape, no matter how postindustrial and seemingly manmade*. The mounds are to be found in all countries, with their portals to the dead. The dead are invited in, to walk the concourses, as we open more doorways into the impossible futures full of beauty and joy. At a marvelous rite led by Welsh Druid Kristopher Hughes, he said that a real spiritual path takes anxiety and transforms it into joy.

 

To turn the Cauldron of Motion, our sorrows and joys move the cauldron, and help to move it upright due to our own efforts of a fully lived life. I cried tears of blocked sorrow, saw the sky bright eyes of a goddess looking down, and let go into the tide. This is a time to both delve deep and activate on the surface. Cauldrons were abrewing, spells woven, blessing poured forth over the long weekend. My body was exhausted by over 6000 miles of travel, my soul revivified, shards of empire pulled out of flesh.

 

* Just a few days before the start of the ‘Con the town of Oroville to the north was evacuated due to the waters building up and threatening the Oroville dam, one of the world’s largest such structures. A crater formed in the spillway and the emergency spillway was seriously eroded.

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