A little look at what you don't see

Recently I talked a bit about my religion and belief structure. Now I'm going to bring something even more controversial to the table: I cover my head.

Yup, it's not just reserved for the Judeo-Christian-Islamic faiths anymore.

I belong to an online community of pagans who veil, and we all do it for different reasons. Some do it because it's easier than shampooing some days, to cover up dermatological issues, or for religious reasons. What a lot of people don't realise about pagans is that, much like with any other religion, you can't lump us all into the same category and expect us to be cookie-cutter pagans. Some of us dance skyclad under a full moon, and others of us cover our heads.

Why do I do it? I do it because I feel called by my deities to do so. I feel that it's the right thing for me to do, as a sign of respect to the deities I pay respect to. I do it to remind me that there's something above, around, and beyond me. I do it to give myself a layer between me and the world, so that on days when I feel extremely shy and afraid of going outside, I can disconnect a little, reminded that I'm safe within the world I create and that my deities are watching out for me.

It feels right. That's about the gist of it. And while some people think it's a little strange, I'm comfortable with it. I don't expect everyone else to do it. I don't do it as a sign of submission to anyone. (Even my deities know it's not a sign of submission, but rather a sign of respect and reminder.) I don't do it to be oppressed or oppressive.

I'm bad at doing it all the time, but I'm getting better. And so to help me along the way, I think I'll post the occasional picture of myself, in various style coverings. It'll remind me more to do it, even on days when it feels like a little too much trouble to do it all properly.

So without further ado, I present myself, with my head covered hijab-style.



I find this stle comfortable and protective. Takes a little fiddling sometimes to get it right, more so than just typing a bandana on, but I find the effect is worth it, since I alsolike how it looks.

What I am, and what that means.

When I first decided to start a simple living blog, I have to admit that even that was a daunting task. Not in the thought of upkeep or content or the like, but because of how dissimilar, in a lot of ways, I am from the majority of other simple living bloggers.

Most of the blogs I read that espoused a simple and frugal life had two threads that ran through them. They were written by Christians, and they were written by mothers.

Being neither of those things, I wondered if reaching out for a community was a pointless venture. I don't much care for children (personal issues where that's concerned, and it isn't that I hate them so much as I don't have the patience for them, nor do I understand them) and I have, to be frank, had some bad experiences with people who are vocally Christian. Even the ones that didn't tell me I'm going to hell spent hours trying to convert me rather than accepting me for who I was.

I am pagan, at the heart of it all. And I tend to live by a simple rule where religion is concerned. "Don't try to force your religion on me and I won't try to force mine on you."

I call myself a Quakerversalist Pagantarian, which I find fits rather well. The message of silence and simplicity in Quaker beliefs appeals to me, and I was thrilled when I learned that one could be both a Quaker and a pagan, since the Divine speaks to people in many ways. I know in the nod to Universalist Unitarians since they have a nearby church that I enjoy going to when I can get there.

Why am I coming right out and saying this, instead of just hinting at it or acting like everybody knows in the first place? Because in avoiding saying it right out, I was making things more complicated on myself (the antithesis of simplicity, after all), and I was also acting as though I'm ashamed of my faith. I'm not. My faith gives me strength the way the faith of others gives them strength, and there's no shame in that.

As for myself, I'm confident enough in my own faith that I don't feel threatened by other people talking about their faiths. I enjoy reading about the relationships that people have with their deity of choice. Often their lessons are lessons I could stand to learn. Maybe some of my lessons are lessons somebody else could stand to learn.

But no more hiding. No more veiled hints. No more sneakiness and avoidance. I am what I am.

Piecing it together.

I'm a big fan of Piecework Magazine, done by Interweave, and today I was pleasantly surprised by the delivery of a few back issues that I had ordered with some of my holiday gift money. It may see a strange thing to talk about on a simple living blog: magazine subscriptions regarding historical textiles. But to me, Piecework is a good magazine to have around when you want to do some needlework and yet want a reminder of the simplicity of times gone by.

Piecework's historical patterns are a treat to see, and a lot of the articles in the magazine include cultural and historical information that often make it pretty clear that the majority of needlecrafters didn't have a lot of money or resources, no matter which country they lived in. They used what they could, used it frugally and wisely, and made stunning heirloom pieces, some of which survive today. If you're amazed at a pair of jeans lasting you a decade before you consign them to the scrap pile, imagine a lace shawl, knit or crocheted or tatted out of something as fine as sewing thread, lasting a hundred years or more.

This sort of things reminds me that although making something fancy like that is arguably "not simple", it is a good way to remind myself to slow down, to take my time, to do it right the first time so that it's all done properly and will last as long as I need or want it to.

When I knit or sew or embroider, sometimes I'm struck by the amazing complexity and simplicity of it all. One tiny stitch, the same as a dozen, a hundred, a thousand others, insignificant on its own, but perfectly made just the same, and when put together with all those other insiginificant and perfect stitches, comes together to make something beautiful and meaningful and worthwhile. It's like the world, I sometimes reflect. Each person is perfect in their own right, insignificant on their own, and part of something wonderful when put together with others. What one cannot do at all, many can do easily.

A lot of people think of needlework as a sort of spiritual craft, and in some ways, I can't deny it. It's like playing Fibre God. You form all these little things out of next to nothing, and when you're done, you've got so much more than you started out with even though it's all still made of the same stuff. There are challenges and failures and successes, but overall it's all just a part of the process, and you learn and you improve and you've got something to be proud of and to make you proud.

And it's a connection, to all the hundreds of thousands of women and men who did it all before you, who started off and paved the way for you, made mistakes so that you don't have to, learned corrections so that you don't have to muddle your way through in the dark, and who made a beginning so that you can experiment and make the future. It's history, built one stitch at a time and wrapping the whole world together.

I don't often think of it quite like this unless I'm waxing poetic, but I don't feel any lie in my words when I write them. This is how it is to me, and this is how to is to others, how it was, and how it will still be long after I'm dead, so long as handmade textiles live on. Even if they live on as hobbies instead of careers, they still live, and it's another stitch in the fabric, another knot and bind to the past and the inevitable future.

It's humbling to think like this, and even though the sky outside is grey and threatening to bring snow and wind tonight, and I have work to do that I don't want to do, and I'm still unemployed and without much money, I want to thank the world and history and deities of all kinds of giving me this chance to be a simple insignificant stitch, to reach other and hold and support other stitches, and to be a part of the fabric.