Glamour: When the Mighty Fall

Zeus casting Hephaestus from Olympus with Hera unable to stop him.

A few years ago, there was a time when a “pagan leader” I’d once admired for his accomplishments as a teacher, witch, priest, and esteemed writer, fell from grace in a most horrible manner. I think it was fair to even call him a “Big Name Pagan,” but now it is fair to call him an infamous pagan. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

While he has yet to come to trial for his alleged crimes, in the court of public opinion, he is forever damned, and good riddance. When a priest of the old gods is suddenly, devastatingly, and absolutely ruined on all levels, I don’t need jurisprudence to inform me of his wrong-doing. Karma is a bitch, but only it you are.

This person that once deigned to teach me lessons of ethics and human decency, of personal responsibility to become a caretaker of this middle world in service to the Gods… was discovered to be grievously lacking in the same. He taught me that once you make vows to the gods, they are irrevocable. “Live by your vows and you will be abundant in their care; break your vows, and you will suffer.” He claimed he was a “real” Wiccan; old-school, lineaged back to Sanders, or so he loved to gloat.  Among the ethics he taught, Do as you will, but Harm None was non-negotiable.  His gods took him down, so I assume he broke his vows.

Sadly, the malevolent, selfish tarnish of his harm sullied the reputation of all the good people in association with him. Every good thing he ever wrote will never again be printed, or so his publishers have said.  The beautiful people he helped to guide toward the taking of their own vows of service to the gods felt this sting most bitterly, and my spirit wept for them because the witches and priestesses he made are skilled, amazing and doing The Work with great respectability. We are all interconnected; he was the weak link, and he let down everyone in his chain.

I think it was the lie and scandal of the thing that upset me the most. When the horrors of his arrest were first revealed across the national stage, and I was reeling in shock and confusion, I wrote this poem. That was years ago, but for the last several weeks, since Mercury, Mars and Saturn, and every other damned heavenly body, went retrograde, there is one line that keeps repeating in the back of my mind. This is how my guides whisper to me.

“Eyes wide; there are things of which we did not speak.”  Its as though there was a new message being delivered to me, asking me to pay attention to what else may need to be seen and spoken. When the mighty are viewed through the hazy, veiled glamour of fame, it can obscure what most needs to be understood. Let’s all pay better attention for a while, ok?

Glamour

by Heron Michelle

The veils fall, twisted and torn,
no silken glamour now to guise
unsavory truths.
Eyes wide;
there are things of which we did not speak.
Jaws slack;
illusions finally become clear.

Knowings, sharp as scalpels,
cut into our deeps,
dragging out such precious innocence,
birthed awake into this raw light.
The way we came is closed;
no dreams would have us now.
We are all exposed, ripped,
bloody and wailing of our discontent,
howls slice the chill of this new viewing.
Smacked hard to gasping,
we crave so desperately the teat and swaddle,
familiar succor of long-loved delusion
that is no more.

Sins of the father damn all his children.
Bastards now, left to die by the road,
exposed for their mutation and
heinous illegitimacy.
No gods will save them now,
no charm, no fame enough
to shield the unholy shame
carved now so deeply into his name.
Cries of the mourners are all that remain,
forlorn echoes of crimes
that should not be buried,
nor forgotten.

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