It probably comes as no surprise that I belong to a Robin Hood mailing list on the Internet. There isn't a lot of activity on it, but every once in a while there will be a buzz of messages back and forth, when there's been some development like a new manuscript discovered or a new theory on Robin's true identity, or someone has a question about archery, etc, or they've just released another Robin Hood DVD. It's fun to listen to the excitement, but I don't usually take part, not really having anything to contribute (other than being able to turn on a few people, who were interested in archery/medieval things, to the SCA) but this past Saturday I felt very strongly compelled to say something.
Someone, so it appears to me, decided it was the perfect forum by which to pontificate his idea on the reality v.s. the myth of Robin Hood. Fine and dandy, and potentially very interesting. But the reason I use the word 'pontificate' is that along with his "theories", he threw in wide-ranging generalizations, assumptions, and judgements disguised as intellectual facts. Actually come to think of it, 'pontificate' is actually kind of an ironic term in this case since this man identified himself as Atheist.
I actually have nothing against Atheism, and in reality have quite a respect for the Atheists I have encountered, realizing the growth it takes to instill in one's self a sense of morality without the looming presence of punishment or reward. And the Atheists I've seen tend to be very spiritual in their way and, interestingly enough, hold a lot in common with my own personal beliefs. One of my favorite authors, Douglas Adams, was in fact an Atheist, and I find A LOT of spiritual wisdom in his Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. So this is not an issue of beliefs but rather the manner in which beliefs are presented.
As I read what this man had to say, I felt my hackles rise just slightly when he stated something about how no one ever really believed in the rituals and Greek myths, and that, for example, "On some Greek Islands there are hill formations that can look like 'The Sleeping Zeus' but I do not think that at any stage of history grown-ups looked at the mountain and thought that they had better move their goats in case Zeus turned over in his sleep." Fine. Speaking for an entire ancient population with the arrogant and ego-centric assumptions that their world view would be exactly like his own. Hackles raised in disagreement, Arrogance and its usually accompanying Ignorance, being probably my biggest pet peeve along with Cynicism (like that's gonna help!), but not worth the energy to say anything. I disagree, but he has a right to his opinions.
Then he wrote this: "How much pagan ritual was there ever was in reality? We have found a few shrines and some deluded people today think they are getting in touch with the Goddess or whatever." Admittedly hackles went up a little further, but at the same time I did not want to get into a war of words, or even a debate over who is right or wrong in such situations. Like I said, he has a right to his opinion, even if it is that I, for one, am deluded. Though I admit being a tad angry at this man's ignorance and arrogance, I needed to allow myself those feelings, then decide what, if anything, I would do about it. Because this pushed my buttons it was a huge learning opportunity for me. How could I respond in a manner that would be honorable, respectful, and a win/win?
Realizing it was not my job to change any one's opinion, or enlighten them, I decided that what intruded on my sense of well-being was the lack of respect and open-mindedness toward my beliefs. This I could speak up for, and not in a way that would make him wrong -- I guess giving him the benefit of the doubt that I wasn't receiving from him. So I answered his emails with this: "I understand what you are saying and respect your point of view but would please ask caution in your statements, and realize who your audience is, because I am one of those deluded Pagans who gets in touch with the Goddess."
I am still concerned that perhaps that was not the most enlightened response, but hoped it might at least make him aware that he couldn't assume, as he seemed to be, that everyone on the mailing list had the same point of view. I also had to make sure I was writing from a place of power, realizing that my sense of wholeness and worth were not dependent on receiving his respect.
I don't know that I expected a response, but if I did get one, I think I was hoping for an acknowledgement of equally valid view points out there besides his own, and to find out he was more open-minded than he had appeared. That's not what I got. Instead his response was a challenge for evidence.
Okay. Hackles completely deployed.
Actually it is at this point where my lesson really starts. Even though this attitude miffs me off to no end, I have to let it go. To go any further would be to follow this man down the rabbit hole where I would, in essence, become that which I am railing against. I find many similarities in this to earlier revelations gleaned from the heart of a history of panic attacks where fighting against them, or trying to fix them, only prolongs them or makes them worse. And I have found arguing with or defending against someone so close-minded just feeds them and drains me. Like the bumper sticker says -- "Minds are like parachutes and only work when they are open."
If anything, my path has proven to me that it is in letting go, and approaching things with curiosity and wonder, that true expansion happens. I have a lifetime of evidence for my self that my approach to life brings me ever deeper feelings of wholeness, and in that way, though it is totally subjective and perhaps not admissible as evidence for anyone else, and possibly not even "true" in an empirical way, it has proven useful, and in the end that is what is important. My path and my experiences are complete in themselves with deep heart and meaning for me, and do not require permission or validation of any outside sources. They are my experiences, and therefore beyond contestation. No one can tell me what I did or didn't experience, or what it does or doesn't mean. My beliefs are not up for debate.
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As I was driving to work this morning, I turned a corner and my breath was taken away at the majestic presence of Mt Rainier towering in the misty distance, glaciers shimmering in the morning sun. "Oh Grandfather Mountain! You are so beautiful!" I shouted out loud. Then I paused, getting a sudden really clear glimpse at the world I personally live in, where a mountain is my Grandfather and my Grandmother is the moon, where I talk to these beings and they talk back, and I smile in gratitude for this richness, and joy, and magick that abounds in my life -- evidently.
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There is this awesome blog I know of, and I have been trying to find a way to include a particular entry I read there, and this seemed the perfect opportunity. It is written in Middle English, so if you have difficulty understanding it, I suggest reading it out loud because words that look unfamiliar will probably sound familiar. So here in it's entirety is an entry from Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog :
Aye, Virginia, ther ys a Robin Hood
Gentil rederes, the feest of Kalamazu was ful of grete jolitee and wondir, and Ich was daswed by the compaignye of wondirful folk who cam to heare of the book. But the writinge of a booke doth but litel to take awey the dailye necessitees of the clerk of a kinges workes and a husband. Ywis, thogh ther be many volumes on the shelf clad in orange and blak, yet the trasshe taketh ytself nat out. Nor may a vanitee search on worldecat eliminate the need to add up the royal expenditure on the wages of masouns and gardiners. And aske ye nat about the frantic advyce that My Lord the King doth see fit to solicit yn the middel of the night concerninge hys confusioun at the operacioun of hys newe i-diptych. Maye it plese yow to pardon my lack of poostinge! So bisy with muchel labour am Ich, that many thinges of pop culture do passe me by. Ich knowe but litel of the scandal of Lady Zeugma at the recent tournament, or of the gret popularitee of the vuvuzela.
And yet ther are yet sum thinges of which I knowe a tolerable quantitee, and so whanne a smal mayde did wryte an email to my account, the spirit of Philosophie bid me answere. Ich did compose a response, the which must, by yts nature, go out upon this blogge:
Deere Mayster Chaucer,
Ich am but VIII yeeres of age. Sum of my litel freendes seyen that ther ys no Robin Hood. Ywis, thei do saye that ther is no historical record of him. My fadir sayeth that “yif ye see yt on a blog then it ys trewe.” Plese speke the treweth to me on yower blog: is ther a Robin Hood?
-Virginia
Virginia, yower litel freendes aren yn the grip of grete errour. Thei have been bismotered by the over-reliaunce on documentz of a tyme that ys excessifly concerned wyth historical record. Thei yive credence unto no thyng but yif thei see yt in a roll or chartir or heare a twentye minute talke yn a small room wyth questionez aftirwardes. Thei thynk that no thyng can be or hath been save for thos thinges that kan be compassid in their croniclez. Yet all croniclez, whedir thei be of thos folk at gret researche universitees or thos term papirs that childer do wryte, are litel. In the grete duracioun of eternitee, the tyme of man ys but that of a pissemyre, whanne comparisoun ys made bitwene yt and the lastingnesse of the worlde. For as wyse Boece saith of erthely fame: “yif thou wolde make comparisoun to the endles spaces of eternyte, what thyng hastow by whiche thou mayest rejoisen thee of long lastynge of thy name?” (LIBER II PROSA VII).
Aye, Virginia, ther ys a Robin Hood. Robin Hood existeth as seurelye as green hattes, stylishe sworde-pleye, and roguish good lookes existen, and ye know that thei abounden and yive to yower lyf yts gretest plesaunce and joie. By Seynt Loy! How grym wolde the worlde be yif ther were no Robin Hood. It would be as grim as yf there were no Virginiae. Ther wolde be no resistaunce to grasping landholderes then, no consistentlye rhyming balades, no romaunce to reade on a coold night or to pass tyme duringe the daye. We sholde have no deliteful readinge material, oonly lapidaries or yet anothir alliteratif allegorie about being very worryed about dyinge. The ever-lastinge awesomenesse of cuttinge downe a chandelier onto bumbling minions while banteringe wyth a romantic interest wolde be extinguished.
Nat believe yn Robin Hood! Ye maye as wel nat believe in King Arthur! Ye maye peticioun the kyng to hyre sheriffes to watche in all the grene-woode shawes in Engelonde to cacche Robin Hood, but thogh thei sawe nat Robin Hood, who koud then saye “quod erat demonstrandum”? No folk see Robin Hood, but that signifieth nat that ther ys no Robin Hood. The most awesome thinges yn the worlde are those that neither childer nor men kan see with eye. Did ye evir see the wonderful sciapods who lyve in the lande of Inde and have but oon foot, a limb of such greteness that thei can shade their bodyes by putting that foot above them? Of course nat, but that nys no token that thei are nat there. No folk can conceiven or hoold yn their imaginacioun all the wondirs that are unseene and invisible yn the worlde. Except John Mandeville.
Ye maye take apart an astrolabe and undirstond the natur of yts operacioun (and Ich have a smal tretis on that topique ywrit), but ther ys a maner of rough cloth that covereth the good fayre fruit of the world of fayerye, the which nat the gretest historian, nor even the joyned myghte of every historyan that ever did a footnote wryte, kan teare apart (thogh thei be mighty at arm-wrestling). Oonly whimsy, swashbucklinge, poesie, fin amor -- and, certes, shootinge an arrowe so that yt catcheth the sleeve of a hapless corrupt official -- can pusshe asyde the burlap of dailye lyf and disclose the wondirs of beautee and glorie at yts centir. Hath thys a real existence? Ywis, Virginia, in al thys worlde ther beth no thyng that ys to such an extent possessinge of existence.
No Robin Hood! Benedicte! He liveth, and he liveth for ay. Oon thousand yeeres from this daye, Virginia, nay, as many yeeres as an abacus kan count, Robin Hood will continue to make sure that discussioun of medieval governance and taxacioun ys mixed up wyth funnye nick-names and archery.
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