Rufus Opus

Category: Blogspot Archive

Category: Blogspot Archive

  • Mess with the bull…

    I swear to god, I’m sick of the ones that are convinced that they are ready, able, and willing to do the Work, but on their terms.

    IF you are redefining a system of Conjuration revealed to magicians in the 15th century, AND IF you have NEVER conjured any of the spirits from said system using the system as defined, not even to the best of your abilities:

    Your Work is a Work of PRIDE. You’re off your rocker. Get a clue.

    IF you are redefining a system of Initation and Attainment developed in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, yet have NEVER been initiated into either the line you’re “reforming” or its offshoot that rhymes with BoTeeOh, THEN you too are full of shit.

    If in order for you to begin to explain the merits of your system, you must first make up lies about initiations into ceremonies that you have not participated in, your system is worthless.

    But not only that, you fucking idiot, you’ve put yourself in the running with people who actually know what they’re doing. You think Crowley’s sitting in the City of Pyramids next to Christ and Buddha, and now all of a sudden he’s beyond sending the Spirit of the Planet Mercury to confound and conflagrat you? Bullshit! He’s got a better line with him.

    If any of this shit above describes you, you’re nothing but a bald monkey jumping in the middle of a stampede. And I’d like to take a moment to remind bald monkeys what the fuck happens when you fucking jump in the middle of a fucking stampede. See below. And if you’re interrupting magicians that have a couple tons of momentum behind them barreling their way towards a goal you can’t imagine, expect at LEAST what this guy got as you’re tossed to the side.

  • Tonight’s Work

    First, before I forget, the Geomantic Tumblers have been right on so far. They said my daughter would get a B, and she got a B+ on that math test.

    Ok, back to tonight’s Work. I just spent a long time making something really … primitive. But I likes it.

    In the hour of Mercury, on the day of Mercury, I conjured Raphael, Archangel of Mercury to help me with this work. I was trying to make a simple round talisman to the Archangel to use with my Box, but then I got an inspiration. I looked over and saw the huge plaster brick I’d made for the Pentagonal Seal of Solomon, the project that had failed miserably, and thought about how easy it would be to carve using a grinding bit on my dremel tool.

    So I carved out a rough figure of the symbol of Mercury, and melted up some pewter, some silver, and a dash of more tin. The mixture of metals, per Aaron Leitch, makes it a mercurial metal when it solidifies. The pewter came from my daughter, who had broken a cheaply soldered fairy’s wings right off. I tried to fix it, but I failed, and she said I could have it. I told her what I wanted to do with it, and she said “Cool.” That works for me. I just realized it was an Arial spirit that it had been molded into, and Mercury is associated with the element of Air. “Cool.”

    I melted the metals, and poured them into the rough mold, cleaned up the edges as best as I could, and engraved it with the name Raphael, RPAL in Celestial Script, the Archangel seal of Mercury from the Magical Calendar, and the Sigil of the Planet Mercury, also from the Magical Calendar. Some parts are prettier than others.

    Now, I’ve said before that “ugly works.” It’s a good thing. This isn’t fine art, by any means. It shows two things about me. One, I’m an amateur metallurgist. Two, I don’t let that stop me; my passion for communing with the spirits far outweighs any worries I have about how I look while doing so. It’s the communion that counts.

    Now I wanted to test it out on my Box, but it’s now the hour of the Moon. No time, no time. It took far longer than anticipated. The next Mercury hour isn’t until 4:08 AM my time, and man, that’s frickin’ early. Or late. I don’t think I’ll be using it this week, unless … Well, I’ll check Trithemius and see what he says.

  • Tonight’s Work

    Oh, for Christ’s sake.

    Remember dude I mentioned that wanted to be a Moonchild? I got that all wrong. He corrected me. Seems they weren’t trying to be Moonchildren at all. Oh no, nothing so puerile, he assured me. No, these two geniuses were trying to start the Apocalypse!!! The end of the WORLD!!! For Serious.

    Because, you know, they were bored.

    Wait for it…

    Wait for it….

    Give me a fucking break! “I’m bored, let’s end the world.” Where’s my clue by four? Of all the spoiled, self-centered, obnoxious, stupid, conceited, childish… no, not even childish, just damned bratty things I’ve ever seen… This takes the fucking cake. Hell, it takes the whole party.

    We were talking on a list about how omnipotence would lead to boredom. I mentioned that when I get bored, I meditate on the axiom “Only boring people get bored.” I also mentioned that any being that didn’t have the power to have entertain themselves wasn’t omnipotent.

    This is a beautiful world, full of beautiful things and beautiful people, and it’s a great awesome expanse of things to do. The world is your oyster. There’s nothing you can imagine that you can’t accomplish.

    Want to throw fireballs? Kathy, physics major, wastewater engineer, and author of the “My Gal” blog has the trick. It involves explosives, spark plugs, and pumpkins. Cheating? Yeah, that’s what I said, but frickin’ fun.

    Want to own your own island? Get a job, save money, get your credit fixed, buy cheap properties in the slummy parts of town, rent them out, use the rental as income to qualify for more loans, get more properties, sit on them for a while, and then sell them when you’ve got them all paid half off or so. Move to Florida. There are Keys that no one lives on. Build a house. Include a Hurricane Shelter. Don’t forget a boat for supplies.

    Want to be Donald Trump? Do what he did. Want to be a famous occult author like Jason Miller, Lon DuQuette, Sam Webster, or MacGregor Mathers? Do it. It’s your life. You get what you work for. You start where you’re at, you plan a path to what you want, and you do it. Fuck. It ain’t rocket science.

    “I’m Bored.” Fuck you. Get some fucking balls. Grow the fuck up. The world ain’t going to sit around and come up with things to entertain you, you self-centered piece of shit. Get off your ass and do something. Get a fucking job already. And brush your god damned teeth. Your breath fucking stinks.

  • Tonight’s Work

    First, before I forget, the Geomantic Tumblers have been right on so far. They said my daughter would get a B, and she got a B+ on that math test.

    Ok, back to tonight’s Work. I just spent a long time making something really … primitive. But I likes it.

    In the hour of Mercury, on the day of Mercury, I conjured Raphael, Archangel of Mercury to help me with this work. I was trying to make a simple round talisman to the Archangel to use with my Box, but then I got an inspiration. I looked over and saw the huge plaster brick I’d made for the Pentagonal Seal of Solomon, the project that had failed miserably, and thought about how easy it would be to carve using a grinding bit on my dremel tool.

    So I carved out a rough figure of the symbol of Mercury, and melted up some pewter, some silver, and a dash of more tin. The mixture of metals, per Aaron Leitch, makes it a mercurial metal when it solidifies. The pewter came from my daughter, who had broken a cheaply soldered fairy’s wings right off. I tried to fix it, but I failed, and she said I could have it. I told her what I wanted to do with it, and she said “Cool.” That works for me. I just realized it was an Arial spirit that it had been molded into, and Mercury is associated with the element of Air. “Cool.”

    I melted the metals, and poured them into the rough mold, cleaned up the edges as best as I could, and engraved it with the name Raphael, RPAL in Celestial Script, the Archangel seal of Mercury from the Magical Calendar, and the Sigil of the Planet Mercury, also from the Magical Calendar. Some parts are prettier than others.

    Now, I’ve said before that “ugly works.” It’s a good thing. This isn’t fine art, by any means. It shows two things about me. One, I’m an amateur metallurgist. Two, I don’t let that stop me; my passion for communing with the spirits far outweighs any worries I have about how I look while doing so. It’s the communion that counts.

    Now I wanted to test it out on my Box, but it’s now the hour of the Moon. No time, no time. It took far longer than anticipated. The next Mercury hour isn’t until 4:08 AM my time, and man, that’s frickin’ early. Or late. I don’t think I’ll be using it this week, unless … Well, I’ll check Trithemius and see what he says.

  • Goetic Dreams?

    So after last night’s rituals, I expected some kind of weird, post apocalyptic dreams.

    I got the mayor of New Orleans, the Dem and the Rep Presidential Candidates, in my house instead. Ok, still weird dreams, but nothing apocalyptic. McCain seemed like he had Alzheimers. Obama was just too eager to please, and generally disgusted that I wouldn’t fall under his sway. Mayor Nagen was trying to get money by contracting out repairs on our house without our consent. He was using a law that had recently passed, intended to bail out the housing slump, to push federally mandated repairs on the house, but my spouse had all the paperwork to prove we were exempt, and the mayor wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t make eye contact, he talked too fast, and seemed really … slimy.

    Obama wouldn’t stop making eye contact, like those paintings where the eyes are painted looking directly forward that look like they’re always following you around. And McCain was surrounded by too many bustling “flappers,” that he couldn’t have maintained a train of thought, let alone eye contact.

    Then I was riding a girl’s bike with high handlebars. I had to pedal really fast up hill to get anywhere, and there was no gear shift. The handlebars were like chopper handlebars, but they went straight up so my arms were really uncomfortable. And of course, I was too big for it. Then I went around the block and came down the hill on the street parallel, and almost ran into this bitchy neighbor that was a conglomeration of several bitchy moms that I know of at our real-life elemetary school, and she said something snide, and I was like, “Do you REALLY think I want to be on this bike?” She got offended and ended up taking her too-many kids in the house.

    It was weird, alright, but not really post-apocalyptic. After last night’s dream, I think I actually trust Obama more. He at least seemed sincere in his desire to want my vote. Not that he represents me, my values, or my goals in life, necessarily, just that at least he came across as honestly wanting me to like him. McCain was just out of it. Lost, befuddled. I felt sorry for him. He seemed like he was on some kind of drug, like the Ism from that video Mike Rock posted the other day. His retainers kept him dopey and distracted enough so he wouldn’t be able to pay attention to me, but they didn’t want him to have enough time to really see where he was at either. Bah. Political dreams. Weird shit. At least there were no scary clowns or three-foot Santas.

    But it wasn’t particularly Goetic. I had conjured Ga’ap, alias Tap, and had a good conversation with him. The rite went really well, and I asked him to send me a dream if I needed more information. Either I forgot a dream, or I didn’t need more information.

  • Goetic Dreams?

    So after last night’s rituals, I expected some kind of weird, post apocalyptic dreams.

    I got the mayor of New Orleans, the Dem and the Rep Presidential Candidates, in my house instead. Ok, still weird dreams, but nothing apocalyptic. McCain seemed like he had Alzheimers. Obama was just too eager to please, and generally disgusted that I wouldn’t fall under his sway. Mayor Nagen was trying to get money by contracting out repairs on our house without our consent. He was using a law that had recently passed, intended to bail out the housing slump, to push federally mandated repairs on the house, but my spouse had all the paperwork to prove we were exempt, and the mayor wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t make eye contact, he talked too fast, and seemed really … slimy.

    Obama wouldn’t stop making eye contact, like those paintings where the eyes are painted looking directly forward that look like they’re always following you around. And McCain was surrounded by too many bustling “flappers,” that he couldn’t have maintained a train of thought, let alone eye contact.

    Then I was riding a girl’s bike with high handlebars. I had to pedal really fast up hill to get anywhere, and there was no gear shift. The handlebars were like chopper handlebars, but they went straight up so my arms were really uncomfortable. And of course, I was too big for it. Then I went around the block and came down the hill on the street parallel, and almost ran into this bitchy neighbor that was a conglomeration of several bitchy moms that I know of at our real-life elemetary school, and she said something snide, and I was like, “Do you REALLY think I want to be on this bike?” She got offended and ended up taking her too-many kids in the house.

    It was weird, alright, but not really post-apocalyptic. After last night’s dream, I think I actually trust Obama more. He at least seemed sincere in his desire to want my vote. Not that he represents me, my values, or my goals in life, necessarily, just that at least he came across as honestly wanting me to like him. McCain was just out of it. Lost, befuddled. I felt sorry for him. He seemed like he was on some kind of drug, like the Ism from that video Mike Rock posted the other day. His retainers kept him dopey and distracted enough so he wouldn’t be able to pay attention to me, but they didn’t want him to have enough time to really see where he was at either. Bah. Political dreams. Weird shit. At least there were no scary clowns or three-foot Santas.

    But it wasn’t particularly Goetic. I had conjured Ga’ap, alias Tap, and had a good conversation with him. The rite went really well, and I asked him to send me a dream if I needed more information. Either I forgot a dream, or I didn’t need more information.

  • Why do we vote on Tuesdays?

    Because it’s War!

    Voting is a Martial act. A revolutionary act. Every Vote we make as an American (or other) citizen is a declaration of War on tyranny. Regardless of the candidate elected, democracy wins against authoritarian regimes, monarchies, despotism, fascism, communism, oligarchies, and dictatorships.

    You can see it at the voting booths. Doubt about the outcome, desire to be on the winning team, consternation about the lack of decent choices, hope that whatever happens, they’ll be alright…

    It’s not the same as facing bullets, but the war rages on.

    Now, what about other countries? What day do they vote on, and what does that tell us about how they perceive voting? Is it just America that has a Martial attitude about everything governmental? Are there any countries that vote on Fridays?

  • Dealing with the Guf – Reclaiming Moments of Horror

    The Guf is the lowest form of soul in some kabbalistic cosmologies. It consists of the actual body we wrap ourselves in. The word “guf” is the source of the English word “goofy,” so you can get an idea of how this soul is viewed in the cosmology of things.

    I was talking to a friend today about the horrifyingly embarrassing moments that crop up in my mind as I’m falling asleep, eliciting an audible groan or whimper. I was relieved to know that I’m not the only one that experiences these things, but that doesn’t really help get rid of the horror that still comes when I remember these kinds of events.

    The best example I have is when I went down to the end of a shooting range to hang a paper target, and the drill sergeant guy yelled “CEASE FIRE!!!!” at the top of his considerable lungs to get everyone else (who were still shooting) to take a break so I didn’t get killed. Everyone looked over at me, and I’m standing there like an idiot where about thirty people were shooting. Not a happy moment.

    What gets me is that this happened almost a decade ago, and to this day, I groan out loud remembering it. I’ve tried to “reclaim” that part of my brain to get rid of this response. Kraig has a retroactive magick section (I think) in his Modern Magick book, and I tried that. I tried going back and reliving the moment in my mind, trying to replace it with a different memory. I’ve tried rationalizing that I’d never been to a shooting range before, I was at the far end of the shooting range, and everyone else was at the other side, where I had assumed they wouldn’t shoot me… but nothing’s worked. It’s always in that light hypnogoguic state between waking and sleeping that I remember standing there in the crisp autumn wind with a crowd made up of fathers and sons and war vets looking at me like I was Forrest, Forrest Gump.

    My friend suggested that we can’t forget this kind of thing for a reason, that it serves some purpose. I can see how it can aid survival to never forget how stupid it is to steal a dinosaur’s egg while you think the thing is sleeping, but this was just embarrassing. Socially embarrassing. Sure, we’re pack animals, and it’s required to not do something stupid in public to not get ostracized… but that’s stretching it a bit.

    So on a seemingly unrelated tangent, I was reading through Plotinus’ Fifth Ennead. Not too far in, it says:

    “A double discipline must be applied if human beings in this pass are to be reclaimed, and brought back to their origins, lifted once more towards the Supreme and One and First.”

    “Reclaimed” jumped out at me. I had literally just been talking about reclaiming, so looking for an answer to this question, I read on…

    “There is the method, which we amply exhibit elsewhere, declaring the dishonour of the objects which the Soul holds here in honour; the second teaches or recalls to the soul its race and worth; this latter is the leading truth, and, clearly brought out, is the evidence of the other.”

    So there are two disciplines required to accomplish the returning to the Source, God, which sums up Plotinus’ idea of what I think of as the Great Work. The discipline of stating the dishonour of things the Soul holds dear here, and the remembrance of the race and worth of the Soul.

    Respect of others is what my Guf-Soul holds dear, so dear that an embarrassing moment haunts me for years, permanently ingrained in my neural paths. Dishonouring the “need for respect from others,” (hmmm, pride, perhaps?) isn’t too difficult. I recognize that the opinions of those rednecks at that moment aren’t really that important.

    Teaching the Soul its race and worth though… How does this apply in the context of a mortifying memory? The Soul in the Guf at that moment was of God and was God. The value of that Soul is inestimable. How can teaching the Soul its race and value make the horror of that moment go away?

    I don’t have an answer, but I do know that I was particularly Guf-ey that day. I’ll be holding these two things together in my mind as I remember what happened, and see what comes of it. Educating the Guf as to its value and source may indeed be the key to getting rid of that disgusting horror.

  • An Astral Ritual

    So last Tuesday I was dealing with some annoying crap in my life. Finances were sucking. My job, my beautiful job, was in trouble. The gov’t contract has to be reviewed and funds reallocated at the end of each fiscal year. (That’s Sept. 30 for you civilians that don’t know.) My company subcontracted renegotiations out to the locals, and they totally dropped the ball. I should have known this would happen, but you know, I was distracted by other things.

    I got a call saying I would lose half my hours and all my benefits. Oh boy, was I thrilled.

    Since I had failed to proactively magick up a good contract ahead of time, as I should have, I ended up having to do damage control magic instead. Reactionary rather than Proactionary magic is not the preferred modus operendi, but it would have to do.

    Tuesday, what a wonderful day for doing wealth magic, eh? I checked my Current Astrological Weather, and found that Mercury was Cazimi (within 17 minutes of the Sun). Cazimi is supposed to be like plugging the planet into a tesla coil or something. According to some, and I believe it. I figured the Cazimi effect would overpower the retrograde sufficiently to get some clear communications with the spirit world, plus I needed help in business.

    The Moon was also right on Jupiter’s ass, in the Second House. I mean, they were overlapping one another. I found this gem on an astrology site about the Second House: “Specific possessions covered by the Second House include earned income and our ability to influence it.”

    The Moon is waxing, and I had been reading in Agrippa that day about how the Moon has power over all growth and decrease (Book 2, chapter something or other). Since Jupiter is health and prosperity, and I needed both of these things for various other reasons, I thought, hey, that’s great!

    The other issue was Saturn hanging out in Virgo. As you may know, this can bring strife and discomfort into the hearth and home. My spouse was ill and dealing with a great deal of pain since Saturn wandered into Virgo. She’s a Capricorn, so I suspect that wherever Saturn wanders, she gets hit especially hard in that aspect of her life. This job issue was affecting our house and home and family, and knowing what I know about Saturn, I figured out that I would need to include this planet in the rite to get the boundaries moved.

    Since I was going to be trying to move the boundaries, I knew I’d need to go through the Sun to get to the proper part of Saturn’s sphere. The Solar Gate to Saturn provides the best landing pads, in my opinion. The Mars Gate sucks.

    So if you’ve been keeping track, by this time I had figured out I needed to work with the Sun, Saturn, Mercury, Jupiter, and the Moon. And it was a Tuesday. I looked at what I was thinking about, and laughed. Five of the Seven Governors working together to get me out of a mess on a day that none of them ruled. So what the hell, says I, I’ll throw Mars in too. I should probably have included Venus anyway, but it didn’t seem to make sense at the time. Looking back, it could have helped with the Hearth/Home issues too.

    So I had analyzed my situation and identified what some of the contributing factors were. I looked to the stars and found what was looking good and what wasn’t. I identified the key players, and figured out how each could be used magically to turn around my situation.

    So, in the hour of the Moon (because I was primarily trying to expand Jupiter’s influence to overcome the slow-but-steady aspect of financial growth that controls him while he’s in Capricorn), I conjured the following Archangels of the Planets:

    • Gabriel – Moon, to increase Jupiter’s influence
    • Tzadqiel – To increase Jupiter’s influence, bringing health and prosperity to the situation
    • Michael – To work with Tzaphqiel in a nice smooth manner to loosen bonds and move the boundaries that were constricting hearth and home, and to turn the boundaries from being walls of confinement into walls of protection
    • Tzaphqiel – To actually move the boundaries that were keeping our family poor and ill outwards, providing more space for the Jupiter-Moon effect to fill up the new gap, and to strengthen our defenses of our house and home
    • Raphael – To specifically aid in inter-communications between the other planetary governors, and to provide a focus on business to the rite
    • Kammael – Because it was Tuesday, at first, but as I was conjuring him I realized that he could add a certain “violence” to the rite, making its effects happen more quickly, and to turn it into a military campaign of sorts, like the Delta Force of Archangelic Powers

    I didn’t have time to set up a full ritual with all the incenses and lamens and seals and what have you. Astrologically, the clock was ticking, and I had about six minutes left in the Hour of the Moon, if I remember right. So I decided to go the Astral Temple route.

    I sat here in me leather chair before the computer monitor, closed me eyes and breathed. Focusing on the breath stills my mind, like the Qabalistic Cross used to back in the day when I practiced the GD-style magic. As my mind cleared, I began intoning the name of my HGA. At the same time, I visualized my Astral Temple around me. I basically placed myself at the center of the Altar setup I have, with the Four Angelic Kings surrounded by the Seven Planetary Seals. I felt my HGA’s presence in the room with me, and the golden light descended into my astral temple, bringing the seven planetary seals representing their spheres around me into sharp relief.

    As each of the Planetary Seals began to pulse with light and life, indicating to me that the Intelligences represented by each were at least listening, I began conjuring the Archangels. Each seemed to materialize around the seals that represented them, sort of. When I got to Raphael, the other Archangels seemed to clear up, and it was like putting on your glasses in the morning, or when the weather changes and a haze you didn’t realize was there just goes away.

    When I had all the Archangels present, I outlined why I had conjured them. I explained what had happened at work, and how it was affecting me. I then went through each of the Archangels mentioned above, and went over what it was I wanted them to do. I felt this warmth and this tingling in my body, which I had mostly forgotten about by then, and had to focus again on the temple. Can’t get distracted when the magic starts working.

    The Archangels all understood what it was I was trying to accomplish. Each agreed that they would do their part to make what I wanted manifest. It was a lot like a corporate meeting. they “talked” amongst themselves, and I sort of sensed what they were doing as different parts of my “Sphere” would resonate to each angel’s influence as they wove together the fabric of reality to accomplish what it was I was looking for.

    I thanked them, and my HGA, and God in Jesus name, and returned my awareness to my body. I felt completely different. Before beginning the rite, I was stressed, and felt a lot like a cornered, caged animal. The stress was like a heavy, humid heat wave on my soul. After the rite, it was jsut gone. Instead, I felt alive, healthy, and optimistic. That’s a big thing for me, because when I get going down the depression road that stess usually puts me on, optimism is the furthest thing from my mind.

    That day I got a call from the Vice President of the company I work for, and he went over everything that was going on with the contract in detail with me. He explained how things had happened, and what they were doing about it. He assured me that he would reissue a new contract that would work things out in my favor.

    My thoughts: “Yeah fucking right. You’ll say anything to keep me on your payroll, I’m making you money. No way I’m staying with a place that cut my paycheck in half and cut my benefits. Get fuct.”

    The next day, I got the contract. I got a raise, I got my benefits, and I was able to work out a 32-hour work schedule with the local sub-contractor that’s managing the project. I’m still losing money, but not half, and not the benefits. With a five-person family, you’ve got to hae benefits. That day, I also got multiple other job leads that would double my income for a couple of months, which was as long as the company expected me to be on reduced hours. I will be able to hold both jobs simultaneously by a stroke of luck.

    Now, ideally, I would have been performing divinations regularly enough to know what was coming. I would have seen this heading my way and done some proactive magic to eradicate the stress. I blame no one but myself. I’ve got to get a grasp on my life, and do all the things I mentioned in the Invisible College post so that I’m no longer left in a position of climbing back up the side of a cliff after I’ve run off like the Coyote chasing the Road Runner.

  • Proud of my Son

    So tonight my son, who is turning seven next month, expressed his concern that in his school’s winter program, they are singing songs about Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and some other stuff about winter, but there are no Christian or traditional Christmas songs celebrating Christmas specifically. I didn’t bring it up, his mother didn’t bring it up, he did. He figured it out on his own that his beliefs and experiences weren’t being represented. He feels cheated. He doesn’t want to participate.

    He’s got a strong sense of justice and righteousness. He’s a Scorpio, and a little genius. He’s not opposed to singing the other songs, he just wants his beliefs represented too. He wants it to be fair.

    As a Christian Magician, I know how he feels. Most of my friends and colleagues are pagan liberals. I’m a moderate Christian, with decidedly non-mainstream interpretations of what it means to be a Christian, but I get the blow-off from other magicians more frequently than I should. I understand why; Christianity has done wrongs in the name of Christ for thousands of years, and is chock full of disgusting loud-mouthed opinionated bigoted hypocrites. People have been hurt by people in the name of Christ, and it didn’t just happen hundreds of years ago, it’s happening right now as I type this, somewhere in the middle of America.

    It’s not fair though. People desperately demanding equal rights don’t give them. People demanding “justice” don’t want the scales even, they want them in their favor. They don’t see their own hypocrisy. No one ever does.I want people to overlook the wrongs other people have done in the name of Christ and see what I’m saying and judge it on its own merits. I try to do that with others. I fail sometimes, but I at least try.

    I want $7 Million Dollars, too.

    I expect to get the money before I see non-Christians treat Christians with the respect they expect.

    So my son wants to opt out of the Winter Holiday recital. We sent an email to the music teacher to get a list of the songs being sung, so that we can see if there’s something in there that represents his beliefs that he doesn’t recognize as traditionally Christian or Christmas-ey. We haven’t been to church in a year or so, he might just not recognize the songs as Christian. I’ll feel pretty lousy if that’s the case. I want him to participate with his friends and not to feel like an outcast because of his beliefs, if possible.

    If the school is presenting religious songs and excluding Christianity, I’ll stamp my feet and raise a stink. If it’s a secular Program, then I’ll explain the separation of Church and State to my son as best I can, and see if he wants to participate. If he still feels morally, ethically, or just plain old conscientiously unable to perform in it, then I’ll support him in his determination. Hell, he’s so stubborn he’d probably go but just stand there and not sing if I tried to make him anyway. He’s nobody’s fool.

    But I do expect to find out that Hanukkah and Kwanzaa are represented while Christianity is left out. I expect that all mention of the word “Christmas” will be verboten because it dares to have “Christ” in it. I expect my son to learn that his beliefs will, at times, leave him ostracized, pushed to the side, and treated disrespectfully. That saddens me, but I’m pragmatic and know he’ll learn it anyway.

    But I am totally and completely proud that he is willing to take the ostracism and stand by his convictions. That rocks.