Category Archives: Humanities

Praying With Bede Beads

My friend Dave wrote about Bede beads, a form of prayer beads rooted in his practice of Asatru. He introduces the topic by writing:

Prayer beads were devised to help people to keep track of repetitive devotions. They enabled one to pray while doing routine jobs and between activities. In the very earliest times, prayers were marked by dropping little pebbles one by one on the ground.

About 500 years before Christ, people tied knots in strings. Primitive forms of prayer beads were made of fruit pits, dried berries, pieces of bone, and hardened clay. Stringing cranberries for decorating Yule trees may be a prayer bead holdover. The wealthy, of course, used precious stones and jewels. Ostentation never goes out of style.

The most ancient Indo-European religion still practiced, Hinduism, uses prayer beads. Hindu prayer beads are considered by many to be the oldest prayer beads in the world. The japamala (muttering chaplet) is first mentioned in the Atharvaveda of about 800 BC. Hindu prayer beads have 109 beads: 108 for the names of the gods and a “mother” or “guru” bead that marks the starting place. These beads are made from Rudraksha, the dried fruit of Elaeocarpus Ganitrus.

Curiously enough, the Catholic rosary was developed in Germany – not the Middle East. I wonder how many Catholics know that the Bible itself, in Matthew 6:7, explicitly condemns counting prayers as a pagan practice. It seems pretty clear (to me, anyway) that repeating prayers has a solid Heathen foundation.

With these traditions in mind, I set out to develop a system for Heathens to use the runes in meditation and prayer: but I couldn’t bring myself to call it a “rune rosary”, and “Heathen prayer beads” sounds too generic. Hence the name: Bede Beads. The word “bed” means “prayer” in Anglo-Saxon, and became “bede” in Middle English. It’s the origin of the modern word “bead” – which is another huge hint that this is an ancient practice.

Beads are very useful for aiding in meditation, in prayer and even in memorization. While my creations are runic in nature and designed around the Elder Futhark, one could obviously use beads in other ways to offer Heathen prayer. Sets of 33 or 29 beads for the Anglo-Frisian Futhorc, or following the Hindu tradition a strand of beads that represents the major Aesir and Vanir. One could do the Nine Worlds and Nine Noble Virtues, even the catalogue of dwarves from the Poetic Edda.

Their use is limited only by your imagination: I’ve even noted that the smaller runic “chaplet” (pictured above) makes a nice Yule tree ornament!

Dave then provides suggestions on how to create one’s beads, the material, and possible types of prayer to use. As one who was raised Catholic and has prayed using the rosary, and who then adapted to mala beads for meditation, I’m intrigued by the application of these beads to Pagan prayer, since it is a spiritual expression I am exploring deeply these past few months.

Hey, You. Yes, You!

You Reading This, Be Ready

Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shinging floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life–

What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

–William Stafford

Who?

who is this existence
who puts sadness
in your heart

who is this soul
who sweetens your grief
as soon as you crawl

the one who first frightens you
with deadly snakes
before opening the treasure vault

who changes a monster
to an angel
a sorrow to happiness

who gives the blind
wisdom and
inner sight

who changes darkness
to light
thistles to flowers

who sheds the sins
of the sinful like
autumn leaves

and puts guilt
in the heart of
its own enemies

who makes them
repent and in silence
says amen and
whose amen brings
inner happiness
and soulful delight

who changes bitter thoughts
to lightness and
joyous zeal

bestows fire
and makes you leap
with unknown joy

the fire that can
make a hero
from a desperate heart

who is this existence
who is this
tell me who

— Translation by Nader Khalili
Ghazal (Ode) number 528, from Rumi’s Diwan-e Shams,
“Rumi, Fountain of Fire” Burning Gate Press, Los Angeles, 1994

Wholeheartedness

Wholeheartedness is a precious gift, but no one can actually give it to you. You have to find the path that has heart and then walk it impeccably….It’s like someone laughing in your ear, challenging you to figure out what to do when you don’t know what to do. It humbles you. It opens your heart.

–Pema Chödrön

Using One’s Energy

There is another most excellent blogger, also named Kat (all these wonderful Kat-people!), who wrote the following reflection:

The images of the people and animals whose lives have been tossed around by the tsunami and its aftershocks continues to drift through my heart and mind. I know that feeling of utter hopelessness when everything you know is suddenly gone, but not in any degree comparable to what hundreds of thousands are going through right now. Nothing that I can do but send money and well wishes through the energy lines.

You can do that, too. When the situation arises in your mind, rather than go to the horror of it, the fear, opt out of sending out those emotions and instead send them good will and messages of: hang in there, help is on the way, you’ll make it through this, you are not alone.

We are all connected by these cords of energy that link everything and everyone. You can use those cords to help those in crisis to move away from the fear and into that place of quiet joy that is always with us, no matter what is occurring.

It’s so easy to get caught up in how we all want more, how so many of the things we want elude us. But we all live lives of unbelievable luxury, where a hot shower is a faucet turn away, and a dry night’s sleep is right there under the covers.

Tonight is a good night to feel the gratefulness for all that Life brings, to send out: thank you Life for always taking such good care of us, for always bringing us exactly what we need, and thank you for the things that you take away, even as we usually don’t understand the whys and what fors, and especially, thank you for our lives . . . thank you for our lives . . .

—Dating God

Indeed.

The Point

I grew up with a saying I thought was just oh-so-sarcastic and funny. When someone was beating a dead horse, so to speak, I would concede: “Yes, you do have a point. And if you comb your hair right and wear a hat, it won’t show!” This was always followed by a bit of chortling — by and large my own.

As I was catching up on my favorite blogs today, I saw that Kat and her boyfriend were pondering The Big Question: What is The Point? She wrote:

And then he asked me what I thought the point was. I was feeling gentle when I told him that life is short. I believe that we are given opportunities all over the place and we meander through them picking and choosing what seems best at that moment. But mainly we’re here to enjoy life. It’s amazing. It’s beautiful. We’re here to have relationships with others, small and large. Small moments and life-long attachments. The stuff that ends up being the most meaningful is the little stuff that we so often take for granted. I told him not to worry so much, that everything would be ok. And it was another one of those moments when what I told him was what I so often need to hear myself.

Well put, dear Kat. I raise my mug of tea to you. I needed to hear this as well. And by all means, leave your hair mussed and uncovered — I think this is a point worth seeing.

Its Own Light

As the eyes cannot see themselves, so it is with the soul;
it is sight itself, and therefore it sees all. The moment
it closes its eyes to all it sees, its own light makes it
manifest to its own view. It is for this reason that
people take the path of meditation.

–Hazrat Pir-o-Murshid `Inayat Khan, A Meditation Theme for Each Day,
Selected and arranged by Hazrat Pir Vilayat `Inayat Khan

Give the World

As we approach the holiday season, remember there are many children in situations where money is scarce. You will soon see Christmas trees at the mall with paper ornaments describing age, gender, and suggested gift item for a child. Or you may receive a flyer in the mail requesting your assistance. One event I always support is a book drive. Encouraging a child to read cultivates a life-long habit of curiosity and resourcefulness. It also helps a child to learn that a good book is a friend that can entertain or provide solace.

Locally, the San Jose Mercury News is sponsoring The Gift of Reading drive. They accept books and monetary donations. I always enjoy choosing childhood favorites to give, imagining the pleasure I am spreading to a new generation. Please consider participating, or find a local drive in your area.

Simply For The Love Of It

The thinking iterated in this excerpt demonstrates the travesty of elevating “arts” as something that only “special, creative” people do.

Despite the maxim about old dogs and new tricks, I don’t think age alone creates such fears. Our society values professionalism and disdains amateurism. Why should I try Irish dancing when I can see “Riverdance”? Why should I attempt to play piano when I can pop Count Basie into the CD player? Why should I expose my clumsiness in sports when I can watch the Ice Capades on the telly? Such emphasis on professionalism makes us consumers rather than dancers, musicians, skaters — or painters. We stop doing things just for love and start spending money instead.

My clearest memory of being discouraged from artistic amateurism came when I entered high school. Like most children, I had always loved art: building pudgy clay pots, painting flowers for mommy, coloring everything colorable. But high school changed all that. My first day, the art teacher — a woman, I regret to say — informed us that the world is divided into artists and non-artists. Artists, as she told it, were different than ordinary folk. They saw things more clearly, felt things more deeply, suffered torments as the crass world grated against their sensitive souls. Such people, she said, were rare and precious. They were geniuses. She had never seen more than one per class. One genius, all the rest clods. Our work would reveal the truth. She would be the judge.

Then she gave us our first assignment.

You can imagine the anxiety as we drew silently, each hoping not to be revealed as an insensitive clod. Appallingly, I can still remember my piece, a little landscape. It seemed very sensitive indeed to me, seemed to reveal my inner torment and depth of soul. I shook as I handed it in.

I shook even harder when the teacher picked up my little drawing. My heart stopped in anticipation. I felt like I was choking. Was it true? Could it be I was an artist? A genius?

But no. The teacher picked my drawing to show how plodding some work could be, how derivative, how lacking in insight. Another student — I do not remember who, I was in a blur of pain — was pronounced the class genius.

I vowed, at that moment, never to paint again.

–Patricia Monaghan, Just For the Love of It, Matrifocus

I had a similar experience in my night grade English class. I wrote a short story that earned a lower grade that I’d expected, and I was crushed. I never wrote fiction again until my late twenties, when due to the paucity of available classes I had to sign up for a fiction writing class for my degree. I managed to do well in that class, but I found writing a torture. I believe that my resistance to writing fiction is rooted in that original experience. Fortunately for Monaghan, she decided to plunge through her fear and made a happy discovery, which you can enjoy by clicking on the Matrifocus link above.

Remembering Iris Chang

Chang’s sudden death came as a blow to many of her colleagues in the Bay Area, to whom she has lent generous time and support in pursuit of reparation and an apology from the Japanese government for atrocities committed by Japanese soldiers against Chinese soldiers and civilians.

—San Jose Mercury News

Chang had recently been battling severe depression. Services will be held for her next week. The family asks that memorial contributions be made out to the University of Illinois, Iris Chang Scholarship Fund, and sent to the attention of Nancy Casey at the University of Illinois Journalism Department Scholarship Fund, 119 Gregory Hall, 810 S. Wright St., Urbana, Ill. 61801.

Chang is the author of investigative books such as The Rape of Nanking and The Chinese in America, among other works.