I don’t care what you believe…

… just believe it!

I wish I could be sincere in that statement, because it is a truly beautiful one.  When it comes to spirituality, the one truth I can console myself with is that I really don’t care what others believe, just leave me out of it.  The second you drag me into your pit fight, you become wrong and I become vindicator of my truth.

I am Págánacht.

If someone tells you that, they aren’t sneezing and it’s rude and inappropriate to answer with ‘God bless you’.  Why? Because they are telling you they are a follower of a polytheistic belief system, specifically a Celtic Reconstructionist Pagan Heathen.

Before you get all excited about saving my soul, I was born into a family of diet Catholics (Episcopalian) and spent a number of my formative years in a southern Baptist congregation.  (They STILL send me mail after repeated requests to be removed from their list if for no other reason than it is a waste of resources. I find it simultaneously irritating and hilarious and have taken to coining an extreme level of disconnected denial “Southern Baptist level”.)

I am a Heathen by choice.  My decision to be so is no less personal than yours is to be a devotee of whatever faith buoys your own spirit, even if that is no faith at all.

For a significant period of time, people wishing me to have a “blessed day” didn’t really bother me, until I finally heard it from a fast food worker and decided I had had enough of it.  Just enough.  After some very provocative internal discourse, I find it grossly inappropriate that anyone, let alone someone passing out burgers and fries is injecting their fervor into my day unchallenged.  For a long time, I was determined not to be bothered by it.  I have since decided that I am bothered by it and it isn’t alright.  It isn’t harmless.  It isn’t a benign well-wishing.  We already have phrases to that effect.  “Have a nice day” is perfection in that instance.

Wishing someone a “blessed day” is tantamount to a passive-aggressive precursor inviting conversation regarding whether or not I’ve found Jesus.  He seems to get lost an awful lot.  Still another part of me finds it recklessly arrogant.  To go about bestowing blessings on others as though it were your particular assigned duty, or, to wish the multitudes blessings with no regard as to whether or not they are deserving, quelle vanité!

I am endlessly tolerant but for instances like these.

Those wishing me a ‘blessed day’ will now, in lieu of awkward silence, be greeted with, “I am a daughter of the Morríghan, I need no blessings but hers.”

Sláinte.

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