Living Activism

by Trixie Digger/Mark Leger Circle.

A halo around the head of St. Martin de Porres. A Zen brush drawing. A meeting of activists. A gathering of witches.

The journey of the Earth around the Sun. A raw biscuit, cut through the dough. A resting spiral. A straw hut.

A cooking pot. Hands extended in supplication. An empty vessel.

This writing is an account of the memory of the working of sacred form through my life, which is inseparable from my activism. It’s not about Reclaiming, as an institution, or Radical Faerie, as an institution. To my mind, both exist as a coming together to let loose ideas, approaches, memes, forms into the world. Which is not to say that maintaining traditions and the institutions that sustain them isn’t important work. But maintaining the institutions is not, ultimately, the core of the work. The core of the work is to heal.

My first exposure to the Reclaiming tradition was one of derision. I was a young activist in San Francisco, evolving from a staunch socialist to a loose limbed anarchist. This was in early 80s; AIDS was ravaging the queer world, and I was just at the age to witness the eclipse of the liberatory 70s into something much darker and very scary. Why are our friends sick and dying? Was it poppers? Too many antibiotics? Overloaded immune systems?

“Witchcraft and Marxism” At our collective meetings, we tussled over who would work the door. None of us wanted to do it, or at least, admit it. Eye roll all around -- “Maybe we can get Rick to do it. He’s ‘spiritual.’” Snicker.

One of the projects I worked on was the Socialist School, which offered one-off lectures, workshops and six week classes on topics like Beginning Marxism and Critical Theory. Our most popular event ever was a panel discussion on

Then in 1984 I joined an “anti-militarist, direct action faggot affinity group” called Enola Gay, named, ironically, after the plane that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. Enola Gay was affiliated with the Livermore Action Group (LAG), which was as much a network as a focused institution. Affinity groups were the basic unit of LAG. Typically composed of about six to a dozen people–coven-sized–it was a way of building connection within difference. You affiliated with people with whom you shared something deeply held in common. There were affinity groups composed of Quakers, dancers, Marxists, you name it. Affinity groups formed into clusters, which formed into the rambunctious network that was LAG and the peace movement in the age of Reagan. Enola Gay was a group of radical gay men who identified with their faggot ancestors, burned at the stake by the patriarchy. Despite ourselves, we were notorious for frequently being the first group to lead off actions.

I was not an original member, and didn’t participate in the first big action–the 1983 blockade of Livermore Weapons Laboratory, when hundreds were jailed for nearly two weeks. But I did participate in several later actions, including spending five days in jail for the second blockade of Livermore. Enola Gay met once a week, and for me it was deep immersion into consensus process, queer fellowship, and the power of the circle. Several of the members identified proudly as pagans, and talked about going to rituals and faerie gatherings. I was something of a prick in those days, tending toward controlling and sarcastic. (And, to hug the young man I was then, courageous, passionate, energetic, intelligent, with a blessedly deep well of the ability to be kind and loving.) I honor the good humor and patience of my generally older comrades who put up with me. And while I was exposed to their deep spirituality, my critical mind kept me from immediate participation. Even though I was only one degree removed, I didn’t know Reclaiming or the book The Spiral Dance. My Enola Gay comrades talked about Starhawk, but she wasn’t somebody I felt compelled to seek out.

Jump cut to New York in 1992. I had moved here three years before, and all of a sudden I felt compelled to investigate witchcraft and neo-paganism. I was aware that Enola Gay had been the most profound activist experience of my life, and knew I needed to revisit what had made it so powerful. I read The Spiral Dance, as well as Truth or Dare. I made an altar and joined a beginner’s training led by Endora and Delilah, now Dashboard. I got a witches wheel tattooed on my right shoulder. It’s based on a sailors tattoo of a compass, but all the points are the same size-- north, northeast, east, southeast, south, and around. It’s a reminder of the circle of the year, and to this day I observe each of the sacred sabbaths, even if it’s only a quick smudge to clear the energy of my house.

As fate would have it, I was able to spend time around Starhawk. First in Mexico, in 1996, at a gathering of bioregionalists, she taught me how to use a machete as we worked with others to clear the ground for a vegetable garden at an elementary school. Then in 2001, I was with my friend Leslie in Quebec for a convergence at the time of the gathering of heads of states from the western hemisphere for Free Trade Agreement of the Americas. Two years after Seattle, authority was broaching no refusal. The activists who converged were drenched with tear gas. People were disappeared off the street into dark SUVs. Police agents made scant attempt to disguise themselves as they infiltrated our meeting and trainings. The pagans affiliated with Reclaiming manifested as a festive parade, invoking the healing and protective powers of water. I remember an energizing blue, and blessed smiles. That night after the big day of action, we built a huge bonfire at the base of the castle hill, on top of which Bush gathered with the presidents of and prime ministers of the Americas. We pounded the freeway railings with sticks -- rhythmically, insistently -- and danced. My introspective nature lead me to meditation. My first teacher was Paul Brown, one of the original Sisters of

Perpetual Indulgence, who taught me Transcendental Meditation. That led me to Zen Buddhism. In my mind, I had made up all kinds of conflicts between my pagan observances and my Zen practice. Then, one time in a face to face interview with my Zen teacher, Bonnie Myotai Treace, I said that I missed the observation of the four directions and the four sacred elements. She said, why do you think there’s an offering of water, of flowers, of incense, and candles on the altar?

It’s all there, Mark. It’s all there.

One of the reason I’ve maintained my connection to the Faeries is that we recognize the value of a spiritual life, without a professional priesthood or much of an orthodoxy. I’ve been able to integrate the values and the mode of analysis learned from the secular left. The still center and the commitment to peace of Buddhism. The recognition of forms and patterns and respect for nature and the experience of the body from paganism. My queer, gender dysphoric self. All of these traditions incorporate aspects of the other. They are interlinked. For me, it’s a question of finding the patterns that draw those links. The altar at the Zen practice center and at the Crone Circle at Faerie Camp Destiny. The Left’s commitment to equality, peace and economic justice and the activist commitment of Reclaiming. They’re all points on an ever-revolving circle, the wheel of the year and of the universe.

I’m knitting a hat today following a new pattern that I really like. It is worked out from the center. Cast on four stitches. Increase to eight stitches. Distribute the eight stitches onto four needles. Increase at the quarter and the cross-quarter.