My path is unique, special. My teacher is not just the man whom I call my High Priest. My teacher is the wind and the trees. It is the thoughts of my ancestors. It is the tears I shed over the death of loved ones. It is the joy in an orgasm and the wholeness I feel while racing down a hill on a bicycle, wind rushing through my hair, life running through my veins. It is my stress over college and life and it is my determination, my will. My teacher is the Universe.

It is wrong of me to say that my teacher comes from several different pagan lines, taught by both his ancestors and people outside of his bloodline. To say I am part of an ancestral tradition takes away from it – because I am not a descendant of my teacher.

Our path is rooted in one simple question: Why? We seek through our religion, meditation, thought and action, to answer the questions that come to us, no matter how trivial. We seek to gain knowledge from the simplest events in life. We tend to be interested in the conceptual truths – the patterns – instead of the practical, here and now truths. We would rather discover what it takes to make a boat float, than just be told how to build one.


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