Why me? Why not?

It’s a question that comes across whiny. But how many of us haven’t asked it—at least silently.

Why me?

Why was I born into this family? Why was I born in these circumstances? Why did this accident or misfortune (or even this good fortune) happen to me? Why should I be the one to speak up when injustice is going down? Why should I be the one to take the lead?

Of all the others it could have been… why me?

Some people think gods or astrology or fate or karma is responsible for such things. And I can’t say for sure that they’re wrong or claim that I haven’t wrestled with these ideas myself.

Image via Pixabay

We also look at someone else, whether in misfortune or good fortune and ask ourselves why it is that person. It is comforting when misfortune happens to those we see making poor choices and when good fortune comes to those we see working diligently toward it. That seems to confirm our wish that life should be “fair.”

But far too often the opposite is what actually happens. People who deserve it least do have accidents or other misfortune, and there are plenty of lazy and uncouth people among the wealthy.

But this isn’t just a question about the fickle nature of chance. We ask this question at least as often when it comes to why someone should take up a responsibility or step into a role. This is not chance, but rather an active decision—one that many people could make but most choose not to. If you have never seen a great need for action and asked, “Why should I be the one to handle this?" you probably aren’t paying enough attention?

I wonder if Greta Thunberg asked herself why she of all people should go out and protest alone, since no one else was doing it at the time. I don’t know if she questioned. It needed to be done, so she did it. But maybe she wrestled with doubts too.

Three years ago, I had an intense spiritual year in which I was called to follow in the footsteps of the Irish goddess Brighid. I continue to do so as best I can.

I didn’t ask “why me” at the time. It seemed reasonable. She is a goddess of making crafts, poetry and healing, and in a more ancient sense, she is a goddess of social justice. She is generally seen as a nurturing hearth goddess, but she has been known to ride out to do battle with greed or tyranny when no one else is available. And that is much the way I am, so it seemed natural that I might be called to her.

But now there is often an answer to my “why me”. thoughts. The answer is often, “because you are mine and you agreed to this path.” And so I did.

While Brighid doesn’t have the harsh reputation of the Morrigan or Hekate or Kali, this path isn’t easy. It entails a lot of quietly tending a hearth, providing for and nurturing while others go out and do things with great purpose. It doesn’t get a lot of thanks or recognition.

And when I finally am called to some great purpose—to take a stand for justice—it is always a lonely stand, usually standing up for those who can’t speak for themselves or signaling a need for healing, which is not always welcome.

In such times, I do sometimes want to whine, “Why me?” Why should I be the one to serve others? Why should I be the only one to stand up for an unpopular truth or put out this or that fire. So, here it is.

Why not?

That is the question I should ask, not just in my decisions but also in those matters of chance. Why was I born legally blind? Well, why exactly not? Things happen.

Why was I born in a country whose language has taken over the world, mostly through unjust colonization, while my ESL students have to spend years learning that language in order to have a professional career? Why not?

Sometimes there is an answer to that question, such as “Because no one should be so automatically privileged.” And that gives us the reason that the question. “Why me?” is rarely helpful, but “Why not?” is sometimes a useful question to ponder.

When I found the ecological justice movement Extinction Rebellion, I know it was Brighid’s answer to my prayers for purpose and some call beyond the endless hearth-tending. And so, I went with it and gladly took the roles in the local group which are marked on Brighid’s path. I organized the healers, both by putting together first aid kits and training medics but also by working with crisis psychologists to set up a team for psychological support. I brought lots of cake, and when necessary, learned to make vegan food. I helped the writers and press spokespeople get set up.

But when the most vulnerable are denied a voice and no one else stands up, I want to yell, “Why me?” and I hear it… a warm chuckle, “Why not?”

This is how I get into these messes.

The modern-day hearth IS the kitchen table

When my husband and I realized the dream of owning our own home 15 years ago, the first thing I did was get a kitchen table.

And this wasn’t just any old table. It had to be THE table. I felt that in my bones.

I grew up in two houses. The first one was little more than a shack. The kitchen table was in the living room and it was makeshift, a piece of plywood on round logs stood up on end. But everything happened at that table. It was the only writing surface in the cabin. It was the place we made things, ate, celebrated holidays, had important talks…

When my father finally finished building “the big house” after ten years, we had a real table in a nook between three big windows next to the kitchen. The table itself was made from the heart of an ancient pie-cherry tree, loving known as “Grandmother cherry tree” to the local children. It is solid enough to dance on and continues to be the beating heart of the Farnam clan, the point to which everyone returns from distant travels and other homes, and the place friends come back to. When you sit at the old cherry-wood table, you know you’re home.

So, I knew the table had to be special. Fortunately, I had the perfect solution. An Egyptian carpenter in Prague was a friend. I commissioned him to build a table to my specifications—eight feet long and four feet wide, and yes, strong enough to dance on if the occasion should ever demand it.

Creative Commons image by Peter Miller

My carpenter friend fell sick and struggled to finish the table and the cabinets I had commissioned before leaving the country for a long convalescence. The result was that the table legs don’t exactly match the floor tiles underneath and the table rocks. So, for fifteen years, I’ve put folded up newspapers under one corner to keep it steady.

But otherwise it is one excellent table. I do actually stand on it regularly—to hang bundles of herbs from the ceiling. And it feels as steady as the floor, thanks to those newspapers and its massive wooden slab.

In that time my table has become a bit battered. I loved it when it glowed with a fine even finish. But since then it has been chopped by knives, hammered on by nutcrackers, drawn on and carved by children, burned by ritual candles reaching the ends of their wicks and scorched by many a hot pan. There are marks I can run my fingers over and bring back a family dinner or incident as clear as day. It has become the heart of my home as well, maybe not as heavy a draw as the great cherry-wood table far away in Oregon, but still worthy.

When we built our house, I was also adamant that we must have a wood stove of some kind, even if we planned to heat mostly through environmentally friendly electrical systems. I thought that the wood stove was the heart of a home, after all. Both of my childhood homes had stoves and in the case of the “big house” even a real stone hearth with broad lava rocks and a curved wooden mantle.

I absorbed from the culture, stories and lore the idea of the hearth as the place of greatest importance in the home, even though experience didn’t bear it out. In my first childhood home, the wood stove was an ugly brown monstrosity that lurked near the door. We never sat around it and the only time it was of primary importance was the few times that a major winter storm knocked out the power and we couldn’t pump water out of the well. We then had to cut chunks of ice and heat them in a metal laundry tub on the wood stove, because the kitchen propane stove was too small.

Even the massive and beautiful hearth in the big house of my childhood is not the heart of the family. It is technically in the center of the house and it takes up an inordinate amount of room. It is where various things are displayed and on some winter evenings people do sit in front of it. But most of the year it just gathers dust.

I see many Pagan blogs and books encouraging modern Pagans to treat their electric or propane kitchen stoves or their radiators like a hearth. We are encouraged to make a small altar near them to the hearth goddess, house spirits or ancestors and to approach work at the stove with reverence. While I don’t see any harm in that I find the comparison to the ancient symbol of the hearth to be a mismatch.

The radiators that carry central heating to the rooms of a house today are so far from the concept of a hearth that trying to treat them as such is often depressing. I’ve done so in hotel rooms and while there was nothing better to do, the concept just wasn’t there. They heat the room. For part of the year, they have a purpose. The rest of the year, they are inert. In warmer areas there is no heating system at all and more likely to be an air-conditioner.

The kitchen stove is a closer concept. At least we cook there. That is where we prepare the food to nurture our families. For many people who are the primary cook in a household, the kitchen stove can take on great importance. But the fact is that it is primarily that person who feels it. It is not actually the center of the home or family. It is part of how we process food. It isn’t meaningless, but it doesn’t have the central importance that the hearth once had.

The ancient hearth was the source of warmth. It was also the place where food was prepared. But its key importance was as the magnet that drew the family or clan together. Certainly it drew them because of the warmth and the food. But it’s most important function was as that beating heart of the basic social unit.

The Pagan concept of hospitality grows out of that. When we talk about giving weary travelers or those in need a place by the hearth, we don’t mean just that we should give them food and shelter. In so far as that practice is crucial to many cultures, it is more about taking someone into the family or community, offering them not just the physical but the social, emotional and spiritual sanctuary of the group.

To be banished from the hearth is to be truly outcast. There is an element of physical loss of sustenance and warmth but it is much more the feeling of rejection and social ostracism that make that such a terrible concept.

And that is why I say that today, the kitchen table is much more the equivalent of the hearth. That is where most people gather. It is a place connected to food and family, home and unity. In some homes the television may play a close second, if the family mostly gathers there. Still with a television, the focus is never on the family. There is never a circle around it by definition. And so, I argue that the table is the best modern equivalent we have.

The sad truth is that far too many homes don’t even have a kitchen table or any other gathering and eating place anymore. Far too many people, particularly those who find themselves trapped in poverty, lack the basic equipment and spaces to cook or eat food at home. They are forced to eat ultra-processed food and this brings with it a whole host of negative health effects. It also generally means that these same people have no place that is the equivalent of the ancient hearth, a symbol shared by every human community on earth with crucial ancestral importance.

That fact may have deep psychological and cultural results, as we not only grow further from nature but also further from the deepest roots of our sense of community and hospitality. For that reason, the hearth as a symbol gains even greater importance. Those of us who do have a kitchen table or another equivalent gathering place do well to honor that place and recognize the great privilege and fortune that having it reflects.

The next time you give thanks for a meal and thank the cooks, the farmers, the animals, the plants, the land and the ancestors, spare a thought for the table itself, the tree it is made of and the hearth it has become.

Hearth-side comfort that's in tune with the moon... and free

The popular hearth-side email circle, which now has over 500 subscribers, provides interesting posts on practical herb lore, earth-centered spirituality, social inclusion and simple living. Now this newsletter-come-virtual-cup-of-tea will also help you take note of the phases of the moon.

This past year I have synchronized a lot of my activities with the phases of the moon. It has helped me to not only increase my garden's productivity but also to become more closely attuned to the natural environment.

Creative Commons image by  John Flannery 

It's a challenge though. Our calendars are not set up that way. In the beginning, you have to keep checking moon phases and be more conscious of routines to make it work on your own.

That's why i wasn't successful in some of my attempts to do this in previous years. But this year I have done it and now that it is done it feels easy and natural to me. 

I can now pass this on to my readers. Instead of sending out the Hearth-side emails on Fridays. I will be posting in the twenty-four hours before the new moon and before the full moon, barring computer glitches. 

This will lessen the frenetic pace, ensure better quality reading and give you a heads up on the moon phases, which won't require any extra attention. New subscribers are welcome. You can subscribe via the form at the end of this post and unsubscribe automatically at any time. New subscribers also get to choose a free ebook.

The moon is dark at the moment and in the northern hemisphere the nights are short with the summer solstice just passed. As far north as I live on the 50th parallel there are only a few hours of intense velvet darkness. If you can get out away from city interference and smog, the stars can be particularly brilliant

I wish you deep and refreshing rest as well as abundant energy for new beginnings in the morning. Take time to experience the season of summer, the sun, the wind and the dappled shade.