Bloomington Pagans reflect on how they began practicing the "other" religion

As Bloomington resident Eric Ziemer stood over the newly poured concrete, he realized he could not cast the spell by himself. He needed help.

He tilted his head back, looking at the overcast sky, and let his eyelids flutter shut.

Through his goddess, he called on the element of water and requested that the oncoming rain spare the newly laid concrete at his friend’s home. His back started to tingle, the sensation building as the spell continued. It was working. The growing pinpricks began to crawl up his spine, settling in the back of his neck. It was going to work.

It did.

In the warm glow of the sun the following morning, Ziemer drove to his friend’s house. Puddles covered the pavement until he was half a mile away from her home, and the puddles disappeared. When he arrived, he walked directly into the backyard, the grass dry under his feet. No rain. He wasn’t surprised.

***

Ziemer, like many other witches, Wiccans and goddess-worshipers, is no longer keeping his beliefs to himself. He is part of what is now becoming a nationwide phenomenon: Paganism, a term encompassing hundreds of different beliefs and paths tied together by a common connection and devotion to nature.

According to the 2008 American Religious Identification Survey, the memberships of the “other religions” and “new religious movements” categories, which include Pagans, have more than doubled from 1990 to 2008, from 1.3 million to 2.8 million.

These spell-casters and ritual masters might seem as if they are struggling for attention, according to many critics, but their deep beliefs in Paganism and camaraderie among fellow believers often outshines any attempt at seeking attention.

Cultural anthropologist Stephanie Kane, associate professor in the Department of Criminal Justice and Department of Gender Studies, agreed.

“I think to say that people become Pagans for attention belittles them,” she said. “Pagans are drawn to it as a spiritual practice or because they were either neutral or just unhappy with their other religions.”

Pagans, like most members of any religious group, are simply looking for people who share the same beliefs.

***

The Greater Bloomington Area Pagan Meetup does not consist of dramatic characters dressed in capes and black lipstick, swinging their wands and
cursing every non-Pagan that gets in the way.

Instead, there were bagels spread across the green- and pink-flowered tablecloths outside of Stefano’s Ice Cafe in Fountain Square Mall.

Of the 125 members, the 14 that showed up had welcoming smiles stretched across their faces and told stories of families, lives and goals.

“I found this group from the web. I’ve just been looking for a group I could meet up with,” said new member Rebecca. “It’s kind of isolating just being a solo practitioner.”

“How long have you been wandering this path?” asked member Beckie Wagner.

“About five years now.”

“Well, welcome.”

New members shifted nervously in their seats. One member’s legs bounced up and down as another picked the skin around her electric-blue fingernails.

Wagner spoke of her youngest son, grimacing as she described his recent decision to become a “born-again Christian” because he thinks Jesus is cool.

She fingered the stenciled leaves on her sweatshirt as she explained her reasons for distrusting the Christian faith.

“The Bible is so hypocritical,” she said. “I just can’t get past it.”

Chucky Von Bierstein, legally known as Chucky Richardson, explains his decision for changing his last name: He likes beer and motorcycles, and Richardson didn’t convey that.

He ran a hand through his dark, long hair that rested atop the leather jacket he wore. His Bill Monroe Music Park T-shirt peeked out from underneath as he
promoted his band, Black Stone Ritual.

He said he is a follower of the Asatru path because of its German origins, which is where he is from. He spoke loudly as he shared his latest quest.

“I’m on a quest,” he said. “That quest is to come up with a spell that wins me the fucking lottery.”

His laugh was thunderous, and the other members couldn’t help but join in. The spell that Chucky spoke of is not the norm, and the spells and rituals of the Pagan faith are not used for such things.

***

“Most of the rituals are celebratory,” Ziemer said. “We’ll have one Feb. 2, Groundhog Day, which celebrates the pregnancy of the earth. It represents
potential. It represents your planting of intentions for the year. What things do we want to have ripen in our lives during the coming year?”

The 2012 Groundhog Day ritual will take place in a member’s home and begin by forming a nine-foot-diameter circle for the small group. The circle might be outlined by a row of small rocks or thin rope, and lit candles will be placed toward the four cardinal points.

Next, members will cast the circle, which is a dedication of the sacred space, and then face the altar in the center, placing themselves out of the normal time and space of everyday life. They will insert themselves into a halfway space between their normal lives and the divine.

Once in the halfway space, they will conduct “quarter calls,” calling upon the spirits of the directions and the elements they represent — air, fire, earth and water — with a blessing of the circle using water, salt, smoke and light in honor of those elements.

Whether it be through chanting, singing, dancing or drumming during this ritual, the earth will be honored.

***

The practice of rituals is not something many members of the group grew up with.
A member of the Greater Bloomington Area Pagan Meetup estimated 80 percent of Pagans begin their lives practicing more orthodox religions. The members of the Greater Bloomington Area Pagan Meetup are no exception.

Ziemer’s mother was Catholic, while his father was a follower of an old German reform group. He grew up somewhere between the two until he went to Loyola University Chicago, a Jesuit college, and didn’t agree with what he was learning.
Wagner was raised in a Christian church until 1984, and when she was fed up with the hypocrisy of the church, she opened her first occult book.

“In my first circle, I knew this was right,” she said at the meeting. “I’ve been here ever since.”

The members continued on, laughing, joking, each telling a small piece of what is sure to be a larger story. The ice machine from the cafe drowned out the voices of some of the quieter members, until suddenly it stopped and only one voice was heard.

“When I was 18, my father gave me artifacts from my great-grandpa and said, ‘Your great-grandpa was a witch.’”

Martinsville resident Natalie Black, a group organizer, is now the center of attention. The silver rings on her fingers clanked together as she leaned forward, talking mostly with her hands.

Her interest in Greek mythology at the young age of 8 sparked her interest. Praying to Greek gods and goddesses led to an interest in witchcraft, which led to an interest in Paganism.

“I identified as a Pagan first,” she said. “Feeling like I was a witch built with time. I know now that I am a witch.”

Her pixie-cut black hair, school-girl giggle and her two children running around her gave no indication this woman is a witch, but her knowledge of the subject and her determination to start a new form of witchcraft help the pieces fall into place.

“I’ve been initiated into many different forms of witchcraft, but at this point, a friend and I have founded our own tradition,” she said. “We’ve taken our training from these diverse courses and have combined them to make something that we think is a lot more satisfying.”

Around the table, heads nodded in agreement. The enthusiasm in Black’s eyes as she talked about her beliefs was mirrored in the eyes of the people around her. Nervous legs stopped bouncing, and hands stopped picking at the skin on fingers. The passion with which Black spoke was something each person knew and had felt before.

There were no wands on the table and no potions being mixed — only a member of a heavy metal band, a couple mothers, a hospital worker and a few students with commonalities and beliefs that run deep.

***

Two weeks after Ziemer protected the concrete from impending rain, he was hit with a reminder of just how deep his beliefs run.

“When you have called up to the goddess, you release and thank them afterward,” he said. “I forgot to. I was in the middle of my daily ritual, and I got hit in the head by something. I fell down, but there was nothing there. And then it occurred to me.”
After hanging up his telephone, he ran to the car and drove the familiar route to his friend’s house. The palms of his hands nervously played against the steering wheel. He knew what he needed to do.

The grass and leaves crunched underneath his heavy steps as he ran to the concrete. Stopping in the same place he was two weeks ago, he tilted his head back, his gray hair lighter in the soft sunlight. His eyes fluttered shut as he apologized to the goddess he believes in most.

It wouldn’t happen again.