|
|
Ken Windwalker - one of
the original founders of WRCF.
Awen Blackthorn Phoenix
Ken Windwalker met Saira
[the other founder of WRCF] at Spiral Circle many years ago.
They were both Wiccan and dreamed of having a community with which
to share their spirituality and devotion. In 1991, they put an
ad in the paper and offered the first six-month class on Wicca,
which they called 'Crystal Moon Circle'... classes included
everything from history to traditions, herbalism, divination,
meditation, chanting, how to throw a great sabbat (smile), etc.
A group of dedicated pagans drove over from
Melbourne every week for half a year. I was in the second of
those six-month classes, and by September of 1992 - Ken, Saira, and
other members of the small community submitted paperwork to form the
Wiccan Religious Cooperative of Florida, Inc. This would
provide a bit more security and opportunity for pagans to acquire
meeting rooms and allow for an official sort of expansion of our
community.
One mundane memory about Ken is that he worked at
the 7-11 on Mills, near Colonial. Friends of mine from the
Unitarian Church called it the Gay 7-11, as they loved to pop in and
visit with Ken... they always received such a warm welcome and
greeting (they were gay too, so it is not as offensive as it
sounds). Ken had a great sense of humor and whether telling a
'bad' joke or flirting with you (regardless of gender), he would
always leave you smiling (or at least rolling your eyes - ha!).
I also recall that when Ken came to class, he would bring his staff
(more like a walking stick) which he carried in a sheath over his
shoulder, and also over his shoulder was a sheath of sodas (one
stacked upon another, so that it looked like he was carrying an
insulated bow). He would always share.
I remember Ken as a warm and loving human being.
He loved sharing his wisdom and experience. He especially loved to
chant and we always had song practice, especially before a Sabbat.
It didn't matter that he was tone deaf... I would give anything to
hear him sing today. In the beginning, I struggled with
meditation. When I closed my eyes I saw nothing but my own
mundane memories/thoughts (like reconciling my checkbook). I
was discouraged to hear of the visions my classmates enjoyed.
Not only did Ken offer great advice on finding the vision... he
would periodically call me at home to offer one on one sessions at
his home, which he shared with his partner Hank. Today, I
enjoy closing my eyes and going to magickal places in my mind... and
I know that it is the spirit of Ken Windwalker that guides me.
Ken passed into the Summerland (or Valhalla - he
followed the Nordic path) on August 26, 1996, at the young age of
32. I left his bedside only hours before he passed. It
was such a sad day. His memorial was a lovely service that
brought together a large portion of the pagan community for
mourning, and there was lots of chanting, personal letters and poems
that were written just for Ken were shared, and we cried to the tune
of Amazing Grace on the bagpipes. Ten years have passed, but I
swear I can still hear his voice on the wind on those days when it
seems to blow through you.
I hope this helps paint even a vague picture of a
wacky, wonderful, loving guy who continues to bless our community.
Bright blessings, Branwyn of Artemis (2006)
* * * * * *
Remembering Ken Windwalker
By Saira
One
Back in the days when Ken and I first started Crystal Moon, we were
doing ritual one night. We wanted to do some chanting/singing
(of course, Ken was always up for chanting and singing), but we
couldn’t decide what we wanted to do.
There were no fans, no A/C, no moving air, but
right in the middle of our discussion a paper suddenly flew off a
shelf in the room. We watched as it spiraled and turned in the
air and it suddenly fell flat in the middle of our Circle. We
looked at the paper and it was the words for Air Moves Us!
Give you two guesses which song we started singing!!
Two
Ken had a real thing for Yoda, from Star Wars. He found him to
be a metaphorical source for mystical insights and he frequently
“talked” to him in meditation. Personally, I wasn’t that keen
on Yoda – I was more of an Obi Wan fan, but I wasn’t in the practice
of inviting Obi Wan into meditation.
One evening, Ken and I went into meditation
during Circle. We both suddenly came out of it with a look of
surprise on our faces and quickly wrote down what we had seen.
(We always did that first so we could compare notes later).
Ken said, “I just had the weirdest experience – I went to my
usual place and instead of seeing Yoda, Obi Wan was sitting there."
I asked him where Yoda was and he said, “Oh, Yoda’s busy
right now – he’s giving advice to your friend.”
I couldn’t believe it! I went into
meditation, went to my usual place and Yoda was sitting there.
I said to him, “You know, if a Star Wars character is going to be
in my meditation, I’m surprised that it isn’t Obi Wan.”
Yoda replied, “Obi Wan is busy right now – he’s having a chat
with your friend.”
Three
Everyone knows that Ken was a prankster. He LOVED to play
jokes on people. One night Ken, Hank, my mother and I went out
to dinner. Unfortunately, I always end up with something from
the dinner on the front of my dress. Well, this night – even
though I had pasta – I didn’t get so much as one drop on my
clothing. Ken noticed and mentioned it when we left the
restaurant. Now this needs a bit of explanation – I used to
wear my watch on my right hand with the watch face on my inner
wrist. This meant that I had to completely turn my wrist to
look at the watch. Well, after dinner, we went back to Ken and
Hank’s house and we were engaged in a pretty deep discussion. As I
walked in the door, Ken asked me the time. I completely forgot
that I was holding a can of Diet Coke, went to look at my watch and
spilled the can of Coke down the front of my dress. I thought
he was going to die laughing! I wish I could hear him laughing
now.
Four
As everyone who knew him knows, Ken was a word person. He
loved to learn new words – even in other languages – and interject
them in conversation. The problem was, he didn’t always get
the words exactly right. He and Hank went on a Yiddish
colloquialisms kick so they could entertain my mother. It was
during this time that I was packing up to move. I made a
comment about having too much stuff and Ken said something to the
effect of, “Yeah, you have katshkes all over the place!”
What he meant was: I had chachkas (knickknacks) all over the
place! A katshke is a duck!
[Back to Top]
Flame red hair (with the spirit to match), blue
eyes and palest skin you'll probably ever see on a living person!
If you are looking for someone that is typical, regular or in anyway
normal or socially acceptable, I am not! Needless to say I
lean a bit toward the dark side but know I reside happily somewhere
in between! It's all about the balance between the two.
I have had that really put to the test here recently and have
emerged stronger, tougher and meaner than ever before!
My hubby is my best friend. I am probably
one of the few "No one of consequence" people that has bodyguards
and occasional security teams when I go out into the world! I have
lived hard, loved much and laughed loudly and often...the world is
such an infinitely funny place full of people that take it all too
seriously! I have led many different lives in lots of places
since I left my tiny hometown at 18, having few regrets and making
even fewer apologies.
My mother raised me to be a debutante and and my
father taught me to make bathtub napalm...so draw your own
conclusions... I can be your best friend, your confidante,
your inspiration, your nemesis or your worst nightmare...all in how
you look at it and me. Love me or hate me, at least you feel
something about me!
* * * * *
In Memory:
Her name was Awen Blackthorn Phoenix; also Trudy.
To those who knew her, and I number myself among
them, the names, at times, were used interchangeably.
She was known among us as a teacher, student, Member of our Circles,
and a member of the governing body of the WRCF. She was also a
friend to many of us; someone who would work herself to the point of
exhaustion, see the work done, then decide that she would get some
sleep when she “got around to it.”
She would pick up and care for the occasional stray, whether it
walked on four legs or two, and make sure there was always at least
a little room in the home for him or her. She never asked
about the pedigree of these wanderers; she just gave them shelter.
Wolfie, her husband and partner, was often a member of this gentle
conspiracy.
She was known for her cooking, which bordered on Arts Magickal, and
which always seemed to appear in supplies large enough to equip an
army on the march.
She had also served in the US Armed Forces, and was a veteran of
Operation Desert Storm. After her retirement, she settled in
central Florida; where she became someone we knew.
On Saturday, August 11, of the year 2007 by common reckoning, she
crossed from this world into the next, at the end of long illness.
There, encapsulated, is a description of a life, which describes it
not at all.
We are called on occasion to summarize a life with a handful of
words, knowing that the truth of the matter is that no amount of
words can describe a person we have known so well.
The description of a person, of his or her life, lies beyond the
boundaries of words. It is kept to the charge of the heart,
and of memory. In these places that person is enshrined. Words
are not, and can never be, equal to the task of that language
familiar only to the mind and the heart; kindred to the dominion of
the spirit.
That is how it should be.
I remember a flash of red hair, a lipsticked smile, and laughter
that could be a chuckling brook or the flow of a river.
A twinkle of the eyes, and a gloriously wicked sense of humor;
treasures in my recollection.
She shared her wit, dark or light by turns; and never, ever, common.
Smiles she shared, as well.
Stately, in walks with a dark lacy parasol. She could wear chain
mail or garb most feminine with equal ease. She was at home in
High Court or in camping grounds.
In large crowds, or small gatherings, she moved as easily as the
air.
I knew of her wood-working, and the scholarly bent of mind she could
adopt; proceeding from the irreverent to the serious, then back
again in a flash. One might barely catch the transition, so
smooth it could be.
In Mid-Summer, she was June straining at the confines of a common
blouse, lucky thing.
In Samhain, High Priestess who stood before the Veil.
And there, a handful of memories, my own.
Each of us has our recollections, personal and those shared in
common community.
Each of these is sacred, for they remind us of the person we knew;
the person who lives with all of us still.
It is a natural thing to wonder at the measure of a life; to ask
one’s self of its depths.
And here, we look toward the Halls of Memory, and those places known
to the heart.
That a person, passing, leaves a distinctive shape that can be
filled by them and only them, may be a thing of true measure here.
For we know the past of this life, and will miss the shape of its
future among us.
We may take a measure of comfort, for her, knowing that her illness
is fixed firmly in her past; and another measure, for ourselves,
knowing that there is a space in our Circle which will always belong
to her.
She has passed from this reach of life. Into death; then, into life
again.
Yet, in memory, and sense of Presence, she remains.
Immortal.
[Back to Top]
|
