I had dinner with two of my very dearest friends in the whole world last night and I remembered just how liberating it is to sit and talk with the people who really understand you, who provide you with endless reasons to admire them, who will call your name at Samhein when you are gone. Once, in my wicked youth and childhood, I must have done something good.
At one point, we got to talking about: Where would you travel to if money and time were no object? Both E and S are better travelers than I, and they both had lists of more exotic places than I have. With my moon in Taurus, which S kept insisting was no excuse for me, I like to stay home, living my well-ordered life, among my lovely things. But if money were no object, which, I admit, can make travel much more palatable, there are two places that I'd like to go to before I die.
I'd like to be in Sweden, home of my maternal ancestors, on Litha, when the sun shines all day and all night long and people hop in boats to go across the water to Denmark to buy beer, when they go to small cottages in the mosquito-infested woods and entertain their neighbors.
And, I'd like, in deep midst of deepest winter, to see the Aurora Borealis when the dancing sky is at its peak, which apparently happens every 17 years.
Where would you go, if you could go first class, if money and time were no object, if the urge to travel overtook your love of staying home, tending your garden, drinking a cup of tea?
e.e. cummings - Buffalo Bill's Buffalo Bill's defunct who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat Jesus
he was a handsome man and what i want to know is how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death?
I admit that I am surprised. I expected Hillary to vote as he voted, in order to show that she's supporting him, in an effort to get him to continue to pay off her campaign debt. Instead, as she so often, although not always, does, she did the right thing.
But she was shrill. She cackled. She was a "ball-buster." Marc Penn! The announcer in her commercials sounded too much like an announcer! She said, "Not as far as I know" the fourth time she was asked if Obama was a Moslem! She's likeable enough! People were "just more comfortable" with him.
Good poetry begins with the lightest touch, a breeze arriving from nowhere, a whispered healing arrival, a word in your ear, a settling into things, then like a hand in the dark it arrests the whole body, steeling you for revelation.
In the silence that follows a great line you can feel Lazarus deep inside even the laziest, most deathly afraid part of you, lift up his hands and walk toward the light.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."