Jebuz Fuck

You know, Nino, Roberts, Thomas, and Alito (I'm just taking a wild guess) didn't grant cert in this case in order to do us any favors. It's the oddest damn thing about xians. If you try and prevent them from using the government and state funds to further their discrimination, you are apparently stepping all over their religion which, "render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's" apparently notwithstanding, apparently requires them to use the government and state funds to discriminate against, well, almost anyone but white men who believe what they believe.

Links to petition and responses here. LA Times article here.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why, no matter how big a disappointment Obama has been, presidential elections matter.

Picture found here.

She Who Listens To The Cries Of The World

Here's a lovely story about a pavilion built to honor Quan Yin. We have so few temples to the Goddess here in America, but the rest of the world is not so impoverished.

Picture (and more info) found here.

Here's Your Daily Dose Of "Slow Down"

Whenever Monkey Mind begins to chatter, you can breathe and come back to the snowy forest. Again and again. That IS the practice.

Monday Poetry Blogging

Thalia's post, for some reason, reminded me of this:

The Bistro Styx
by Rita Dove

She was thinner, with a mannered gauntness
as she paused just inside the double
glass doors to survey the room, silvery cape
billowing dramatically behind her. What's this,

I thought, lifting a hand until
she nodded and started across the parquet;
that's when I saw she was dressed all in gray,
from a kittenish cashmere skirt and cowl

down to the graphite signature of her shoes.
"Sorry I'm late," she panted, though
she wasn't, sliding into the chair, her cape

tossed off in a shudder of brushed steel.
We kissed. Then I leaned back to peruse
my blighted child, this wary aristocratic mole.

"How's business?" I asked, and hazarded
a motherly smile to keep from crying out:
Are you content to conduct your life
as a cliché and, what's worse,

an anachronism, the brooding artist's demimonde?
Near the rue Princesse they had opened
a gallery cum souvenir shop which featured
fuzzy off-color Monets next to his acrylics, no doubt,

plus beared African drums and the occasional miniature
gargoyle from Notre Dame the Great Artist had
carved at breakfast with a pocket knife.

"Tourists love us. The Parisians, of course"--
she blushed--"are amused, though not without
a certain admiration . . ."
The Chateaubriand

arrived on a bone-white plate, smug and absolute
in its fragrant crust, a black plug steaming
like the heart plucked from the chest of a worthy enemy;
one touch with her fork sent pink juices streaming.

"Admiration for what?" Wine, a bloody
Pinot Noir, brought color to her cheeks. "Why,
the aplomb with which we've managed
to support our Art"--meaning he'd convinced

her to pose nude for his appalling canvases,
faintly futuristic landscapes strewn
with carwrecks and bodies being chewed

by rabid cocker spaniels. "I'd like to come by
the studio," I ventured, "and see the new stuff."
"Yes, if you wish . . ." A delicate rebuff

before the warning: "He dresses all
in black now. Me, he drapes in blues and carmine--
and even though I think it's kinda cute,
in company I tend toward more muted shades."

She paused and had the grace
to drop her eyes. She did look ravishing,
spookily insubstantial, a lipstick ghost on tissue,
or as if one stood on a fifth-floor terrace

peering through a fringe of rain at Paris'
dreaming chimney pots, each sooty issue
wobbling skyward in an ecstatic oracular spiral.

"And he never thinks of food. I wish
I didn't have to plead with him to eat. . . ." Fruit
and cheese appeared, arrayed on leaf-green dishes.

I stuck with café crème. "This Camembert's
so ripe," she joked, "it's practically grown hair,"
mucking a golden glob complete with parsley sprig
onto a heel of bread. Nothing seemed to fill

her up: She swallowed, sliced into a pear,
speared each tear-shaped lavaliere
and popped the dripping mess into her pretty mouth.
Nowhere the bright tufted fields, weighted

vines and sun poured down out of the south.
"But are you happy?" Fearing, I whispered it
quickly. "What? You know, Mother"--

she bit into the starry rose of a fig--
"one really should try the fruit here."
I've lost her, I thought, and called for the bill.

Picture found here.

The Darkness Will Not Be Ignored

As the nights continue to lengthen and the daylight visits us only briefly, almost grudgingly, it's more important than ever to ground, center, give time to your daily practice.

Our culture is so focused on ignoring the dark, which, of course, like any shadow issue -- or ignored mistress -- only gives extra energy and power to what's ignored and causes it to erupt in dangerous and uncontrollable ways. One of the most important things that witches can do for our culture, IMHO, is to serve as "steam valves" for all of that repressed darkness. We can recognize it, look into it and see what it has to teach us and our culture; we can speak to it, acknowledge it, give it its proper place.

In part because our culture is so terrified of darkness (death, matter, bodies, women, ecstasy, age), at this dark time of year, the message that we get from almost every source is to be busy! frantic! manic!, to consume, consume, consume, to ignore the darkness and to strive, instead, for some Madison-Avenue-Martha-Stewart-concocted impossible holiday that we can never, really -- no matter how many cookies we bake, parties we dress up for, cards we send -- achieve. Don't listen to them. Remember who you are at your core; do not let the culture define you.

Go someplace quiet, all the better if it can be outdoors, even if that means bundling up. Breathe. With each breath, remember who you are. Ground. Center. Do your daily practice. Give honor to the long nights. A witch's job is to help to turn the wheel. Help.

Picture found here.

Sunday Poetry Blogging

I’m the slave of the Moon; talk of nothing but moon.
Or brightness and sweetness. Other than that, say nothing.

Don’t tell of suffering, talk of nothing but blessings.
If you know nothing about them, no matter. Say nothing.

Last night I went wild. Love saw me and said:
I’m here. Don’t shout, don’t rip your shirt, say nothing.

I said: O Love, what I fear is something else.
There’s nothing there. Say nothing.

I’ll whisper secret words in your ears. Just nod yes.
Except for that nod of your head, say nothing.

A moon pure as spirit rose on the heart’s pathway.
What a joy, to travel the way of the heart. Say nothing.

I said: O Heart, what is this moon? Heart beckoned:
For now, it’s not for you to know. Say nothing.

I said: Is this face angel or human?
Neither angel nor human. It is other, say nothing.

I said: What’s this? I’ll lose my mind if you don’t tell me.
It said: Then lose your mind, and stay that way. Say nothing.

You who sit in this house filled with images and illusions,
get up, walk out the door. Go, and say nothing.

I said: O Heart, tell me kindly: Isn’t this about God?
It said: Yes it is, but kindly say nothing.

~Rumi

Translation found here.

Picture found here.

Fall Camellias

Still a few weeks until Winter. Even the pineapple sage is through blooming and the hellebore hasn't bloomed yet. So it's nice to have the camellias.

Photos by the author. If you copy, please link back.

Can You Do Some Protective Magic?

The persecution of children and others labeled as "witches" continues. At Yule, as we turn towards the light, it would be wonderful for Pagans all over the world to work magic to protect these children.

Have You Read?

Phila's Hope Blogging. Now, more than ever.

Photo by the author. If you copy, please link back.

Here's Your Daily Dose Of "Slow Down"

Obama Restaurant Watch -- Jobs Speech Edition

Wherever he eats, I hope they serve him a heaping plateful of Do What We Elected You To Do, with a big side order of Make Jobs, Not War.

Picture and a review of the restaurant here.

My New Name For A Blog

What NTodd Said.

Picture found here.

I Will Buy This Book

Media-Newswire.com) - One of the stories published as part of a unique collaboration between scientists and authors has been shortlisted for the BBC National Short Story Award. Sara Maitland’s the Moss Witch, written with the help of evolutionary ecologist Dr Jennifer Rowntree from The University of Manchester, describes a haunting encounter between a botanist and a witch in a patch of ancient Scottish woodland.

The witch displays the characteristics of a bryophyte - a non flowering plant such as a moss.

It will be read by Hannah Gordon on BBC Radio Four today ( Wednesday ) at 3.30pm - and the overall winner will be announced on R4’s culture show Front Row next Monday.

The Moss Witch was written for the anthology ‘When it Changed’, published by Comma Press and the brain child of University of Manchester lecturer and science fiction novelist Geoff Ryman.

Ryman paired off literary colleagues with scientists - mostly from The University of Manchester - to produce the book.

The BBC competition, in its fourth year, celebrates the best of the contemporary British short story.

Sara Maitland, who has been writing fiction and non fiction since the 1970s, lives and works from her home in South West Scotland.

She said: “The story, at a basic level, reflects the tension between the need to protect the environment and the sacrifices we are asked to ensure that happens.

“One illustration of this is the plan to site a wind farm on the moor where I live in South West Scotland.

“The wind farm will be the end of the moor as I know it.

“I chose moss because I find it very beautiful and very strange and there’s lots of it where I live.

“I released how profoundly meditative moss can be when I researched my recent book, ‘A book of Silence' ( Granta, 2008 ).

“I also love ancient woodland - a subject I’m looking at in my new book.”

She added: “Before I spoke to Jenny at Manchester University I didn’t really have a story - so I’d like to pay tribute to her. She understood what I was trying to do and helped enormously.

“I’m delighted to be selected for this shortlist – it’s a vindication of ‘When it Changed’ - which is the most exciting thing I’ve been involved in for 10 years.”

Dr Rowntree, who is based at The University of Manchester’s Faculty of Life Sciences said: “I spoke regularly with Sara about bryophytes and particularly mosses and suggested ways she could find out more about them.

“I think she reflected entirely what we talked about, and has created an interesting and haunting tale.

More here, and here

Locking The Barn Door After The Horse's Tail Is Gone

It is odd how any time an animal is mutilated, some moron announces that it must be the Pagans.

IT IS the bizarre act that has left horse lovers and police across Hampshire mystified.

What appears to be a ritualistic chopping of horses tails has sparked both concern and confusion among the county’s equine community.

Police have put horse owners on alert and appealed for any information that can explain why the tails of two animals were cut off while they grazed in a field. . . . One theory being looked into by officers is that it is part of a strange ritual by pagans in the lead up to the Winter Solstice later this month.

Yes, because isn't that how we all prepare for Solstice? Meditate, look forward to the return of the light, prepare mulled wine and baked goods, cut off horses tails?

At least the report includes a Pagan point of view:

Meanwhile, Catherine Hosen, spokeswoman for the Pagan Federation of Wessex, said: “It’s certainly not any ritual that I’m aware of. Any day in the year you could say it’s close to some pagan ritual because the calendar is pretty full of them.

“Pagans have a strong respect for anything to do with nature. They would ask permission before removing a branch from a tree, let alone do anything to a horse.”

Since the only other theory is apparently rocking-horse restorers -- a group almost as outlandish and dangerous as modern Pagans -- I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for an arrest. Meanwhile, I will light some incense to Epona and ask her to protect the horses.

More here, although you do get some annoying audio when you click on the link.

Picture found here.

Here's Your Daily Dose Of "Slow Down"

I Hate The Catholic Church

For some odd reason, this makes me think of this.

No reason

Bad Witch!

Full Moon ritual at my house tonight, and I've known about it for months. Somehow, I have managed to not have 4 matching directional candles. And I'm not going back out in the rain.

It's entirely possible that we will, solemnly and with the deep reverence that befits priestesses and dedicants of Gaia, Hecate, Columbia, and Hygeia, invoke the Guardians of the Watchtowers of Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and Ether and then light birthday candles.

Serious Magick Fail!

Picture found here.

Thank The Goddess, We Didn't Choose Hillary. She "Voted For The War."

It's your quagmire, now, Mr. Obama. And the blood's on your hands.

All Acts Of Love And Pleasure Are Rituals Of The Goddess

It seems awfully early to me, but all day long the squirrels in my yard have been performing the Great Rite, just on top of my fence. Black squirrels with grey squirrels, grey squirrels with grey squirrels, black squirrels with black squirrels, even one pair of red squirrels that I've never seen before. Good thing for them Mr. and Mrs. Loving won their case against the Old Dominion. ;)

Did I watch? Well, yeah, but so did the other squirrels, so I figured it was ok.

Maybe it's the full Moon in Gemini.

I put out extra sunflower seeds, just in case good sex gives them the munchies, too. Hope it's a warm late January.

The New Harry Potter

Oh, I can hardly wait.

"Witched" is a verb?

Also, because you might, you know, have missed the sledge hammer: black nail polish. Ooohhhh.

Even more here.

The Latest Victory In Our Glorious War on Xmas

So, I'm just going to say this, and I can't think of a "nice" way to do it.

Anyone stupid enough to have a Gap credit card to cancel is, well, too stupid to be a Pagan.

I could have a bit of respect for xians who wanted to disassociate their holiday from commercialism, but 'Merkin xians, are just that stupid that they think the answer to their miserable lives is to make store clerks, who will, trust me, I've been one, wish you a merry fucking xyouzourshs day if that's what they're told to say and won't, for one minute, really want you to have a merry xyouzourshs day, mouth the words "Merry Christmas."

Jesus wept.

Bazooms Blogging, Part the Second

My brilliant friend, M., sent this to me.



When I was wondering if I could go to law school at night and work during the day, I looked to M. When I got breast cancer and wondered if I would survive, I looked to M. Long before G/Son showed up, M. let me know how wonderful it could be to be a Nonna.

There's something about public dancing that goes straight to my core and warms my cockles. Barbara Ehrenreich is right; it happens far too seldom in this society. M.'s YouTube reminds me a lot of this:



What? You're going to live forever? Go dance!

Bazooms Blogging

Ladies! Listen up! Detecting breast cancer early is the key to surviving it! Breast Self Exams (BSEs) can help you to detect breast cancer in its earlier stages. So, on the first of every month, give yourself a breast self-exam. It's easy to do. Here's how. If you prefer to do your BSE at a particular time in your cycle, calendar it now. But, don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

And, once a year, get yourself a mammogram. Mammograms cost between $150 and $300. If you have to take a temp job one weekend a year, if you have to sell something on e-Bay, if you have to go cash in all the change in various jars all over the house, if you have to work the holiday season wrapping gifts at Macy's, for the love of the Goddess, please go get a mammogram once a year.

Or: The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention pays all or some of the cost of breast cancer screening services through its National Breast and Cervical Cancer Early Detection Program. This program provides mammograms and breast exams by a health professional to low-income, underinsured, and underserved women in all 50 states, six U.S. territories, the District of Columbia, and 14 American Indian/Alaska Native organizations. For more information, contact your state health department or call the Cancer Information Service at 1-800-4-CANCER.

I know that a recent study indicated that early detection via breast self exams might not be "cost effective." I'm not a scientist, but when I read those studies, they appear to be saying that sometimes women find a lump during the BSE that turns out not to be cancer. Those women have caused some expense and have gone through some discomfort in order to find out that the lump wasn't cancer. I don't know about you, but when that happens to me, as it has a few times since my first mammogram found a small, curable, cancerous lump, I go out and buy a new scarf, take myself out for a decadent lunch, call everyone I know, and call it a good day.

Send me an email after you get your mammogram and I will do an annual free tarot reading for you. Just, please, examine your own breasts once a month and get your sweet, round ass to a mammogram once a year. If you have a deck, pick three cards and e-mail me at hecatedemetersdatter@hotmail.com. I'll email you back your reading. If you don't have a deck, go to Lunea's tarot listed on the right-hand side in my blog links. Pick three cards from her free, on-line tarot and email me at hecatedemetersdatter@hotmail.com. I'll email you back your reading.

Picture found here.