Too Fucking Stupid To Live

Here’s something no one wants to discuss.

The Tulsa Zoo is a filled with [P]agan deities. The elephant exhibit has a six-foot statue of Ganesha, the principal god of the Hindus.

When it was placed there by the secularists who run Tulsa’s publicly funded zoo, they claimed it was a “cultural symbol” and had nothing to do with religion.

The Hindus felt otherwise. They were offended by the prospect of children touching their elephant-like god and persuaded the zoo to put a fence around it.

In the rain forrest exhibit, there are several examples of [P]agan deities. That has been true in other exhibits, including the one from Africa.

And, of course, the zoo continues to display an exhibit on the theory of evolution, even though its information is outdated by even the most secular standards.

Imagine if a Christian wanted to put up a cross at the zoo or a display of Noah’s Ark. The atheists and the humanists at All Souls Unitarian Church would have city fathers take it down immediately or they would file suit.

The Bible is full of examples of God reacting adversely to idol worship. Ganesha apparently wasn’t enough to protect Amali.

Tulsa shouldn’t have [P]agan idols at a publicly funded zoo. The zoo should be made private or the idols taken down.

Until that happens, Christians should boycott the zoo.

More insanity here.

Picture found here.

Twenty-First Century Pagan

Following up on this earlier post, I see that Thorn Coyle has written:

I practice Paganism and magic. . . . I’m fine with being a 21st century person practicing a religion with ancient ancestry and contemporary innovation. As a person who lives on this land and in this time, among these cities and farms and wild places, how can I really do anything else?

For right now, I will call myself Pagan: one who connects with the non-Dual and the many Gods, with this sweet earth and with the stars far beyond my eye’s ability to reach.

I think that's about right.

My wonderful circle of amazing women practices a very eclectic brand of Dianic witchcraft. We're big believers in doing what works, what's worked before, what logically seems as if it will work in this situation, for this objective, at this time. I wouldn't keep doing something that didn't work just because it was an ancient practice and I don't hesitate to adopt brand-spanking-new modern practices (including the use of iPhones and computers and modern plumbing) that are effective. Sometimes, when I'm doing magic or engaged in my daily practice, I get a strong sense of being part of an unbroken line of women who have priestessed Mother Earth. Sometimes, I can tell that I'm starting something that my great, great, many-times-great granddaughters and great nieces will continue. And sometimes, I'm just a 53-year-old woman doing the best that she can in the early 21st Century.

And, I practice my magic, these days, almost entirely in the DC metro area. What I do, what works for me, the seasons as I know and celebrate them are, of course, different than they were for ancient European witches and Pagans. I'm in relationship with this unique river that, in so many ways, is different from every other river in the world. I have access to places of -- literal -- worldly, political power that rival almost anything my uneducated, impoverished, rural ancestors could have imagined. I can bless and bind politicians, justices, lobbyists, newsmedia figures. I can do it at lunch, in a bar after work, outside their homes and offices, in the Capitol building, the Supreme Court, the Old Executive Office Building . . . where they least expect it. I ground by sinking my roots into red Virginia clay, not Mediterranean sand and, when I cast a circle, I cast it around white oaks and crape myrtles and a red fox and squirrels both grey and black.

Does my religion have ancient roots? Yes. Is it modern? Yes. Does it borrow from other religions and time periods and practices? You bet. And, as Ms. Coyle says, I'm fine with that.

Picture found here.

I Don't Know Why They Swallowed The Fly

I don’t remember why they arrested the lawyer.

There's a reason I love Paganii.

Actually, they teach you in law school: Try not to get arrested with your clients; it makes it more difficult to get them out of jail.

And, then, there's this: My faery friend recited a poem so graphically sexual that even I was blushing, and I’m not exactly demure about such things. The cops, being San Francisco cops, never turned a hair. I gave them William Butler Yeats’ “The Hosting of the Sidhe” and they all dropped their pens and stared. Shortly after that, they let us go, in time for me to make my lunch date. As Victor Anderson said: White magic is poetry. Black magic is anything that actually works. Sometimes, poetry actually works. At which point, it's black magic. Me, I'm a huge proponent of what works.

My New Name For A Blog

OK, this is a bit more "civil." What she said:

I believe that if the Senate health care bill passes as Joe Lieberman has demanded it–with no Medicare buy-in or public option–it will be a significant step further on our road to neo-feudalism. As such, I find it far too dangerous to our democracy to pass–even if it gives millions (perhaps unaffordable) subsidies for health care.

20% of your labor belongs to Aetna

Consider, first of all, this fact. The bill, if it became law, would legally require a portion of Americans to pay more than 20% of the fruits of their labor to a private corporation in exchange for 70% of their health care costs.

. . . Senate Democrats are requiring middle class families to give the proceeds of over a month of their work to a private corporation–one allowed to make 15% or maybe even 25% profit on the proceeds of their labor.

It’s one thing to require a citizen to pay taxes–to pay into the commons. It’s another thing to require taxpayers to pay a private corporation, and to have up to 25% of that go to paying for luxuries like private jets and gyms for the company CEOs.

It’s the same kind of deal peasants made under feudalism: some proportion of their labor in exchange for protection (in this case, from bankruptcy from health problems, though the bill doesn’t actually require the private corporations to deliver that much protection).In this case, the federal government becomes an appendage to do collections for the corporations.

Mind you, not only will citizens be required to pay private corporations. But middle class citizens may be required to pay more to these private corporations than they pay in federal and state taxes. . . . And if they have a significant medical event, they’ll pay 22%–far, far more than they’ll pay into the commons. So it’s bad enough that this bill would require citizens to pay a tithe to a corporation. It’s far worse when you consider that some citizens would pay more in their corporate tithe than they would to the commons.

And, finally, while the Senate bill does not accord these corporate CEOs a droit de seigneur–the right to a woman’s virginity the night of her marriage–if Ben Nelson (and Bart Stupak) get their way, it would make a distinction in this entire compact for how the property of a woman’s womb shall be treated.

Single payer for the benefit of corporations

And for those who promise we’ll go back and fix this later, once we achieve universal health care, understand what will have happened in the meantime. The idea, of course, is to establish some means to get people single payer coverage (before Lieberman, this would have been through a public option or Medicare buy-in) and, over time, expand it.

In fact, this bill will move toward single payer, too–though not the kind we want. For the large number of people who live in a place where there is limited competition, this bill will require them to get health care through the oligopoly or monopoly provider. It’ll work great for the provider: they will be able to dictate rates. But the Senate bill allows these blossoming single payer providers to keep up to 25% of the benefit in profits and marketing costs, and pass little of that benefit onto citizens. If we make private corporations our single payer, how are we going to convince them to cede control when we ask them to let the government be the single payer?

The reason this matters, though, is the power it gives the health care corporations. We can’t ditch Halliburton or Blackwater because they have become the sole primary contractor providing precisely the services they do. And so, like it or not, we’re dependent on them. And if we were to try to exercise oversight over them, we’d ultimately face the reality that we have no leverage over them, so we’d have to accept whatever they chose to provide. This bill gives the health care industry the leverage we’ve already given Halliburton and Blackwater.

The feudal health care filibuster-proof majority

It’s the 9.8% tithe that bothers me the most. But for those who think we can fix it, consider this, too. If the Senate bill passes, in its current form, it will mean that the health care industry was able to dictate–through their Senators Joe Lieberman and Ben Nelson–what they wanted the US Congress to do. They will have succeeded in dictating the precise terms of legislation.

Now, that’s not the first time that has happened. It certainly happened on telecom immunity. It certainly has happened, repeatedly, on Defense contracting (see also Randy Cunningham). But none of these egregious instances of corporations dictating legislation included a tithe–the requirement that citizens pay corporations to provide their service, rather than allowing the government to contract the service.

This is a fundamentally different relationship we’re talking about–one that gives corporations vast new powers. And the fact that–with one temper tantrum from Joe Lieberman–the corporations were able to dictate the terms of this new relationship deeply troubles me.

When this passes, it will become clear that Congress is no longer the sovereign of this nation. Rather, the corporations dictating the laws will be.

I understand the temptation to offer 30 million people health care. What I don’t understand is the nonchalance with which we’re about to fundamentally shift the relationships of governance in doing so.

We’ve seen our Constitution and means of government under attack in the last 8 years. This does so in a different–but every bit as significant way. We don’t mandate tithing corporations in this country–at least not yet. And it troubles me that so many Democrats are rushing to do so, without considering the logical consequences.

I agree with Dr. Dean. Kill this bill. Perhaps our "above it all" President will decide that it matters to him to get decent health care passed. Or, he can be a one-term-wonder. Gee, that was such a super cool YouTube, wasn't it? Turns out, no, he can't (be bothered).

My Joy Doubled

My Joy Doubled

to drive my daughter
through the jeweled
morning light
this morning:

joy to sigh
"What a lovely morning!"
and see the glimmer
in her eye
in the rear-view mirror
as our light went green,

and joy to show her how
the ochre sunrise hadn't
yet washed down
from the cross
on the steeple
at the top of the town.

The temperature
was three degrees,
the bank sign said.
"Wake up, old Mr. Sun,"
we called as if he were
our corner grocer,
not the ember burling
distant crowns.

A mile we rode in silence
while the nickle-purple
crystal of the world
was poured with light.

I need to think she saw it all
as it sped by --
the rink in spun
chain link, the outlet mall
in mist -- and loved
the pinks and golds
as I do. She is so young.
If I can't train her eyes
to love, how else then
praise the lapidary,
who cuts our days
like diamonds
from the carbon cold above?

~Todd Boss

Picture found here.

My New Name For A Blog

What the Rude Pundit Said.

Jacqueline Kelly died yesterday in Jersey City, New Jersey, of ovarian cancer. She also had emphysema. She was 61 years-old, a woman who was a stay-at-home mom to her six kids and a supportive wife for 44 years to John Kelly. John, 68, worked for fifty years as a truck driver and was old enough to get on Medicare when he retired. His wife could not, since she was 61.

She was told she didn't qualify for Social Security disability benefits because she had never "worked." They didn't qualify for welfare assistance or Medicaid because John's pension checks were too high. So, instead, most of the money went to paying for Jacqueline's medical expenses, as much as they could, until it became a choice of chemotherapy or food. As John put it, "I worked all my life. She's being penalized for staying home and taking care of her kids." Kelly died because of a lack of health insurance, pure and simple, cause and effect.

Think about that: John and Jacqueline Kelly were like apple pie, they fit so perfectly into the mold of ideal Americans that conservatives propagate. John was able to support his family doing a job that he stayed dedicated to. Jacqueline chose to stay at home and raise a large family. This is also death by sexism in that we live in a nation where full-time motherhood is not valued as a job and never has been. The myth of the American dream is always, always revealed as the lie it always was, and those who continue to foist it upon us are the ones least willing to make it be true. Where were all the alleged Christians, who are now so ready to kill health reform legislation? Where was the charity that's supposed to take care of such things? There was some, but not enough to get her the medical care that might have saved her.

You know who stepped up to help the Kelly family? Professional wrestlers. Yeah, Total Mayhem Pro Wrestling held a fundraiser for Jacqueline about a week ago, raising $4000 for medical expenses. That money will now be used for a funeral.

Pulls at your heartstrings, no? Really gets that lump in your throat going, this story of love and failure? Jacqueline Kelly was one of millions of Americans who would have qualified for help in just about any of the health care reform measures that actually seek to insure people. She'd have qualified for the public option. She'd have qualified for Medicare buy-in. In almost any other country in the developed world, and even in some in the undeveloped part, her care would not have even been an issue.

We are overwhelmed, yes, by tale upon tale of the sadness and horror brought on by this country's willful neglect of its citizens because we need to please some mad god of capitalism. And because we need to soothe the vanity of politicians, like Joe Lieberman.

We focus our rage on Lieberman out here in Left Blogsylvania not just because he is the kind of man who sucks his own cock in public and then grins, his semen-slicked teeth shining in the klieg lights, to the delight of Aetna and Wellpoint executives just before they shove his ass full of cash and tell him he can have it after he shits it back out. That would be enough. But it's that Lieberman actually takes pleasure in dicking over the Democratic caucus. Motherfucker said he supported the Medicare buy-in and then bailed? What kind of fuckery is that? That's just doing shit for the sake of doing shit. He's Shylock with less motivation. And that just makes us wanna go Berlusconi on his face. (Rhetorically, of course. Of course.)
. . .

Lieberman's gotta be punished, or they gotta get rid of Reid. There's gotta be consequences for Lieberman. He's gotta lose his Homeland Security committee chair, maybe even be ejected from the caucus. He's gotta be publicly defiled. If there was any kind of justice right now, Lieberman should be locked in a glass room with the ghost of Lyndon Johnson. Motherfucker would be on his knees after five minutes, begging to give LBJ a rim job for mercy's sake.

Or, instead, Lieberman should be forced to eat the body of Jacqueline Kelly. He should have to taste her diseased organs and mutated cells. He should have to stare at her dead face as he ingests her faded skin and deteriorated muscle. And if he can't do it on his own, he should have her bones shoved down his throat until he fucking gags. Then maybe he'll understand that we're not talking about abstract numbers of people dying. We're talking about real corpses.

I'm just out of patience with these narcisists.

*****

Update in response to comments: Yes, the Rude Pundit is a bit of an acquired taste (and, believe me, this post was mild. I've seen him perform and, trust me, it's "worse" and, somehow, the dildoes involved always wind up in the hotel bar at an ungodly hour. At least, that's what I hear). As to his desire to persuade, his only audience, for that purpose, is, I believe, the nice, polite Democrats (you know who you are, and in the words of my G/Son, "I am giving you a look") who think that civility and bipartisanship are goals, not only in and of themselves, but also, goals for which it's appropriate to, well, in this case, allow good Americans to die. He's a bit of a performance artist, and the point of his performance is to shine some light on the fact that we often, shall we say, get our panties in more of a wad over "incivil" language and the use of dry powder than we do over actions such as torture or murder that would, in a rational universe, be deserving of significant amounts of scorn. Every other civilized nation on Earth, and some that aren't so civilized, manages to provide basic health care for its citizens. And, then there's us and Uganda. If I've offended my readers, I apologize. I value each and every one of you.

In The Darkness

from FOUR QUARTETS: East Coker by T.S. Eliot

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark.
The vacant interstellar spaces......
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

Picture found here.

Here's Your Daily Dose Of "Slow Down"

It's A Fun Job And

This morning, there was sun-infused mist hovering over the beautiful Potomac River, the river of my heart. There was also mist covering the city of Columbia, mist surrounding the Washington Monument so that it rose like a single, giant tower out of Fairey, mist hiding the Capital and the statue of the Goddess.

As I leave the George Washington Parkway, which runs alongside the Potomac and edges T.R. Island, and head onto the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge, there's a lovely stand of (now, dead) weeds and berried trees and, every morning, I roll down my window and touch the dried, dead weeds as the traffic creeps slowly into the city. As I enter the merge lane, I look for the Homeless Vet, with his swollen feet and fingers and his cardboard sign that says, "Always Proud." Sometimes I bring him hot potatoes in silver foil, crisp apples, bread with raisins. Sometimes, I bring him a package of tube socks, a few dollars, some bottled water. Later this week, I'm going to bring him a hat that I knitted for him. Once I'm across three lanes, onto the far left, I look at the old, dead tree where, sometimes, I see a bald eagle sitting, sunning, staring at the Kennedy Center.

Far across the Planet, in Tasmania, T. Thorn Coyle is working with forest activists. She writes:

Thus began a discussion of disconnection and being part of place. Some of the activists feel that they are not part of great Nature, but rather must work to stop this alienated human destruction of it. I replied that in sensing we are not Nature, we instantiate the rift that causes the logging and wood chipping of the old growth that they are fighting. Alienation and disconnection are the same, whether one thinks humans are superior or inferior to the land, the trees, the animals and the sky.

We need a deep realization that we are one with all of these. That we are the same. That the call of the koorawong is our call. That the rocky outcropping high above the Weld Valley, with its view of clear-cuts, masses of trees, the glorious white of the soaring grey goshawk over the appearing and disappearing shine of river is a vision of the connectedness and disconnectedness of our very lives.

. . .

We are Nature. We are of place. We are born. We live. We die.

We are all indigenous to this planet and this solar system. I am indigenous to the state of California. My practices of religion, inspired though they may be by the magic of the ancient tribes of Europe and rooted in the folk practices of the US and the ceremonial practices of the late 19th century are also informed by my animal body responding to the ocean near my home, to the particular quality of light reflected upon hills or buildings, to the strange quirks of weather on the little peninsula at the Golden Gate. Place informs me and I inform place. My practices are no more nor less indigenous than those of any other migrating people. Something that was invented to root us in this particular place or contemporary time is no less authentic for being 40 years or 40 minutes old rather than 4,000.

I may be a nutty old woman. But doing magic in a place weds me to that place, and being in relationship with a place increases my ability to do magic, aids my daily practice, makes me become the witch I am meant to be. It's not complicated or esoteric, really. It's mostly paying attention. I pay serious attention to the weeds, I notice them every day, I think about them, I touch them when I can, they show up in my dreams, I bless them for absorbing as much carbon exhaust as they do. I pay attention to the people, the birds, the shape of the city. And, in return, they pay attention to me. I am who I am because the Potomac River is who she is. I don't understand how it can be anything else.

I am "of this place." Whether than makes me "indigenous" according to the definition of some person who finds value in dividing things into categories doesn't change who I am, what I do, how effective my magic is, nor does it change my relationship with the misty river, the shining city, the dead, dry weeds. It doesn't change the antiquity of my practices; witches have been doing "this" for aeons. And, tomorrow, I'm still going to be in relationship with the same river, the same shining city of monuments, the same Homeless Vet, the same trees. I'm going to come home and feed the same demanding cardinal by hanging suet in the same euonymus bush that I've been tending and loving for over six years now. I'm going to be a witch, loving the world into magic and magicked into love by the world. Somebody has to do it.

Picture found here.

Education Fail!

Here's an interesting story about a fifteen-year-old Wiccan whose school choral class is singing xian holiday songs. The school's agreed to let her "sit out" those songs, but as she says, This is school and not church," . . . I was the one kid that stood out." And, as someone who really enjoys some xian choral music, I'm almost ready to agree with the teacher who explains that his music has some historical and choral importance and is being taught for those reasons until the article gets around to mentioning that : The [student's family, the] Keens also have raised concerns this year about prayers in class and a prayer board posted in the choir room.

Miller said he gave students permission to lead prayers in class Mondays, at their request. The prayer board was a student-led activity, he said. Miller revamped the concert to include a wider variety of secular songs for the holiday season.

First Amendment Fail!

I notice that the compromise didn't involve including some Wiccan music in the program and letting the xian students sit those out while Ms. Keen sang a couple of solos.

I suspect Ms. Keen will learn a whole lot more, about herself, her society, and the value of standing up for yourself even when that makes you "different," than she'll learn about singing. May the Goddess guard her.

(One does wonder who went to the paper with this story. Was it the family? The school? Some busybody?)

The comments section is worth its weight in, well, dross if not gold. They're such loving, humble people, these xians. Such a shining example of their god's love for all. No, they're not.

Solstice Comes To LA

Toward the Winter Solstice
by Timothy Steele

Although the roof is just a story high,
It dizzies me a little to look down.
I lariat-twirl the cord of Christmas lights
And cast it to the weeping birch’s crown;
A dowel into which I’ve screwed a hook
Enables me to reach, lift, drape, and twine
The cord among the boughs so that the bulbs
Will accent the tree’s elegant design.

Friends, passing home from work or shopping, pause
And call up commendations or critiques.
I make adjustments. Though a potpourri
Of Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Jews, and Sikhs,
We all are conscious of the time of year;
We all enjoy its colorful displays
And keep some festival that mitigates
The dwindling warmth and compass of the days.

Some say that L.A. doesn’t suit the Yule,
But UPS vans now like magi make
Their present-laden rounds, while fallen leaves
Are gaily resurrected in their wake;
The desert lifts a full moon from the east
And issues a dry Santa Ana breeze,
And valets at chic restaurants will soon
Be tending flocks of cars and SUVs.

And as the neighborhoods sink into dusk
The fan palms scattered all across town stand
More calmly prominent, and this place seems
A vast oasis in the Holy Land.
This house might be a caravansary,
The tree a kind of cordial fountainhead
Of welcome, looped and decked with necklaces
And ceintures of green, yellow, blue, and red.

Some wonder if the star of Bethlehem
Occurred when Jupiter and Saturn crossed;
It’s comforting to look up from this roof
And feel that, while all changes, nothing’s lost,
To recollect that in antiquity
The winter solstice fell in Capricorn
And that, in the Orion Nebula,
From swirling gas, new stars are being born.

Picture found here.

Don't you love the way the poet rhymes, and thereby meaningfully links, "Capricorn" with "being born"? I do. And, I miss the xmas palms of LA and Pasadena. The poinsettias that grow outside. The beach at dawn on Solstice morning. Not too much, but some. And I miss the San Gabriel mountains and their silence. I miss those almost every day.

What If You Believe In The Being Of Multiple Goddesses and Gods?

The stupid. It not only burns, it costs taxpayers a lot of money in wasted legal costs.

Honestly, it's amazing to me that, as states and towns all over the country cut needed services due to a lack of funds, people tolerate the waste of money on this sort of xianist nonsense.

Hat tip to wwjd

Picture found here.

Soup

One of the best things about Winter, IMHO, is soup.

I have this soup on the stove right now.

3 tbsp olive oil
1 cup coarsely chopped onion
1 cup peeled, cored and coarsely chopped Granny Smith apple
1 cup peeled and coarsely chopped turnip
1 cup peeled and chopped butternut squash (seeds discarded)
1 cup coarsely chopped carrot
1 cup peeled, chopped sweet potato
5 cups vegetable (or chicken) stock
1/4 cup maple syrup
Cayenne pepper
1 small whole-grain baguette
3 oz goat cheese
1/4 cup chopped fresh chives

For soup, heat oil in a large saucepan on medium-high heat. Add onion and sauté until translucent. Add apple, turnip, squash, carrot, and sweet potato; season with salt, then sauté 5 minutes. Add stock, bring to a boil and simmer, stirring occasionally, about 30 minutes or until vegetables are tender. Add syrup, then cayenne pepper to taste. Cool slightly. Puree with a handheld mixer, food processor or blender. For toast toppers, cut 6 slices bread and toast them. Spread 1/2 oz goat cheese on top of each; sprinkle with chives. Pour soup into 6 large bowls; float toast on top.

My proportions are off from the recipe; I had a lot of little, multi-colored carrots from my CSA and no turnip. But that's the great thing about soup! I peeled and chopped listening to Handel's Water Music, which is likely the one CD I'd take to the desert island -- you know, the desert island where you can take one book, one CD (played by solar power, I guess), one photograph from your past, and one important memory.

Yesterday, DiL, who is a really, really brilliant cook, made butternut squash soup with grated gruyere cheese. Damn, that was good! I ate two bowls!

The other wonderful thing about soup is that it often gets better served as leftovers when the flavors have had time to meld. I'll freeze some of this soup, take some for lunch a few days this week, have a bowl nuked in the microwave when I get home late, starved, and cold. Fiber, Vitamin A, and the extra, not-to-be-discounted health benefits of warm, filling, brightly-colored, and spicy food eaten in a warm kitchen in the heart of darkness.

Picture found here.

What's your favorite soup recipe?

Solstice Poetry Blogging

SOLSTICE

dawn creeps in
crystal clear
intrepid
yet
calm

endings
become
beginnings

savor this juncture
for the road ahead
is long
and arduous

but in this moment
all things
are possible


© 1997 Judy Anne

Picture found here.

Sunday Poetry Blogging

Exit

Just when hope withers, the visa is granted.
The door opens to a street like in the movies,
clean of people, of cats; except it is your street
you are leaving. A visa has been granted,
"provisionally"-a fretful word.
The windows you have closed behind
you are turning pink, doing what they do
every dawn. Here it's gray. The door
to the taxicab waits. This suitcase,
the saddest object in the world.
Well, the world's open. And now through
the windshield the sky begins to blush
as you did when your mother told you
what it took to be a woman in this life.

~Rita Dove

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

An Interior Life

G/Son and his 'rents celebrate secular xmas, and today, while I was over at his house w another wonderful witch from my circle, he was showing her some ornaments off the xmas tree that he so much adores; the ornaments, as he named then for her, were Yoda, Vader, R2D2. His tree also has a TRex ornament and an ornament that he loves with his name, DiL's name, and Son's name printed on it, and some bells that he loves to ring.

Later, after my Sister Witch and I sat at G/Son's kitchen table and planned a Yule ritual surrounded by plastic Spidermen and foam building block pieces, I took G/Son to the local public garden to see the model train exhibit. G/Son's quite the train enthusiast, and he and a just-barely-three-year-old there had a long discussion about "tenders" and "cow catchers," and, of course, "Thomas the (good cog in capitalism's machine) Tank Engine."

On the way home, G/Son and I were talking about Santa Claus and G/Son asked me where Santa came from. I told him that Santa used to be a shaman of the Saami people, and that shamans go between the worlds and help people talk to their ancestors and to animals and that Santa realized on his journeys that children love presents and so he decided to make presents for children. G/Son and I like to read Tolkein's Father Christmas Letters, and G/Son has a keen interest in the North Polar Bear, who causes so many mishaps for Father Christmas. G/Son said, "So that's why Father Christmas lives with a bear and can talk to him, because he was a shaman," and I said, "Yes, I imagine that's so." G/Son said, "Nonna, there isn't really a real North Polar Bear who can talk, in the real world; he's only in the make-believe world," and I said, "Yes, that's right. Which world is more important?" and G/Son said, "Nonna, they are both important because for of different reasons."

And so then we had a fun game saying, "Well, if you had a book about a fairy who lived with Peter Pan, would that be make-believe or only real?" and "Well, if you had a book about how firemen fight fires, would that be make-believe or only real?" "and "Well, if you had a book about Spiderman and Venom would that be make-believe or only real?" and "Well if you had a book about how dinosaurs lived, would that be make-believe or only real?" and we had a lot of fun and then we learned the words "fiction" and "non-fiction" because, damn it, Nonna has a BS and an MS in education and she knows how to use them! Truth be told, she cannot help herself in any world.

And then G/Son said to me, "Hey, Nonna? When I'm all by myself . . . and there's no one to talk to me . . . I think to myself about what Santa Claus might bring to me . . . and I talk to him . . . and no one knows but me and Santa Claus, and I like that, and, Nonna . . . even if I'm mad or sad, I think what I would say to him and Santa Claus is not mad at me if I get sad about something." And I just wanted to fall prostrate on Mother Earth and kiss the dirt and absorb the cold into my very body and to cry with gratitude that G/Son has an interior life. But I was driving, so I settled for some weepy eyes and saying, "Well, that's good. You can talk to Santa anytime, even if you are surrounded by other people."

And they are going to have to pry me, kicking and screaming, from this world w/ G/Son in it. I will not go gentle into that Good Night (although my words have, indeed, from time to time forked some lightning) until I think that it's come to the time to make a good example. I won't. I am having too much fun. It's just getting interesting w/ this little person whose Sun and Moon match mine and whose Ascendant matches his father's Sun. I want to see how this story turns out. It's a good story and it's not "only" real. In the words of the prayer that I say each morning upon arising: it's all real, it's all metaphor, there's always more.

Wishcraft

The Stupid

It Burns.

Religion permeated life in the first century, but no one today would recognize their gods, except as curios in history books. Roman and Greek gods, ethnic religions and native American (North, Mid and South) religions are extinct or virtually unknown to the world.

For Fun

Pose!

The case of a Toronto woman accused of fraud has shed light on a section of the Canadian criminal code that carries a hint of the Dark Ages: posing as a witch.

Vishwantee Persaud allegedly defrauded a Toronto lawyer of tens of thousands of dollars by telling him she was the embodiment of the spirit of his deceased sister, come back to help him in business. Ms. Persaud now faces charges under a rarely used section of the criminal code for pretending to practise witchcraft.

"She said she came from a long line of witches and could do tarot-card readings," says Detective Constable Corey Jones, who investigated the case.

So if she's were actually an hereditary witch and could actually read Tarot, that would be alright?

Really, laws like this just need to go. People who actually defraud others can be prosecuted under plenty of modern laws. But making it illegal to "pose as a witch," while it's apparently fine to "pose as a xian faith-healer," is discrimination.

More here.

Who Knew?

The Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life has released an interesting study that highlights the complexity of Americans' religious beliefs, especially Americans' willingness to believe in things officially at odds with their stated religion. For example: The religious beliefs and practices of Americans do not fit neatly into conventional categories. A new poll by the Pew Research Center's Forum on Religion & Public Life finds that large numbers of Americans engage in multiple religious practices, mixing elements of diverse traditions. Many say they attend worship services of more than one faith or denomination -- even when they are not traveling or going to special events like weddings and funerals. Many also blend Christianity with Eastern or New Age beliefs such as reincarnation, astrology and the presence of spiritual energy in physical objects. And sizeable minorities of all major U.S. religious groups say they have experienced supernatural phenomena, such as being in touch with the dead or with ghosts.

Further, Though the U.S. is an overwhelmingly Christian country, significant minorities profess belief in a variety of Eastern or New Age beliefs. For instance, 24% of the public overall and 22% of Christians say they believe in reincarnation -- that people will be reborn in this world again and again. And similar numbers (25% of the public overall, 23% of Christians) believe in astrology. Nearly three-in-ten Americans say they have felt in touch with someone who has already died, almost one-in-five say they have seen or been in the presence of ghosts, and 15% have consulted a fortuneteller or a psychic.

Most interesting to me, as a Pagan and ecofeminist, was the study's finding that: [Twenty-six percent of adults say that] they believe in spiritual energy located in physical things such as mountains, trees or crystals, and 25% profess[] belief in astrology (that the position of the stars and planets can affect people's lives). Fewer people (16%) believe in the "evil eye" or that certain people can cast curses or spells that cause bad things to happen to someone. Many people have pointed out that the modern tendency to see the Earth as dead matter and matter as fallen helps to allow people to pollute the Earth, Air, and Water. For increasing numbers of people to see mountains and trees, for example, as imbued with "spiritual energy" -- which the study seems to not define -- has to be a good thing.

In total, upwards of six-in-ten adults (65%) express belief in or report having experience with at least one of these diverse supernatural phenomena (belief in reincarnation, belief in spiritual energy located in physical things, belief in yoga as spiritual practice, belief in the "evil eye," belief in astrology, having been in touch with the dead, consulting a psychic, or experiencing a ghostly encounter). This includes roughly one-quarter of the population (23%) who report having only one of these beliefs or experiences. More than four-in-ten people (43%) answer two or more of these items affirmatively, including 25% who answer two or three of these items affirmatively and nearly one-in-five (18%) who answer yes to four or more. Roughly one-third of the public (35%) answers no to all eight items. Sixty percent of the population is a surprisingly large group, especially when you consider that most xian churches would say that, for example, consulting a psychic or believing in astrology is a sin. It's interesting to contrast this with the control that, for example, the catholic bishops exercise over our political life.

The survey doesn't appear to have examined how willing Pagans are to adopt some beliefs/practices from mainstream religion, but that would be a fascinating study, as well, I think. My own experience is that many Pagans are willing, for example, to revere the Virgin Mary as a manifestation of the Goddess, to accept that the religious practices of various religious groups, such as speaking in tongues, can raise energy that can be directed towards a given purpose, etc.

Where would you come out on the survey? How many of the things they survey have you done/do you believe in?

Picture found here.

My New Name For A Blog

What Ina Said. (A picture is worth a thousand words, so Ina said a lot).

I Have Not Yet Recruited G/Son Into Our Glorious War on Xmas

But, then, I've always maintained that there was a lot of Elven blood in that kid.

Another Short Day, Another Long, Long Night

More and more, what calls to us just now is dark, hibernation, rest, the deep. Snowstorms blanket the country and, yet, so many of us ignore the clear message from Mother Gaia: Stay home! and try to pretend that we don't live on a weathery planet, but in some technological bubble where we can always go about as if it were 70 degrees and sunny. The flu, car accidents, broken ankles, and a sense of displacement and anger are the inevitable results. Some great, great, many times great G/Daughter of mine will live on one of those starships, but I don't.

I live on a watery planet that spends at least three months out of every year telling me to stay home, cover up, drink warm tea, wear socks, have a fire, consume soup, feed the birds, and contemplate the deep message in desiccated weeds and skeleton-bare trees.

Yes, in a few weeks, my lovely blue planet/Mother will turn, the days will begin to grow longer, I will turn my focus to the light, to action, to growth, to activity, to the East. But, not yet. Not yet. We do ourselves and our planet wrong to turn too quickly to the light.

Just now, the darkness is growing. We can be with that. We can be of that. We can be for that. Just now, we can explore the darkness, both the darkness within ourselves and the darkness in the world outside. What is the scariest thing that would happen if you paid attention to the dark? What is the scariest thing that will happen if you repress it?

Picture found here.

Goddess Guard Us

They won't stop until they destroy all the classics.

Alicia’s [Keyes'] first project is said to be remaking the 1958 romantic comedy “Bell, Book and Candle,” which was about a modern-day witch living in New York. One day the witch sees a handsome man she decides she wants to spend her time with, but it turns out he is with someone else! The witch casts a spell on the man so he will love her, but will her powers cast over him last or will his love for the woman he was with be able to prevail?

More, if you can stand it, here.

Tuesday Poetry Blogging

I'm on a Rita Dove jag.

And, her reference to Lady Freedom -- known to my wonderful circle of amazing women as Columbia, the Goddess of our place, our watershed, our polis, our city, our locus -- as "She Who Has Brought Mercy Back into the Streets," somehow puts me much in mind of the similarities between our statue and the statue of Quan Yin, "She Who Hears the Cries of the World."

I'd like to be at a business breakfast meeting at the Four Seasons with those two. And not just for the pot of perfectly-brewed jasmine tea or the expertly-poached eggs with artichokes. Imagine what those two could do together well before 8:30 in the morning.

Again With The Capitalization Problems

Sigh.

We don’t ask the question ‘What does God want me to do,’ but rather ‘Why do humans behave this way?’” Mirecki said. “It’s more of an anthropological than a theological question. So we’re not looking for the answer that a religion might provide. We’re looking more toward why humans construct reality in this way. In a Muslim way, in a Catholic way, a Southern Baptist way, in a pagan way, whatever the religion might be.”

and

There are 41 religious student organizations registered on campus this school year. Most of the organizations are based in Christianity with a few Muslim and Jewish groups. One organization that stands out is KU Cauldron, the student pagan group.


The second example, in particular, belies the notion that "Pagan" doesn't get capitalized because it's just a generic grouping, rather than a specific religion. If that were the rule being followed, then "christianity," "muslim," and "jewish" shouldn't be capitalized. (Find it a bit jarring to see those religions not capitalized? That's how I feel when I see mine written about in lower case while others are capitalized.) Here's another example of the exact same problem:

A pagan religion is loosely defined as believing in polytheism, a belief in more than one god, or not pertaining to the beliefs in Christianity, Judaism or Islam. That's not only a pretty shitty definition, it's poor usage.

This isn't difficult, people. Either capitalize the names of all religions, or don't capitalize the names of any. And don't tell me it doesn't matter. If it doesn't matter to you, then all the more reason to do it just to be polite.

Gif found here.

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.