Watching the Land Transform

It began to snow heavily here within the last couple of hours and I've been out on the porch every couple of minutes, simply watching and being with the rapid transformation of the land. A really major part of my spiritual practice, and one that's pretty difficult to discuss, not because I'm unwilling, but because we simply seem -- at least I simply seem -- to lack the words, is simply "being" with my own bit of Earth, listening to it, trying to grock it, experiencing it in all of its moods and moments, and relating outwards from my tiny space to the larger landbase/watershed of the Goddess Columbia. For me, it's this incredible privilege, an unearned honor, grace.

Two things struck me, and maybe neither of them makes a lot of sense to anyone except this batty old woman.

First, just as the snow was beginning to get heavy, I snuck out onto the inner edge of the deck and put out a bit more birdseed. The community of birds that hang out in my euonymus bush took immediate notice. As is often the case, the first bird or two brave enough to come that close to the porch were tiny birds. Once the larger mama cardinals watching from the euonymus saw that the tiny birds were safely scarfing up seeds, they braved it themselves. What's up with that? Are the tiny ones just braver, more driven by a desperate metabolism, stupider, what? And what is it that is so elementally satisfying about seeing birds in the snow? Is it simply reassuring to our mammal natures to know that they're still out there?

Second, there was, for just the shortest moment, a deep revelation to me about the relationship between this kind of Winter snowstorm and what goes on in the land all Summer. That's it. Just a moment, and not anything that I'm at all able to put into words, beyond that. But one thing that I have learned over the years is to pay attention to these momentary knowings. I've also learned that this kind of revelation will come back, happen several times, and grow a little bit each time. And, over time, they'll enrich me and my practice, become a part of what I just "know."

Does that ever happen to you?

Photo (from last year) by the author; if you copy, please link back.

Get Going!

There are several cool things coming up; a few local and one global.

First, if you live in, or near, DC, or if you can get here, mark your calendar now so you'll remember to attend the Red Dragon Feast on February 12th. The Feast is scheduled from 2:00 to 5:00 in the Renaissance Hall of Westminster Presbyterian Church, 400 I St., S.W., Washington, D.C. The donation is $13.00.

The Red Dragon Feast is an annual magical feast and fundraiser for healing blood-borne disease. Donations benefit community building and a local charity committed to healing blood borne disease.

The event takes place in three phases:
1. drumming, dancing and ritual
2. toasting and feasting
3. a silent and live auction

We focus our intent by
- wearing red clothes
- eating red food
- toasting with red drink

~~~~~~~~~

We honor the survivors of these diseases, the health care professionals and researchers who are fighting to help them, and the memory of those who have died from blood-borne diseases. This three hour ceremony is a festive, collective prayer for cures ... an event that is serious fun!

~~~~~~~~~~

All Hail the Red Dragon!
All Hail the Life Giving Blood!

All content is public.

The event is sponsored and organized by the DC Radical Faeries.

The Radical Faeries is a community-based group, mostly of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, or Transgender people, devoted to the panspiritual exploration of Queer spirituality. The DC Radical Faeries affirms the sacredness of Queer lives and promotes interfaith collaboration.

For over a decade, the DC Radical Faeries have hosted weekly potlucks, celebrated solar and lunar holidays, and coordinated events in the metropolitan area.

Second, if your practice involves gardening, you have two chances to participate in local seed exchanges, including one at which the DC Guerilla Gardeners will be present:

> Saturday, January 29, 2011 (Brookside Gardens, Wheaton, MD)
> Saturday, February 5, 2011 (Green Spring Gardens, Alexandria, VA)

[DC Guerilla Gardeners will] be at the February 5th event, swappin' seeds and telling everyone who will listen about the D.C. Guerilla Gardeners and our fabulousness!

Or, from anywhere, participate in this effort to study heirloom seeds.

Third, anyone with access to the web can participate in the Sixth Annual Brigid Poetry Festival.

It is that time of year again, when bloggers around the world post a favorite poem in honor of Brigid, the Irish goddess and patron saint of smithcraft, poetry, and healing. Brigid’s feast day is February 1st, so between now and then is the perfect time to publish a poem to celebrate.

Picture found here.

Finally a Feminist Historian's Take on Whitmore's Critique of Hutton

I'm still working my way through Trials of the Moon: Reopening the Case for Historical Witchcraft. A Critique of Ronald Hutton’s Triumph of the Moon: A History of Modern Pagan Witchcraft, a recent book by New Zealand Pagan Ben Whitmore. And I may have more to say about it when I've finished it and gone back and re-read Hutton.

I'm no historian, but Hutton's approach to the history of Witchcraft always seemed to me to be (1) too based in a privileged, literary, male approach to what is largely women's (and therefore subjugated and more likely to be found hiding in oral traditions, crafts, family customs, etc.) history and (2) too willing to accept monotheism's either/or way of looking at the world, i.e, either Dorothy Clutterbuck or many of the people burned as Witches were Christian or they were Witches, but, obviously not both and, if we can find, for example, evidence that they attended the Christian church (even when not to do so was to invite burning or social ostracism) then they must not have been Witches. (I don't know about Hutton, but most women I know in mainstream religions are pretty used to accepting that a certain amount of it is bollocks (yeah, right, Eve tempted Adam; yeah, right priests have to be men because the Disciples were all men, well, at least once you define the Disciples to exclude Mary Magdalen because she wasn't, you know, a man) and simply adopting the parts they like and ignoring the bollocks.) It seems far more likely to me that lots of people, especially women, simply accepted a mixture of Christianity and their old beliefs, just as many modern, self-professed Christians say that they check their daily horoscope in the newspaper, do yoga, and believe in accept evolution. [Literata makes a good point in comments: "Believe in" is bad framing, as it implies that evolution is a matter of faith.]

Now, thanks to Medusa Coils' monthly round-up, here's a review of Whitmore's book from a real historian, Max Dashu. Dashu takes a chapter-by-chapter approach to Whitmore's book and notes that the footnotes in this book are as important as the text. Dashu's review is well worth reading in its entirety, whether you plan to read Whitmore, or not.

Obligatory statements for those who should know better: Yes, of course, some of the people burned as Witches were not Witches and did not engage in any form of Witchcraft, shamanism, or other Pagan practice. Once membership in a disfavored religion becomes cause for persecution (not to mention property approbation), lots of people get wrongly accused of belonging to that religion. Look at the current attempts to insist that President Obama is a Muslim. Yes, of course, some suggested numbers of those burned at the stake appear now to have been overstated. That doesn't change the fact that thousands of (mostly) women were (and in some parts of the world today, still are) executed as Witches. Yes, of course, some early practitioners of early Wicca made up stories about covens that extended back to mythological times. Yes, of course, modern Paganism has evolved and is in many ways different from the practices, of, say, the ancient Celts or Egyptians or Greeks. You know, so has Christianity evolved. Look at what goes on in modern mega-churches, compare that to the socialist practices of 1st Century Christians gathering in each other's homes, and get back to me about how closely my Dianic magics track those of my many-times-great Swedish grandmothers.

None of those facts mean that modern Witchcraft doesn't have ties to ancient practices, that women who would today be called (and likely self-identify as) Witches weren't burned at the stake, or that Pagans need to consider ourselves a completely modern invention.

Picture found here.

Happy Robert Burns Day

The poet Robert Burns was born 252 years ago. I love him.

Cold as Ice

It's been brutally cold here in the magic-crammed MidAtlantic.

The beautiful Potomac River is almost entirely iced over and the Canada Geese and mallard ducks are hard-pressed to find even a few spots where they can swim and dive for food. The ground is as hard and cold as iron and I'm completely disabused of the notion that I entertain for many months each year that Mother Gaia loves to make love to the soles of my bare feet, tickling them with soft grass, heating them with hot sand, bathing them in cool rain puddles. No, just now, the ground is lethally cold and feels as if it has never been in love with me. My memories of sitting outside in the middle of a pouring Summer rainshower, refreshed and in love, feel as if I must have imagined them. Will it ever be that warm again?

I step out on the deck in the slant, low, early-morning Winter sunshine, weak as old tea, careful not to slip on the ice as I feed the birds and the squirrels who are so hungry that even their inbred caution can't keep them from crowding around as I spread out peanuts and sunflower seeds.

We huddle, if we can, inside warm homes, moving quickly from home, to car, to friend's home, and back, bundled inside sweaters, scarves, mittens, and hats. I climb into bed at night wearing socks, and shawls, and flannel and snuggle under half-a-dozen blankets, covers, and comforters (what a wonderful word). By 2:30 or 3:00 am, temperatures dip as low inside as they're going to go, and my old cottage creaks, and moans, and whinges like, well, like an old woman, settling into the icy ground.

I spend some time during each day's practice re-charging all the things that I've knitted for family and friends with the energies of warmth and protection. I prepare vegetables and garlic (lots of garlic) for soup and sprinkle immunity, succor, and heat into the broth. I warm some of it in the morning before I leave for work and hand a tupperware container of it over to the homeless Vet who stands each morning, even this 18 degree morning, at the on-ramp to the Roosevelt Bridge. When I say to him, "Can you stay warm today?" he says, "I'm going to try. Thank you." It's not enough, but it is what I can do.

Every conference call of the day begins with people comparing the cold in their part of the world; Europe's gotten hit pretty hard, too; clients in New England show how macha they are by bragging that this is nothing; people in San Diego feel happy in their choice of landbase. We may live in a technological wonderland, but our animal bodies are still almost overwhelmed by this deep Winter and we connect by talking about it.

And, still, Imbolc is coming. Inspiration is coming, that inner fire that results in an outward blossoming. Poetry is coming and the intense heat of a forging fire is coming. The ground will thaw and warm. The strengthening sun will coax tiny green seedlings out of their hard shells. We need to shake off our Winter weariness and wariness and prepare to dance on newly green grass, to look for snowdrops, hellebores, crocus, and daffodils.

What will you strip off first? What part will you first expose to the light? What will you keep covered as long as possible?

Sunday Ballet Blogging

Winter Fairy Rehearsal

To Die a Free Woman

This.

So when Comstock and his fellow inspectors showed up at her cramped residence on West 23rd Street with a warrant for her arrest, Craddock steeled herself anew. "I wish to fight right through to a finish," she wrote her lawyer shortly afterward. "All I ask is that you use me in the most effective way possible." As an unabashed sex reformer and a mystic founder of her own Church of Yoga, Craddock was to Comstock a twice-damned purveyor of obscenity and blasphemy. He wanted to shut down her whole operation—the distribution of her pamphlets, the delivery of her lectures, even her face-to-face counseling sessions. "I am taking my stand on the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States," Craddock countered, "guaranteeing me religious freedom, freedom of speech and freedom of the press."

Craddock could do little more than watch as Comstock conducted his raid. Scanning the shelves of her private library, he found sixty-one books and 536 circulars worthy of removal, all of which he could use as evidence against her before once again pulping such filth. A heavy-set man with mutton-chop sideburns and creased blue eyes, Comstock had been at this for a while, having led the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice since its incorporation in 1873. For three decades now he had been frustrating the designs of shady booksellers, sketchy impresarios, dime novelists, condom distributors, abortion providers, birth-control advocates, and taboo-breaking artists. Imbued with a strong sense of Christian discipline from his Connecticut youth, he had further honed his self-control through prayerfully resisting the temptations of army life during the Civil War—the whiskey drinking, coarse language, and tobacco chewing that marked the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers. "Boys got very drunk," Comstock noted of his army mates at one point in his diary. "I did not drink a drop. . . . Touch not. Taste not. Handle not."

"She thought her only option at that point was suicide," Schmidt says. "That that was the only way she was going to die a free woman."

That oddly keeps on being the only choice they leave us.

I'll just add that having my carefully-collected and painstakingly-archived books rifled by a fundie would pretty much do me in, as well.

Picture found here.

Exchanging Seeds

I can almost feel Imbolc stirring itself from deep inside my Mother and beginning to rise through the root-chilling red clay and rock-hard frozen surface of my tiny bit of Earth. I am longing like a thirsty woman for a taste of that icy water of inspiration, for all that I know that Imbolc is often considered a fire festival. Imbolc is a time to honor inspiration and the plain old hard work of forging new tools, as well as a time to commit to a warming that we can, often, only believe, rather than sense. I am willing, even if it makes me a foolish old woman, to commit to the warming. (My broken ankle, which simply FEELS itself more this time of year, and my too-cold-even-in-socks-toes, and my full-of-pain-even-in-gloves-fingertips are all ready to commit, as well.)

I am sifting, and hunting, and dreaming about which poems I will contribute to the Sixth Annual Brigid Poetry Festival. So many poems; so little time.

By Imbolc, I will have made my selections -- limited this year, as I'm really serious about upping my already-quite-healthy level of savings -- from the many issues of garden porn seed catalogues that arrive this time of year, and will start some seedlings -- always one of my favorite acts as a priestess. (My nomination for the best seed catalogue cover in years: this year's Seed Savers cover. Who knew that deep purple, deep red, and bright yellow were so gorgeous together?) Also, can I just say that the picture in this year's catalogue of their seed-drying barn, (go here and click through 24 times) is number two on my list of places in which I'd almost kill to, but likely never will, do ritual? (Number 1 is (after dark on the night of a full Moon, when the park is closed) the old Capitol pillars at the National Arboretum.) I want to dance through that barnfull of heirloom DNA in the worst kind of way; I've been there in my dreams almost every night since I've seen it. Seed Savers, I don't suppose you'd like some Witches to come bless your crops?

A few days after Imbolc, I'm going to an v exciting seed swap. I have woad, and pineapple sage, and sunflower seeds to bring. I'd love to find someone with Pam's Choice foxglove or Hollyhock Nigra to give away. I certainly wouldn't turn my nose up at coconut echinacea or Bowles Black viola.

What can you bring to life's seed exchange? What would you like to get?

Photo by the author; if you copy, please link back.

What Circles So Perfectly

Serendipity

There's this:

Premises 1 through 10

and, this:

As the current round of catabolism picks up speed, a great many jobs will go away, and most of them will never return; a great many people who depend on those jobs will descend into poverty, and most of them will never rise back out of it; much of the familiar fabric of life in America as it’s been lived in recent decades will be shredded beyond repair, and new and far less lavish patterns will emerge instead; outside the narrowing circle of the privileged classes, even those who maintain relative affluence will be making do with much less than they or their equivalents do today. All these are ways that a society in decline successfully adapts to the contraction of its economic base and the mismatch between available resources and maintenance costs.

Twenty or thirty or forty years from now, in turn, it’s a fairly safe bet that the years of crisis will come to a close and a newly optimistic America will reassure itself that everything really is all right again. The odds are pretty high that by then it will be, for all practical purposes, a Third World nation, with little more than dim memories remaining from its former empire or its erstwhile status as a superpower; it’s not at all impossible, for that matter, that it will be more than one nation, split asunder along lines traced out by today’s increasingly uncompromising culture wars. Fast forward another few decades, and another round of crises arrives, followed by another respite, and another round of crises, until finally peasant farmers plow their fields in sight of the crumbling ruins of our cities.

That’s the way civilizations end, and that’s the way ours is ending.

The Arch Druid and Derrick Jensen have more.

Picture found here.

Full Moon

There's a gorgeous full Moon in the sky.

Breathe.

Come back into your body.

Remember.

Breathe.

Picture found here.

Dancing with Shadows

It can be difficult, as I discussed recently, to find good Pagan books. This week, I've begun reading -- and am being blown away by -- David Abram's Becoming Animal: An Earthly Cosmology. Abram, to my knowledge, doesn't self-identify as a Pagan, although his bio at The Alliance for Wild Ethics says that Abram is:

An accomplished storyteller and sleight-of-hand magician who has lived and traded magic with indigenous sorcerers in Indonesia, Nepal, and the Americas . . . .

and he's certainly studied and written about magic. Becoming Animal is, in any event, a Pagan book, in the true sense of the word. The Politics and Prose write-up says:

The shapeshifting of ravens, the erotic nature of gravity, the eloquence of thunder, the pleasures of being edible: all have their place in Abram’s investigation. He shows that from the awakened perspective of the human animal, awareness (or mind) is not an exclusive possession of our species but a lucid quality of the biosphere itself—a quality in which we, along with the oaks and the spiders, steadily participate.

I'm particularly struck by Abram's discussion of shadows. Having worked with James Hillman, it's not surprising that Abram writes about shadows in ways that have multiple meanings. Although he's ostensibly talking about the kind of shadows we cast upon the ground when the sun is shining, I find some of his passages to be equally applicable (and I can't believe Abram isn't aware of what he's doing) to Jungian shadows, as well. Here's a small example:

One of the marks of our obliviousness, one of the countless signs that our thinking minds have grown estranged from the intelligence of our sensing bodies, is that today a great many people seem to believe that shadows are flat. . . . We identify our shadow, in other words, with that visible shape we see projected on the pavement or the whitewashed wall. Since what we glimpse there is a being without depth [heh], we naturally assume that shadows themselves are basically flat -- and if we are asked by a curious child about the life of shadows [again, heh] we are apt to reply that their lives exist in only two dimensions [ok, I'll stop with the "heh"s, but I think you see my point].

. . .

[M]y actual shadow is an enigma more substantial than that flat shape on the ground. That silhouette is only my shadow's outermost surface. . . . [The] apparent gap between myself and that flat swath of darkness is what prompts me, now and then, to accept its invitation to dance, the two of us then strutting and ducking in an improvised pas de deux wherein it's never very clear which one of us is leading [heh; can't help myself] and which is following. It is now obvious, however, that that shape slinking along on the pavement is merely the outermost edge of a thick volume of shade, an umbral depth that extends from the pavement right on up to my knees, torso, and head -- a shadow touching me not just at my feet, but at every point of my person.

Or maybe I'm completely wrong and Abram, trying heroically to get us back in actual touch with the physical shadows cast by our bodies, would berate me for needing to find verbal twists and psychological constructs literally breaking through his words. Indeed, in the essay on magic, linked above, Abram says:

For it is likely that the "inner world" of our Western psychological experience, like the supernatural heaven of Christian belief, originated in the loss of our ancestral reciprocity with the living landscape. When the animate presences with whom we have evolved over several million years are suddenly construed as having less significance than ourselves, when the generative earth that gave birth to us is defined as a soulless or determinate object devoid of sensitivity and sentience, then that wild otherness with which human life had always been entwined must migrate, either into a supersensory heaven beyond the natural world, or else into the human skull itself--the only allowable refuge, in this world, for what is ineffable and unfathomable.

At any rate, it's a meaty book (odd choice of words, perhaps, for a book entitled "Becoming Animal") and one full of the Pagan understanding that EVERYTHING is alive and longing to be in communion, that, "it's all real; it's all [heh] metaphor; there's always more."

If you've read it, or Abram's earlier book, The Spell of the Sensuous I'd love to know your reactions.

Update: As the stumbling oral reading above makes clear, this is a book written to be read, not spoken. The language is lush, almost rococo, and one needs to remain fully present to read it. I'm reading it, as a result, as a series of amuses-gueule, and not in one or two "swell foops," as my grandma used to say.

No Justice w/o Peace and No Justice w/o Peace

Not going to segregate my moral concerns..

Maybe My Favorite Quote, Ever

Bend, motherfucker, bend towards justice.

What Does That Bust Say to You, Mr. President? So Far, You Are Acting Deaf to Me

Someday

More and more, I look back at the Sixties -- Summer of Love, Selma, Consciousness Raising Groups, and Woodstock -- as a kind of Brigadoon, that settles down unnoticed on our Moors, gives us an example, and then goes back off into the clouds to stay pure for another time when it's needed. I was, pace Mr. Dylan, so much younger then; I'm older (better funded, more grounded, smarter, more focused, and more committed) than that, now.

And, I agree with Joan. We shall overcome, someday.

My New Name for a Blog

What the Letter from Birmingham Jail Said.

I was going to try and excerpt the best parts, but, really, if you're an American, or if you're someone who loves justice, or if you're human, you should just go read the whole thing.

Once More

All my life, they've been shooting the heroes down. All my life, easy access to guns has taken down those who tried to lead us forward. I think it's time to get to the root of the problem. Let's get a "well-regulated" militia under regulation.

Sad Times

A Few First Class Funerals

The Greatest Demonstration for Freedom in the History of Our Nation

You know, now that I'm an old woman, and not a little girl of 12, when I look at Dr. King, I can see how he is just carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. And although it's not nearly enough, what I want to say, from this distance of 43 years, is, "Thank you. Thank you for the better world that I have lived in. And, most of all, thank you for the better world in which my G/Son will live all the days of his life. Thank you, Dr. King."

Maybe we all need, certainly I need, to pick up a little bit more of the world's weight, so that no one person ever has to bear so much all alone. I won't, pace Mr. Frost, be gone long; you come too.

Sunday Ballet Blogging

How Does Your (Winter) Garden Grow?

Margaret Roach, who blogs at A Way to Garden, has an amazing slideshow of conifers, perfect trees at any time of year, but especially so during these dark Winter days. She doesn't include one of my favorites, Cryptomeria (beloved as much for the creepy name, as for the perfect shape and rapid growth), known as Japanese Temple Pines. I have three of them and they keep the deep Winter garden both interesting and alive. However, just Roach's one picture of weeping Alaska cedar (Chamaecyparis nootkatensis ‘Pendula,’) has thrown me into a deep fit of longing. I really, really, really need some of those. That tree reminds me of C.S. Lewis' comment in Surprised by Joy about seeing Rackham's illustrations of Wagner for the first time:

Pure "Northernness" engulfed me: a vision of huge, clear spaces hanging above the Atlantic in the endless twilight of Northern summer, remoteness, severity . . . and almost at the same moment I knew that I had met this before, long, long ago . . . And with that plunge back into my own past there arose at once, almost like heartbreak, the memory of Joy itself, the knowledge that I had once had what I had now for years, that I was returning at last from exile and desert lands to my own country; and the distance of the Twilight of the Gods and the distance of my own past Joy, both unattainable, flowed together into a single, unendurable sense of desire and loss, which suddenly became one with the loss of the whole experience, which, as I now stared round that dusty schoolroom like a man recovering from unconsciousness, had already vanished, had eluded me at the very moment when I could first say It is. And at once I knew (with fatal knowledge) that to "have it again" was the supreme and only important object of desire . . .

Well, it's a lot, but that's what trees can invoke in me.

Landscape Guy and I were talking earlier this week about a rather nascent notion of his to begin planting trees in blighted towns in America's South East. In Second Nature: A Gardener's Education, Michael Pollan has an entire section devoted to planting trees; one of his principal points is that trees are one of the things that we plant almost certain that they will outlive us, and that, on an anonymous basis, is what drives Landscape Guy towards this vision. And there is, for me, something both alchemical and magical about planting trees, fully aware that they will be here, giving shade, providing succor to birds and squirrels, and supplying oxygen long after this old Witch has shuffled off to the Isle of Apples to settle down on the warm grass with the other Ancestors, drink tea, and watch bemusedly as our progeny do their best.

What have you planted that you expect to live beyond you? What one tree do you really, really need?

Picture found here.

Who Is Choosing to Lose the Fight?

I've been musing all day about this v. good post by Theodora Goss. Goss is discussing, in particular, how one grows as a writer, but I think that what she says has broader applications to other areas of our lives, including our desire for spiritual and magical growth and our attempts to integrate Fire and capital-W-Will into our lives. Goss says:

I was thinking about the quality of courage today.

I suppose I was thinking about it because I’d seen some things recently that were not at all courageous. That were cowardly. I’m not thinking in terms of physical courage or cowardice. I’m thinking about how we all deal with our lives. The problem is that courage is a sort of muscle. If you don’t use it, the muscle becomes weaker, eventually atrophies. And then you can’t use it, you can’t lift what you need to, or even bend where you need to because it has become stiffer, less flexible.

Courage needs to be exercised.

. . .

Often, it seems to me, when you do something that requires more courage, it ends up being easier than the thing that requires less.

. . .

Each time you put yourself out there in some way, each time you do something that takes courage, you’re exercising that muscle so the next thing becomes easier.

. . .

On the other hand, if you routinely avoid what you fear, you start to believe that you really can’t do whatever it is. And you shrink from other things as well, thinking you can’t do them either.

. . .

And how, you may ask, do you build courage, if it really is a muscle, as I claim?

1. Find something you’re afraid of.

2. Do it.

3. Repeat steps 1 and 2, as many times as necessary.

That was the thought I had today, because what I saw instead was cowardice, which led to weakness, which led to more cowardice and weakness in a feedback loop. And none of us wants to be there, dying a thousand times before our death. Among other things, it’s no way to be a writer.

Goss' discussion reminds me of an October 2010 podcast by T. Thorn Coyle in which Coyle said:

And, where's the struggle? Is it a struggle of not believing in yourself? Is it a struggle of feeling like you don't have the resources you need? Is it a struggle of of lack of time, lack of energy? Is it a struggle of lack of support around you? Or lack of support from your daily practice? Is it the fear of success? The fear of failure? Where's that struggle?

My trainer, Carrie Rockland, with whom I do a trade that's very fruitful for both of us -- we end up teaching each other, which I greatly appreciate . That's one of the ways I keep fire in my life is to seek out teaching from those who have skills or experiences that I don't have -- but Carrie is coming up on a big competition in which she is having to fight someone that she fought many years ago in order to go up a level in the belt system in her martial art. And in talking about this, she wrote something that was so clear that I want to share it with you. Carrie wrote, "More often than not, the truth is I am the one choosing to lose the fight." I want us all to take that phrase in right now. "More often than not, the truth is I am the one choosing to lose the fight. "

We talk ourselves out of it before we even step on the mat, half the time. We talk ourselves out of it before we even gather the resources needed to see a project through. We talk ourselves out of it before we make that initial step or have that first conversation. We talk ourselves out of it before we even let ourselves brainstorm and dream.

Fire can help us with courage. That fire in the heart is that strong heart, that courageous heart. And that is something that our Gods can help us with, our friends can help us with. It's something that can help us face the necessary battles, if you will, or take those risks that we're less willing to take

Fire helps us push out of our comfort zone.

You know, some comfort is necessary. we need some ease in our lives and we need some rest, but we also need our comfort to be challenged.

I'm musing a lot about the roles of Fire, Will, and courage in my life. There's not a lot of Fire in my chart, but there's a whole lot of Earth. And, somehow, for the first half of my life, I wound up needing to work like hell to break away from a dysfunctional family, to raise Son on my own, to run educational programs with no money in a dysfunctional school system, to find a spiritual path for myself (which, you know, Sun in Pisces, was kind of important), to go to law school while I worked, to establish myself in a new field, to survive breast cancer, . . . well, you get the picture. And I think that I simply drew (about as heavily as one can draw upon any one account, I simply drew) from all of the stubborn, determined, not-going-to-give-up Earth in my chart and, somehow, thank the Ancestors, made it through.

And, then, suddenly -- finally -- I got a chance to slow down. I got a chance to experience some of that "comfort" and "ease in our lives" that Coyle talks about. And I've taken full advantage of it. But, lately, I'm feeling more and more of a need to begin to push myself again. Certainly, not as hard as I had to push myself for the first part of my life, but to begin, in Coyle's words, for my comfort to be challenged. This is where Goss' words come in: "On the other hand, if you routinely avoid what you fear, you start to believe that you really can’t do whatever it is. And you shrink from other things as well, thinking you can’t do them either." Goss is right and her metaphor about courage being a muscle is right.

Where are you challenging yourself? Where do you need to invoke Fire? Where do you need more ease and comfort? In what ways is being a Witch an exercise in constantly challenging yourself and invoking Fire? In what ways is it a move towards ease and comfort? What elements do you draw upon to make up for the lack of other elements in your make-up?

Picture found here.

Update: As Thalia notes in comments, the notion of forcing yourself over and over to face fear can have different meanings for those of us who grew up in dysfunctional families. Thalia discusses the very important notion of treating ourselves compassionately and not berating ourselves for being afraid. Thalia's right; we all have to find our own balance and our society often gives short shrift to the courage that it can take to NOT beat ourselves up, to give ourselves permission to create a zone of comfort and ease. Having compassion for ourselves is often one of the bravest things we do.

Be True to What You Said on Paper

Let America be America, again.

What Would It Take for You to Smile Before Your Ancesors?

As a part of my daily practice, I ground and make contact with the cold, red, Virginia clay upon which my little cottage is built. I twine my own roots around the deep roots of the ancient oaks, tall maple, triune river birch, crape myrtle trees, new magnolias, Japanese temple pines, gardenias, lilacs, lavender, rosemary, and sage. This part of my practice can actually take a reasonable amount of time. It's like checking in with a bunch of different family members; you wouldn't begrudge that time or try to rush it, would you? And I will go to my grave believing that it matters, that the Earth is healed when we spend time with her, touch her, send our love directly to her.

Lately, I am more and more aware of the way that a horizontal (about three-foot-tall (or deep))-layer of cold has spread not only over my bit of Earth, but of how it has, as well, spread for several feet underground.

I admit that, when I walk outside every morning to feed the birds (barefoot, if at all possible and reasonably safe, just to remind me that I am a priestess of the Earth and need to physically connect with Her), I examine the sunny protected Southern exposure near my deck for some sign that the crocus and daffodils (of which the tips are only now just barely visible) have grown a bit. I walk outside every morning to the car and scan the hellebores for a bud or two, scan the mulched, North-facing, cottage gardens for any sign that the Gallanthus, aka, snowdrops, are beginning to sprout, even though I know that they're a good 4 weeks away, at least.

And, yet, what my bit of Earth is telling me is that, until that layer of cold rises out of the red clay, there won't be any flowers. I'll know to really look for the flowers when I ground and find that the cold has stopped penetrating deep into my red Virginia clay. That's not what I expected to learn when, a novice, solitary Witch, I began, years ago, to daily practice grounding, but it's what grounding is teaching me, just now, all these years later. "Here, my dear, here's a deep revelation: Winter's cold seeps below ground and that influences when things bloom." Well, um, yeah, but I was thinking more, you know, dramatic revelations, lightning, dawn cracking thorough clouds, and, well, yeah, of course, cold/Earth/plants, yeah, ok, but, um deep insights? "Here, my dear, here's a deep revelation: "Winter's cold seeps below ground and that influences, when things bloom." OK, I learn, pace, Mr. Roethke, by going where I have to go.

And, then, I drive beside my beloved Spout Run and alongside my beautiful Potomac River and see the ice that has been there for weeks and weeks - unheard of here just South of the line that Mr. Mason and Mr. Dixon decided to draw. Last weekend, I was driving G/Son home, and we went over the bridge from Virginia into Maryland, across the Potomac River. Almost always, I tell him, "Now we're driving over the beautiful Potomac River," and then I call out, "Good morning, beautiful Potomac River!" This time, I said, "Now we're driving over the beautiful Potomac," and, before I could say anything else, G/Son said, "Good morning, Potomac!"

You know, I have been a good deal more lucky than I had any right to be. I raised an amazing, kind, gorgeous, good-humored, feminist Son, who married a beautiful, down-to-Earth, kick-ass-yogini of a hera, and who is an Earth-shatteringly-amazingly good Father. I've loved me some poets and priests of nothing. I've taught a lot of poor kids a lot of stuff and I've organized some educational programs to ensure that a lot more got taught. I've kicked a whole lot of law school ass, and I've written motions and briefs that have, if I do say so myself, been improbably successful. I've advised a number of wind and solar companies, thereby, in Lovelock's words, cushioning The Fall. I've taught one or two amazingly bright young lawyers how to think about legal issues and how to write good legal prose. I've been friends with a whole lot of amazing women. I've made a warm, welcoming home that frequently houses Witches and their rituals and provides an afternoon's succor for activists who need to sit on a porch. I've done magic for Code Pink, talked truth to power, and poured wine for wounded revolutionaries. I've worked with an inspired greenman to make a garden and ritual space. I've marched in every important march of the last half-century, handed out campaign literature, helped to get a woman on the ballot in VA and voted for her in the primary, done pro bono work to ensure voting rights, and fed people who were hungry. And if I were to die with nothing to proclaim to my ancestors beside the fact that my G/Son has a first-name, "say good morning when you pass" relationship with the Potomac River and that I know when my bit of Earth is still cold, well, I'll die happy and answer gladly, that's all I can say.

May you have a deep relationship with your own bit of Earth and may you find a river or mountain or moor to which your family may become tied.

Picture found here.

It's Odd to Object to Native Americans Praying in, You Know, America

Not surprisingly, conservatives have been criticizing the inclusion of a Native American blessing at last night's program in Arizona. Media Matters has the whole story. Here's an example:

Examiner: "Rambling 'Native American Blessing'...Provided A Stark Statement Of Pantheistic Paganism." A January 13 Washington Examiner column said that while Gonzales has the "right to practice whatever faith he chooses," his invocation was "a rambling 'Native American Blessing'" that was a "statement of pantheistic paganism." From the Washington Examiner's "Beltway Confidential" column:

...[N]o Catholic priest, Baptist minister or Jewish rabbi was included in the program. What was included was a rambling "Native American Blessing" at the outset of the program. This blessing provided a stark statement of pantheistic paganism, including forthright declarations concerning "Father Sky," "Mother Earth" and the "Creator."

Regardless of one's view of Pantheism, its prominent inclusion at the opening of a memorial service on a state-run university campus featuring a lengthy list of public officials would seem, by the familiar expressions of liberal multicultural conventional wisdom, a blatant violation of separation of church and state.

[...]

No one, of course, should question Carlos Gonzalez' [sic] right to practice whatever faith he chooses and to display it in public as he thinks best, or deny that his invocations of his love for America were entirely appropriate and inspiring. We should all be thankful for the service of his son in Afghanistan as well.

That said, it ought to be recognized that his religious beliefs and practices were used by the few to send a message of exclusion to the many, thus illustrating the utter hypocrisy of at the heart of multicultural political correctness. [Washington Examiner, 1/13/11]

The program also included Christian prayers and bible passages read by, for example, Eric Holder, but apparently that's not enough for the Dominionists.

Manufactured Emotion, Managed Feelings

Got no patience tonight for the solomn vocal stylings of President Goldman Sachs, brought to you by GE and big agra, providing a great national catharsis so we can now go back to surrendering to the corporatists and Jebuzists, and don't forget to get a t-shirt on the way out, beside the metal detectors.

Sorry for my bad mood, but my bosom bud Karin, in comments at Eschaton, grocks me all the way home.

And my good friend stoat:

Well, It Might Not Be Quite as Bad as Season of the Witch, But

I've got a bad feeling about this, Toto.

Picture found here.

Framing

I was re-shelving some of the books in what passes for the library here at chez Hecate and came across (because who re-shelves books without re-reading at least a few passages?) this quote from George Lakoff's book Don't Think of an Elephant: Know Your Values & Frame the Debate. I think it's worth sharing.

Taxation is paying your dues, paying your membership fee in America. If you join a country club or a community center, you pay fees. Why? You did not build the swimming pool. You have to maintain it. You did not build the basketball court. Someone has to clean it. You may not use the squash court, but you still have to pay your dues. Otherwise it won't be maintained and will fall apart. People who avoid taxes, like corporations that move to Bermuda,, are not paying their dues to the country. It is patriotic to be a taxpayer. It is traitorous to desert our country and not pay your dues.

Perhaps Bill Gates Sr. said it best. In arguing to keep the inheritance tax, he pointed out that he and Bill Jr. did not invent the Internet. They just used it -- to make billions. There is no such thing as a self-made [person]. Every businessman has used the vast American infrastructure, which the taxpayers paid for, to make his money. He did not make his money alone. He sued taxpayer infrastructure. He got rich on what other taxpayers had paid for: the Treasury and Commerce Departments, the judicial system, where nine-tenths of the cases involve corporate law. These taxpayer investments support companies and wealthy investors. There are no self-made men! The wealthy have gotten rich using what previous taxpayers paid for. The owe the taxpayers of this country a great deal and should be paying it back.

Picture found here.

My New Name for a Blog: What Gus Said

Pagan blogger, Gus diZerega has a post that you REALLY need to read. Gus responds to assertions that years of violent right-wing rhetoric had nothing to do with the murders and attempted murders this weekend in Arizona. As Gus points out:

For over a decade the radical right, beginning with Ann Coulter, Newt Gingrich and Rush Limbaugh have initiated a complete reframing of political debate into only dehumanizing attacks on their opponents as evil traitors who hate America and are any combination of Communists, Nazis, Fascists, Muslims, Gays, and Haters. Against them reference is made to times of violent resistance against oppression. Always. In public debate actual policies are rarely if ever discussed, and when they are, they are discussed in misleading terms such as "death panels." This is a pattern, a syndrome, a deliberate attempt to change a culture by dehumanizing opponents and destroying the tolerance that makes democracy possible.

. . .

When violent rhetoric is continually employed dehumanizing the other, and it is shouted from the roof-tops, and blared out hourly on a major media station, and on radios country wide, that shifts the moral center of gravity around which most people gravitate, and weakens cultural barriers on violent behavior. Those weakest in self-control and mentally least capable of acting responsibly, in other words the people most dependent on external signals for deciding what to do, those people will be the first to be affected. Jared Loughner fits that observation perfectly.

. . .

It's not as if this has not happened before. Rwanda once had Tutsis and Hutus living together amicably and intermarrying. Tensions existed, but Hutus did not suddenly puck up machetes and start hacking away at their fellow Rwandans, including moderate Hutus. But in time they did. Politicians and media figures figured prominently in undermining traditional toleration and gradually pushing culture towards civil violence, just as the radical right is today. Here is a brief account of Rwandan hate media that might be a description of Fox today, except that it has followed the logic of Fox's lies more literally. Two short discussions are on Wikipedia and in this paper by Kristen Landreville. There is also a BBC report.

The former Yugoslavia did not suddenly see Serbs and Croats and Bosnians wake up one day and begin slaughtering one another. That was the outcome of a longer period of cultural destruction pursued by politicians and media allies, principally Serbian ones, but not entirely. Chris Hedges War Is a Force that Gives Us Meaning is a eye opening and beautifully written account where while it is not the main issue discussed, the alert reader easily sees the role media played in what happened. Did I say it was beautifully written? Indeed it is.

Political assassination was a feature of the dying Weimar Republic. Assassinations were rarely the work of Nazis. They were often the work of the 1930s German equivalent of Loughlin, weakly autonomous people who reacted easily to the cultural atmosphere of growing violent rhetoric. The ideologues, right or left, were rarely the assassins. Often they were lone operators. Ultimately over 350 politicians were murdered in the Republic, so we have a way to go. But one depressing aspect of the linked discussion is how the good guys lose in these killings, even when everyone denounces the killers.

After the Nazi take over the Germans were not ready for the Nazis' true bestiality, and so German culture was continually softened up before and after through right wing use of the media in a way disturbingly similar to Fox News. If you think I am exaggerating, read Claudia Koonz, The Nazi Conscience. Then come back and discuss it. In this very important book for us today she documents a number of methods chillingly similar to those employed by the American right wing. The book is a real eye opener.

I have linked to another article depicting the striking similarities between the hate media in Germany, Rwanda, and Serbia.

(Gus's post has the mentioned links; head on over to check them out and to read the entire post.) I'll defend Gus against all cries of "Godwin!" Sometimes, the comparison is actually quite apt and, as Gus' post demonstrates, this is one of them. It's time to start being honest about what's been going on in America. I'll also note that the ever-brilliant Athenae is also correct: those who fund this sort of evil, mostly in order to keep the rubes distracted while they steal everything that's not pinned down, are every bit as much to blame as are the graspy little mouthpieces like Beck and Limbaugh and Coulter.

As Gus concludes, this issue is particularly important for Pagans, who not only get blamed for everything from 9/11 to Katrina, but who are also very likely targets of intolerant, Dominionist, right-wing violence. If you blog or twitter or post on Facebook, I urge you to link to Gus' post; I think it's that important.

Picture found here.

Update: Thanks to UNE in comments at Eschaton, here's a list of recent "incidents of insurrectionist violence (or the promotion of such violence) that have occurred since" June of 2008. In the last one-third of 2010, alone, we had the following:

September 16, 2010—Patricia Stoneking, the President of the Kansas State Rifle Association, tells Fox News, "People need to arm themselves, We have the right to put limits on our government, and that's what [the Second Amendment] does." Explaining why America's Founding Fathers drafted the amendment, she says, "They knew government could become tyrannical. We have the right to defend ourselves from a rogue government."

September 30, 2010—Kevin Terrell, a self-described "colonel" who founded a group of "freedom fighters" in Kentucky, predicts war with "the jackbooted thugs" of Washington within a year. Referring to the arrest of Hutaree militia members earlier in the year, Terrell says, "There was a lot of citizens out there in the bushes, locked and loaded. It's only due to miracles I do not understand that civil war did not break out right there."

September 30, 2010—Steve Kendley, a deputy sheriff running for sheriff in Lake County, Montana, threatens "a violent conflict" with federal agents if "they are doing something I believe is unconstitutional."

October 15, 2010—Conservative radio show host Glenn Beck lays out a hypothetical scenario on the air where the government is considering taking his children because he refused to have them receive a mandatory flu vaccine. Beck tells his audience that his response to the government would be "Meet Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson."

October 21, 2010—Pastor Stephen Broden, the Republican candidate for U.S. Representative in Texas' 30th Congressional District, tells WFAA-TV in Dallas that the violent overthrow of the government is an "option" that remains "on the table." "Our nation was founded on violence," states Broden. "I don't think that we should ever remove anything from the table as it relates to our liberties and our freedoms."

October 22, 2010—Texas Department of Corrections officers searching for a missing person, Gill Clements, 69, are confronted by a neighbor while on Clements' property in Henderson County. Howard Tod Granger, 46, points an AK-47 semiautomatic assault rifle at one of the officers, who recalls, "He told us to get off the property or he would kill us all." Later that afternoon, officers return to Granger's home with a search warrant and an armored vehicle filled with 13 SWAT members. Granger opens fire on the vehicle, discharging at least 30 rounds before authorities shoot and kill him. Police find guns and "many rounds of ammunition" in Granger's house. They also find the body of Clements, buried in a shallow grave on Granger's property.

November 3, 2010—James Patock, 66, of Pima County, Arizona, is arrested on the National Mall in the District of Columbia after law enforcement authorities find a .223 caliber rifle, a .243 caliber rifle barrel, a .22 caliber rifle, a .357 caliber pistol, several boxes of ammunition, and propane tanks wired to four car batteries in his truck and trailer. Patock former neighbor in Arizona reported that, "He hated the president. He hated everything. He said if he got a chance he would shoot the president." Patock tells authorities he is a member of the National Rifle Association.

November 4, 2010—On his radio show, conservative host Glenn Beck fantasizes about President Obama being decapitated during a trip to India, saying, "If anybody thinks he was a Muslim over here, well God forbid, they think he was a Muslim over there because he left his religion for Christianity, death sentence, behead him.” Beck then tells his listeners that "God forbid" this should happen, as there would be a "New World Order" overnight in the United States.

November 4, 2010—Fox News host Bill O'Reilly fantasizes about killing a Washington Post reporter while on the air, saying, "Does sharia law say we can behead Dana Milbank?" O'Reilly also tells co-host Megyn Kelly, "I think you and I should go and beat him up."

November 9, 2010—U.S. Representative-Elect Allen West of Florida's 22nd Congressional District hires conservative radio talk show host Joyce Kaufman as his Chief of Staff. On July 3, Kaufman told a crowd of Tea Party supporters, “I am convinced that the most important thing the Founding Fathers did to ensure me my First Amendments rights was they gave me a Second Amendment. And if ballots don’t work, bullets will."

November 9, 2010—Concealed handgun permit holder George Thomas Lee, 69, of Walhalla, South Carolina, is arrested on the town's main street for disseminating and promoting obscenity by bearing signs "laden with expletives and taking aim at U.S. foreign policy, President Barack Obama, blacks in general, Jews and the nation of Israel." Officers also seize literature from Lee that details "the most expedient means of killing law enforcement officers." The November 9 arrest follows an October 19 arrest for assault after Lee kicked and swung his signs at a group of girls between the ages of 12 and 14.

November 10, 2010—Public schools in Broward County, Florida, go into lockdown after an email threat is received by WFTL 850 AM. The email is sent to conservative radio host Joyce Kaufman in response to remarks she made at a Tea Party event in July ("If ballots don't work, bullets will"). The email expresses support for her view of the Second Amendment and says that to further "their cause...something big will happen at a government building in Broward County, maybe a post office maybe even a school." A phone call is then received at the station, allegedly from the emailer's wife, warning that he is preparing to go to a Pembroke Pines school and open fire.

November 23, 2010—Larry Pratt, the Executive Director of Gun Owners of America, writes an editorial in The Register Citizen in which he calls for state and county sheriffs to organize large, armed "posses" as "a check on the unconstitutional exercise of federal power."

November 29, 2010—U.S. Rep. Joe Barton (R-TX), the ranking Republican on the House Energy and Commerce Committee, circulates a PowerPoint presentation to his colleagues in which he compares the Obama administration to the Nazi regime in Germany and likens himself to Gen. George Patton, bragging, "Put anything in my scope and I will shoot it."

December 3, 2010—At "Roe & Roeper's Miracle on Indianapolis Blvd. Holiday Extravaganza" promoting "Toys 4 Tots" in Chicago, Illinois, actor R. Lee Emery (famous for his depiction of Gunnery Sergeant Hartman in "Full Metal Jacket") tells those in attendance, "The economy really sucks. Now I hate to point fingers at anybody, but the present administration probably has a lot to do with that. And the way I see it, they're not gonna quit doing it until they bring this country to its knees. So I think we should all rise up and we should stop this administration from what they're doing because they're destroying this country. They're driving us into bankruptcy so that they can impose socialism on us."

January 6, 2011—John Troy Davis, 44, is arrested after threatening to set fire to the office of Sen. Michael Bennet (D-CO) and shoot members of his staff. The threat comes when Davis calls Bennet's office to complain about his Social Security benefits, telling a staffer that he is schizophrenic and "may go to terrorism." "I'm just going to come down there and shoot you all," he declares. Davis is charged with assault on a federal employee.

January 8, 2011—Jared Lee Loughner, 22, shoots U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords (D-AZ) and 19 others at a "Congress in Your Corner" event at a Safeway supermarket in Tucson, Arizona. He kills six, including federal judge John Roll, and wounds 14, including Giffords, who is shot in the head. Loughner has an extensive history of mental illness and substance abuse, yet is able to purchase two handguns and a high-capacity ammunition magazine legally at Sportsman's Warehouse on November 30, 2010. In a YouTube video posted in December 2010, Loughner states, "You don’t have to accept the federalist laws ... Nonetheless, read the United States of America’s Constitution to apprehend all of the current treasonous laws."

As God Is My Witness, I Thought Turkeys Could Fly

And I would have sworn for the 1st 90 seconds that this was parody.

Good Advice

Lackey's music is available here.

Sarah Palin Has No Shame. Sociopath.

Sunday Ballet Blogging

Barack Obama, Grow the Fuck Up. America Needs You.

Brighter bloggers than I will say what needs to be said about the domestic terrorism that culminated today in the point-blank shot to Democratic Congresswoman Giffords' head. They'll say what needs to be said about Sarah Palin's poster that targeted -- by which I mean showed in the sights of a gun -- Congresswoman Giffords, the only member of Congress, by the way, married to someone in the military. They'll say what needs to be said about how Congresswoman Giffords' opponent publicized fundraisers "targeting" her by giving Arizonans a chance to shoot guns with him. They'll say what needs to be said about candidates blabbing about "Second Amendment Solutions." They'll say what needs to be said about Glenn Beck and his filthy ilk.

Here's what I have to say: Man up, Barack Obama and do the damn job that you wanted before you were ready for it, won, and now have. You and Eric Holder and Janet Napalitano need to be all the fuck over this shit right the fuck now. You taught these terrorists that it was ok to show up at town hall meetings carrying guns to intimidate decent Democrats. Get off your Goldman Sachs ass. Act like the goddess-damned president of the United States of America. Now, before a few more of us get shot point-blank in the head.

hat tip to filker tom

No One Could Have Anticipated

Season of Misogyny.

Picture found here.

I Hope for Beauty

"This is totally beauty. It's also vandalism." (Be still, my beating heart.)

I just have to say that, IMHO, this is magic of the highest sort.

I don't mean that metaphorically. I mean it literally.

IMHO, guerilla gardeners do magic, deep magic, magic that really matters, and I don't care that they show up ignorant of magical practice, without an athame, bearing no incense, wearing no pentacles or robes, and lacking any chants or spoken spells. It's enough that they not only "hope for beauty," but that they also (unlike too many self-proclaimed Pagans) show up in her service under the pale Moon light.

Sometimes when, in Wendell Berry's words, "despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives [and most of all, what my G/Son's life] may be," (which lately is, you know, almost every night), I remind myself of something that Starhawk said after the midterm elections:

Remember that the real work of change is always going on—if not in Washington, then in thousands of towns and neighborhoods and communities, if not in the halls of power, then in the streets. Don’t be complacent, but don’t despair. All around us are allies working for more justice, more freedom, more ecological balance, more peace. This is not a time to fall back, but to step up, to be bolder, braver, louder, funnier, more inventive, more outrageous, more committed. Political winds blow back and forth—hold to your deepest values, and we’ll stay the course.

Guerilla gardeners are my allies, working for more ecological balance, more peace. I guess that it's time for me to step up, be bolder, braver, funnier, more inventive, more outrageous, more committed. It's time for me to do some serious guerilla gardening. Like Margaret Cho, I have decided to stay and fight. I'm going to hold to my deepest values and stay the course.

What other options are there? What have you decided?

We Study You So That We Can Control You

Here's an interesting article about a book that discusses why people leave xianity and how xians can lure them back to xianity. The use of the now-almost-completely-discredited-term "Neo-Pagan" is a clue to how "hip" the book really is. Honestly, the relationship of my practice to ancient Paganism is at least as direct as is the relationship of most modern xian practices to those of the 1st Century xians. If I'm a "neo-Pagan," then they're "neo-xians."

Also, look, I'm going to break this to you as gently as possible, but I don't give a flying frap how much you try to "show familiarity with [my] basic beliefs by asking [me] what attracted [me] to Wicca and what problems [I] have with xianity." (How those questions show any familiarity with my "basic beliefs" is beyond me.) I don't care whether you "show[] an appreciation for nature and a desire to protect it," and I really don't want you to think that you can "direct" me anywhere, much less to the god that YOU IMAGINE Nature reflects. Nor will it do any good for you to "not be shy about talking about your own spiritual experiences." I've been deep inside your religion/had your spiritual experiences (hint: I was raised in it and by "raised in it," I mean: Catholic school, daily rosaries and Mass, children's choir, taught CCD for years to first Communicants, did Catholic pentecostalism, was v. seriously recruited for the convent, tried Protestantism as a serious adult) and deep inside mine and I'M NOT COMING BACK. I'm an intelligent, well-educated (to which a lot of you xians object), adult female (and you might want to work on how you treat this half of humanity if you REALLY want to address my concerns) human being, who understands what you have to offer and what Paganism has to offer and who has found Paganism to be a better path for me. I'm (unlike you) happy if others find different paths for themselves, including your religion, but, after 54 years on Earth and several decades as a Pagan, a few bad Marketing 101 tricks aren't going to change my entire life, but, you know, thanks for the insult to my intelligence, integrity, and ideals.

Also, since I say this every time, if you're going to capitalize "Christian," you can capitalize even "Neo-Pagan." If you have to use "Neo" at all.

Can you imagine how insulted xians would be if, for example, Moslems wrote a similar book about how to lure xians into Islam?

Picture found here.

What Are the Needs of the Beaver, the Bear, the Salmon?

We know what the animals do, what are the needs of the beaver, the bear, the salmon, and other creatures, because long ago men married them and acquired this knowledge from their animal wives. Today the priests say we lie, but we know better. The white man has been only a short time in this country and knows very little about the animals; we have lived here thousands of years and were taught long ago by the animals themselves. The white man writes everything down in a book so that it will not be forgotten; but our ancestors married animals, learned all their ways, and passed on this knowledge from one generation to another.

- A Carrier Indian, from the Bulkley River, in British Columbia

~quoted in The Spell of the Sensuous by David Abram.

I think that this notion of "marrying," -- which produces, over time, as good marriages will, an understanding of what, for example, an animal or a plant or a river or a landbase or a watershed does and needs -- is a lovely one. It's an experiential marriage, one that proceeds and undergirds and finally makes possible a "marriage of true minds." I think that it's true, as well, for our relationship with ourselves, especially as Witches. It's one reason why I find daily practice so important. It's an opportunity to really get to know myself, my deities, my mission. It's not something I can get just from reading down what someone else has written in a book, any more than the Carrier Indian could really know about beavers by reading about them. And it is from that slowly-developed relationship with myself, born of daily practice, that I am able to begin to reach out and marry my bit of Earth, the plants and animals in my garden, my beautiful Potomac River, Columbia's landbase.

Well, we're all polyamorous in our own way.

Picture found here.

A Sleep of Prisoners

Dark and cold we may be, but this
Is no winter now. The frozen misery
Of centuries breaks, cracks, begins to move;
The thunder is the thunder of the floes,
The thaw, the flood, the upstart Spring.
Thank God our time is now when wrong
Comes up to face us everywhere,
Never to leave us till we take
The longest stride of soul we ever took.
Affairs are now soul size.
The enterprise
Is exploration into God.
Where are you making for? It takes
So many thousand years to wake,
But will you wake for pity's sake!

~Christopher Fry

Picture of The Awakening found here.

Elegant

I'm thinking a lot lately about "elegance," not only in terms of my own professional writing and the writing of the young lawyers that I mentor, but also in terms of my magic and my life. I've been particularly struck by this interview with Matthew E. May, the author of Elegance and the Art of Less: Why the Best Ideas Have Something Missing.

May says:

Something is elegant if it is two things at once: unusually simple and surprisingly powerful. One without the other leaves you short of elegant. And sometimes the “unusual simplicity” isn’t about what’s there, it’s about what isn’t. At first glance, elegant things seem to be missing something.

I really love that notion in terms of magic. "Unusually simple and surprisingly powerful."

One of the strongest, best magics that I ever did, one of the ones with which I'll be glad to face my ancestors, I did with my brilliant friend E. We wound up at the house of some serious activists, who were due in court the next day for, well, for speaking truth to power. We didn't know that we were going to be asked to do magic that evening and we walked off into the kitchen, away from the hub-bub of a loud, busy, party, and stared at each other for a few minutes. The people who'd asked us to work magic weren't Pagans or Witches and really didn't know what to expect from us, but were desperate and they asked us for help. They needed for it to be effective, esp. on the level of their Younger Child, so that they could walk into court (scary for anybody) and be confident. And so we looked into each others' eyes -- we'd been, thank the Goddess, doing magic together for years at this point -- and said, "Well, if they can give us a bowl, some salt, and some water, and if we can . . . ." And it all came together and it was more simple than almost any self-respecting magic worker ever worked and, most important of all, the next day, when the judge ruled, the magic, which had been unusually simple, was also surprisingly powerful and the activists walked.

Elegance, I want to say, matters. And, although life is messy, an elegant life is unusually simple and surprisingly powerful. Like good legal writing, like good magic, an elegant life takes two things. The first is a blindingly clear objective. And the second is ruthless editing. Like good real estate, which is location, location, location or like getting to Carnegie Hall, which takes practice, practice, practice -- elegance takes editing, editing, editing. Take things out. Remove the extraneous (which requires you to know the essential). Get down (as we do in Winter in the garden) to the bones. The more time that I have to work on a legal pleading, the shorter and simpler it will be. And that's what, IMHO, makes good magic -- and a good life -- as well. Get rid of stuff. Figure out, in Shilo's words, "Who is it in me I am excited about letting go?" Discover how, in Theodora's words, to travel light. What can you chip away from the stone to reveal the sculpture hidden inside? What are you willing to give up? What is it that you hold essential to find?

January

O winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn
Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn
Of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire
The streams than under ice. June could not hire
Her roses to forego the strength they learn
In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn
The bridges thou dost lay where men desire
In vain to build.

O Heart, when Love's sun goes
To northward, and the sounds of singing cease,
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows,
The winter is the winter's own release.

~Helen Hunt Jackson

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