Printing Prayers on Water

In Becoming Animal, An Earthly Cosmology, David Abram writes:

[At a gompa, the resident lama] took my hand and led me down a long trail to the river, so I could watch his two students as they worked with temple woodblocks artfully carved with Tibetan ritual verses. Normally these precious woodblocks were used to print out liturgical books. But now -- amazingly! -- the students were stamping the wood-blocks over and over into the flowing surface of the river, so that the water would carry those printed prayers to the many lands through which it traveled on its long way to the Indian Ocean.

Here, remarkably, was a culture wherein written letters were not used merely as a record of words once spoken, or as a score for oral speech, but as efficacious forces in their own right. The letters were not just passive signs, but energetic agents actively affecting the space around them. Whether written on the page of a book or carved into woodblocks, whether etched into standing stones or printed on flags, the Tibetan letters held a power that could be activated not only by human beings but by insects crawling through their cracks, and by water flowing along their shapes, and even by the breeze gusting across them. Human intentions, carried in dreams and prayers, mingled here with the intentions of stones, trees, and rivers. Clearly, "mind" in this mountain region was not a human possession; it was a power proper to every part of the elemental field.

It's common at some point in the training of almost every Witch or magic worker to hear that "words have power." We say it and then we move on. IMHO, it's one of those "basic teachings that are too basic for beginners"; one needs to keep coming back to this precept over and over, spiraling back and learning it more dimensionally each time.

It's part of the reason that I love poetry and promote it regularly to my (mostly) Pagan readers and it's part of the reason that boring, repetitive, bland calling of the Elements drives my priestess soul insane. It's why I'll go to the wall over the need for magical workings to have clearly stated intentions. (If you can't state it clearly, there's a pretty good chance that you've not thought it out, clearly, either. The one tends to foster the other. And I'm too respectful of magic to go releasing energy at some vague, misunderstood target.) And it's the reason why I go on and on about the importance of how we frame issues. When we mingle our intentions with those of stones, trees, and rivers, we owe it to those other entities to use one of our tools -- language -- as respectfully and as skillfully as possible.

What power do you find in words?

Picture found here.

Better Framing Skillz; We Needz 'Em

One of the things I've loved about what's going on in Wisconsin has been the chance to hear all kind of great old protest/union songs. I grew up on those and they make me happy and weepy every time. Those songs don't ever really go away. They wait until they're needed to inspire the next generation of people who stand up for the rights of workers.

Here's a new song by Ken Lonnquist that's quite clever. Goddess knows, I can't sing a note, and I'm no one to criticize Lonnquist.

I'd like to use this song, though, to make a point about framing, something at which "our side" is terrible and at which the Republicans excel.

Note the repeat lyrics: "Fourteen Senators, sneaking 'cross the border."

I'm from the South, where ladies do not sweat, they glow. And I can assure you that union supporters and heroes of representative democracy do not "sneak" across the border. They march across the border. They protest across the border. They stand across the border. They represent across the border. They storm across the border. They do not sneak across the border.

For a moment, compare and contrast:

Forteen Senators, sneaking 'cross the border
Fourteen Senators, capitol disorder.
Fourteen Senators, new Wisconsin heroes.
What's the score?
Senators, fourteen/Governor Walker, zero.

vs.

Fourteen Senators, marching 'cross the border
Fourteen Senators, capitol disorder.
Fourteen Senators, new Wisconsin heroes.
What's the score?
Senators fourteen/Governor Walker, zero.

And maybe we could say, "Republicans in disorder," instead of implying that Democrats created disorder in the capitol, something that just "sounds bad." Besides, the protestors have been incredibly peaceful and orderly.

Go read Don't Think of an Elephant by George Lakoff. We keep losing because, in part, the other side is better at framing issues than we are. It's stupid to keep losing to people who are in the wrong simply because we can't be bothered with how we frame our issues.

Mr. Lonnquist, great song and the pictures in the video are wonderfully inspiring. Thanks for celebrating the courage of those fourteen Wisconsin Senators. They really are heroes. My point is not at all meant to disparage this quite creative and v fun work.

But we've got to get better at this, people. It matters. If you don't think so, just repeat: "death tax vs. unearned wealth tax," "partial birth abortion vs. emergency medical procedure." "Sneaking vs. marching."

Picture by the divine Scout Prime on TwitPic.

People Keep Doing It; I'm Going to Keep Complaining About It

Here's an article about the opening of what sounds like a lovely store and community center, Crone’s Hollow, in Salt Lake City. Clearly a lot of work has gone into its opening and it looks as if it will be a great resource for the local Pagan community.

And, yet.

The word "Pagan" goes uncapitalized throughout the article. The word "Pagan" is an umbrella term that describes a group of related religions such as Wicca, Druidism, Asatru, etc. It's precisely similar to, for example, "Christianity," which is an umbrella term for related religions such as Catholicism, Methodism, Baptists, etc. Or "Judaism," which is an umbrella term for related religions such as Hassidic, Orthodox, Reform, etc. Or "Islam," which is an umbrella term for related religions such as Suffi, Sunni, Shia, etc. We capitalize Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, and we should capitalize Pagan, as well. Not to do so implies that some religions groups are "more" than others. Dear ERIN ALBERTY at The Salt Lake Tribune, please take notice.

Similarly, Paganism is not a "faith." While some religions -- Christianity, for example -- are built upon faith, Paganism is not. No Pagan religion of which I am aware requires its members to have "faith" in the Goddesses/Gods. Rather, most Pagans have what they consider to be direct experience, not faith. Paganism is, rather, a religion and should be described as such. To use the term "faith" (or, even more gag-inducing, "faith community") as a substitute for "religion" implies that all "real" religions include an element of standardized faith. That's not helpful and has, in fact, been used against Unitarians to dispute their tax-exempt status as a religion.

And, finally, there's this:

“We have a fun place, and we are hoping to encourage all denominations to come hang out with us. We are your neighbors, and we aren’t scary,” Morgan said. “It’s not about sacrificing children and animals. It’s about people coming together and finding the way in which they can, using the experience of ritual, worship in their own way.”

For the love of the Goddess, can we please quit doing this to ourselves? It's as if no Pagan can get within 20 feet of a reporter without reflexively repeating this guilty-sounding denial. I've blogged extensively about why this practice is so unhelpful. Ask yourself what you remember about Christine O'Donnell or Richard Nixon and then Do.Not.Do.This.

TIA.

Picture found here.

Nice

Sunday Ballet Blogging

On, Wisconsin!

Listen

Water.

I adore my wonderful city of Washington, D.C. There isn't a morning that I drive over the TR Bridge and see the gleaming Lincoln and Washington monuments and the distant statue of the Goddess Columbia that I don't ground and feel a deep privilege. And, living here, it's been, more times than I can say, my privilege to march in national demonstrations, starting when I was a kid and my dad and I stood underneath the guns of Nixon's guards on the Capitol grounds and he said to me, "If I tell you to drop, you drop and don't worry about what comes after."

This week, I'm watching what's happening in Wisconsin and feeling what the rest of the county must feel when all of the action is out here in DC. I keep hearing Henry V's speech at Agincourt.

Enter the KING
WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home/Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd. The feast of the Wisconsin Uprising.

I just got off the phone w/ a dear friend of mine who is inside the capitol, and has been for days. His spirits are high. He and the others there are ready for tomorrow when the tea baggers show up. He's prepped to start doing teach-ins. (I'm an old woman. Long time and long since I heard @ teach-ins.)

What they need, he told me, is bottled water. A lot of bottled water.

I don't know how to get it to them, but I am going to go sit at my altar and begin manifesting water. Cold water. In bottles. Lots of it.

Can you help?

******

Update: If you can get through on the phone, this place will deliver to protestors at the WI capitol

Weary Traveler 1201 Williamson St Madison, WI 53703 (608) 442-6207

Crocus

First crocus of the year. At least two weeks ahead of last year.


All of last year, the garden was two weeks ahead of the year before.

Not sure how many years we can keep this going.

For Wisconsin: In the Beauty of the Day

As we come marching, marching in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray,
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing: "Bread and roses! Bread and roses!"
As we come marching, marching, we battle too for men,
For they are women's children, and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses!

As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient cry for bread.
Small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for -- but we fight for roses, too!

As we come marching, marching, we bring the greater days.
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler -- ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life's glories: Bread and roses! Bread and roses!

Daily Practice

I should post more tonight, but there are a handful of my best friends putting themselves on the line for collective bargaining, the American middle class, and the right to peacefully assemble, tonight, in Wisconsin. And I have been sending energy and reiki to them, in gratitude for what they are doing to make my G/Son's world a better world.

I came home and sat down at my altar and noticed how the floor beside my altar has become polished with my regular sitting down. And I laughed and thought, "Well, one can hope that my soul has gotten a bit of polish over the years, as well."

There is something so cynically evil/evilly cynical about first giving big tax breaks to those of us in the upper 2% and then declaring that "there's no more money" to pay basic benefits to those who keep our traffic moving, educate the next generation, put out fires, investigate child abuse, inspect our food, etc., that it's almost difficult for me to wrap my mind around it. I don't want to live in that world. I don't want my G/Son to have to live in that world.

Will you sit down tonight for those who are standing up for all of us in Wisconsin? Polish the space beside your altar. Polish your own soul.

Meditation is like showing up for demonstrations. We can always think of reasons not to. Or, we can just show up for the practice, for our own lives, in our own times, in the places that call to us. I'm sending my energy to Wisconsin.

You come, too.

Picture found here.

Ivo! Evoe!

We're here in this bursting period between Imbolc and Ostara, one of the most dynamic sections of the Wheel of the Year. The "Sun Band" on my Ecological Calendar has been growing wider and wider.

If you've learned to look with love and to pay attention, the trees, at least here in the miraculous MidAtlantic, are no longer the dead brown and grey of Winter. Every branch seems to be suffused with green and, when you cast your eyes over a grove of trees, there's the tiniest, almost-here-almost-not haze of pink, a pink that long-term lovers of the Potomac know is the first color to precede that yellowish-green!-alive haze that happens just a week before ACTUAL LEAVES burst forth. It will be a few weeks, yet, but you can hear the gentle beginnings of the sound. And no branch is still "just" a branch. Every single branch now sports buds, buds that have somehow developed between December, when the snow drove me inside and, well, and today, when I was able to go sit on my rock and make love to my maples and my birch and my crape myrtles and my figs and my . . . . You know.

The app on my iPhone tells me that tomorrow's Full Moon is known as the Quickening Moon. Everything in my blood says: Yes, yes, and, ah! yes! Almost paralyzes you.

And, I have snowdrops in bloom!

/Curtsies

This morning, when I left for work, they were no where to be seen.

But when I came home this afternoon, a good dozen of the 75 that Landscape Guy and I planted last November were in bloom in the Northern (I know!!!) cottage garden. I walked past. Did a double take. Walked back. Literally fell on my knees. I can't think when anything has made my heart fly so high or my spirit soar so wildly. ("Too easily pleased," my mother used to say of me. It's true, but it's a blessing, not a curse.) I think that I need to make this an annual event, a hanami when I can text all of my friends and say, "Come over this afternoon for champagne, dates w/ goat cheese, radishes with bread and butter, and snowdrop viewing!" Next year, if you're on my email list, be ready!!!

What makes you foolishly happy in the early Spring?

You Dropped a Piece of Sod on It

I completely lifted this from Margaret Roach's A Way to Garden. I've done all of these and more. You?

Why Did My Plant Die?

You walked too close. You trod on it.
You dropped a piece of sod on it.
You hoed it down. You weeded it.
You planted it the wrong way up.
You grew it in a yogurt cup
But you forgot to make a hole;
The soggy compost took its toll.
September storm. November drought.
It heaved in March, the roots popped out.
You watered it with herbicide.
You scattered bonemeal far and wide.
Attracting local omnivores,
Who ate your plant and stayed for more.
You left it baking in the sun
While you departed at a run
To find a spade, perhaps a trowel,
Meanwhile the plant threw in the towel.
You planted it with crown too high;
The soil washed off, that explains why.
Too high pH. It hated lime.
Alas it needs a gentler clime.
You left the root ball wrapped in plastic.
You broke the roots. They’re not elastic.
You walked too close. You trod on it.
You dropped a piece of sod on it.
You splashed the plant with mower oil.
You should do something to your soil.
Too rich. Too poor. Such wretched tilth.
Your soil is clay. Your soil is filth.
Your plant was eaten by a slug.
The growing point contained a bug.
These aphids are controlled by ants,
Who milk the juice, it kills the plants.
In early spring your garden’s mud.
You walked around! That’s not much good.
With heat and light you hurried it.
You worried it. You buried it.
The poor plant missed the mountain air:
No heat, no summer muggs up there.
You overfed it 10-10-10.
Forgot to water it again.
You hit it sharply with the hose.
You used a can without a rose.
Perhaps you sprinkled from above.
You should have talked to it with love.
The nursery mailed it without roots.
You killed it with those gardening boots.
You walked too close. You trod on it.
You dropped a piece of sod on it.

“Why Did My Plant Die?” is just one piece of the wisdom in Geoffrey Charlesworth’s book “The Opinionated Gardener: Random Offshoots From an Alpine Garden,” a collectible must for every gardener’s bookshelf.

I had dinner tonight w/ Son, DiL, and G/Son, and G/Son and I were planning our weekend. He asked if we could plant some vegetable seeds and I said, "Sure, I have some squash, tomato, and cucumber seeds," and G/Son said, "Carrots!" (His mom makes the most amazing dilled carrots and they're his favorite vegetable.) I promised to pick up some carrot seeds.

I think when we're planting them, I'll tell him Michael Pollan's story about learning to think like a plant. Pollan's carrots were short, stunted, and knobby (one is tempted to say: mean, brutish, and short, and indeed, I have known carrots that were, indeed) and he couldn't figure out why, until he challenged himself to think like a carrot. Imagining that his finger was a carrot, he stuck it into his garden soil to see if he could figure out why a carrot wouldn't be happy there. And, he found that his soil was -- wait for it -- hard. His finger could only go in a few inches before it stopped and more pressure wasn't able to move it any farther down. That's when Pollan learned not only to till his carrot garden soil so that it was nice and loose, even very deep down, filled with soft, loamy, composty soil, but also how to think like a plant.

Last night I was reading David Abram's chapter about how thoughts come and go (and talk of Michalengelo -- no Hecate! not everything is a reason to segue into poetry! control!) depending upon our physical surroundings and how:

What if there is, yes, a quality of inwardness to the mind, not because the mind is located inside us (inside our body or brain), but because we are situated, bodily, inside it -- because our lives and our thoughts unfold in the depths of a mind that is not really ours, but is rather the Earth's? What if like the hunkered owl, and the spruce bending above it, and the beetle staggering from needle to needle to needle on that branch, we all partake of the wide intelligence (be still de Chardin! Abrams is talking about something that undergirds and will, perhaps, outlast, the noosphere) of this world -- because we're materially participant, with our actions and our passions, in the broad psyche of this sphere?

And I think that the thoughts of the carrots and the thoughts of the gardener make, when gardening is done right, one thought. And yet, we gardeners, (We few, we happy few, we band of -- stop! It's carrot seeds, not Agincourt!), we do still keep killing plants, often with the best of (watery) intentions. Indeed, someone once said that, if you are not killing plants, you are gardening below your abilities. I, myself, am guilty of many, many, many (mea culpa, mea . . . stop! you're not catholic anymore) things, but gardening below my abilities is, Flora knows, not one of them.

So, G/Son and I have a lot of plans for this weekend. Something outside if the weather is at all fine. A trip to the toy store. A game of "Calvin Ball Chase," which for reasons both obscure and occult, G/Son and I call "The Power of Salt," (where G/Son gets to change the rules at will) in the basement. An experiment to see which fruits taste best dipped in chocolate. (G/Son is holding out for watermelon and croissants (not exactly, scientifically a fruit, but, well we are mad scientists) and I am voting for oranges, but DiL thinks maybe bananas will be best. We are going to take pictures, put them in a document, write something about each one under the picture, and let G/Son take it to school on Tuesday.) Nonna got a book about Dr. King that she wants to read before we go to bed. And we will probably watch some Scooby Doo and snack on some spiced nuts because, well, because that is how we roll.

And, we are going to plant carrot seeds and think like carrots. We are going to be, in Abrams' words, materially participant, with our actions and our passions, in the broad psyche of this sphere. No, seriously, that's what I think is happening when an old woman and her G/Son plant some carrot seeds. I do.

You come, too.

Picture found here.

In Love With Solid Ground

Cairns

Well-Said!

Stop whatever you're doing and go read What Sia Said.

What keeps certain Pagans in your rolodex?

Red Curried Lentils with Apples

When I have time, nothing says "Sunday" to me as clearly as the chance to do some cooking for the coming week. I work a lot of hours, so coming home to something that's already made and easy to heat up is one way that I work on my physical presence in the world, as the alternative is too often a meal out or "cheese/crackers/martini."

Today I roasted a chicken, sliced the meat for sandwiches, and made chicken soup. I also tried this recipe from Washington Green Grocer, albeit w/ a bit of tweaking.

Olive oil
4 carrots, peeled and finely chopped
3 ribs celery, finely chopped
1 medium onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons curry powder
7 cups water
1 pound dried lentils, rinsed and picked over
1 cup tomato puree or 1 (14.5-ounce) can crushed tomatoes
2 cups of chopped greens of your choice...I used [kale, which was the freshest green at Whole Foods this morning]. You can skip the greens too, but this is a great way to get them into your diet!
Salt and coarsely ground black pepper to taste

Drizzle a few tablespoons of olive oil into a dutch oven or stockpot and heat over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, add chopped carrots, celery, and onion. Saute until the vegetables are just beginning to get tender. Add garlic and curry powder. Continue to saute, stirring, for another 2 to 3 minutes.

Add one cup of water to the pot, scraping up the browned bits at the bottom. Then stir in the remaining water, the lentils. Bring to a boil. Once the stew comes to a boil, stir, reduce heat, and simmer for about thirty minutes, stirring occasionally.

Check the lentils for tenderness at about 30 minutes. When they are fairly tender, stir in the tomato puree and the greens . Let simmer until the lentils are tender but not mushy.Taste for seasoning and adjust salt and pepper as necessary.

When you are ready to eat them, poach a couple of eggs, and lay them on top of the hot lentils. Dollop some plain yogurt on top and enjoy! You can serve it as is or with toast or tortillas, or pappadums...whatever you like.
Makes enough lentils for 8 servings.

I used red lentils and substituted a chopped (bit past lunchbox prime) apple for two of the carrots. Added a teaspoon and a half of Tumeric, which has demonstrated anti-cancer properties and which you won't even taste under the curry powder. I skipped the poached (my favorite) eggs, which, although they would add protein would also up the cholesterol content. This stuff smells so good cooking you can hardly stand it. It makes a lot; I ate a bowl; froze a lot, and put some in the fridge for the coming week.

Sunday Ballet Blogging

I'm pretty sure this is the first ballet performed in between solar panels.

Bravely Out of the Broom Closet

So we're coming up on what some people have decided is to be "Out Yourself as a Pagan" Day. And, of course, this effort is motivated by good ideas.

We all know the stories about, for example, homophobes who were transformed by the discovery that their child, next-door neighbor whom they really liked, coworker, etc. was gay. It's easy to hate an abstract "Other" and more difficult to maintain your prejudices against someone you know and like.

And the more of us that there -- demonstrably -- are, the more difficult it becomes to pretend that we don't exist, that only angsty teen-age girls practice Witchcraft (as if that were a reason to de-legitamize it), that Witches are all man-hating feminists with granola stuck in their teeth, that only oddball failures become Witches, etc.

Further, there's the simple relief and authenticity that can come from not having to hide a part of who you are. I love it that my Son, DiL, and G/Son, Landscape Guy, and political friends know that I'm a Witch; it's nice that I don't have to hide an important part of my life from them. I like being able to say to Landscape Guy, "I need the stonework around the firepit large enough to accommodate a circle of women." I like being able to say to political friends, "As a Witch, I can never go along with any policy that will lead to eliminating wild spaces."

So, yes, I get the possible value of a "Coming Out" Day for Pagans, even if it's not associated with Pagan Pride Day, which generally comes in October.

However, my formative years were heavily influenced by the union movement (yes, I am that old), and I've searched in vain for any indication that the organizers of "Out Yourself as a Pagan Day" have set up the equivalent of a Strike Fund to pay the expenses of those who get fired for outing themselves or the legal fees of parents who find themselves on the downside of a custody battle. Strike Funds are what serious movements do. I think it's lovely to invite others to take risks, but I am old and cynical enough to understand that people really do lose jobs, leases, custody, etc. when they out themselves. And outing yourself to even one person, especially in today's world of Social Media and internet files that never die, is, at the least, opening the possibility that you will be outed to the entire world.

I've said before that broom closet decisions are personal decisions and that I'm not in a position to make them for even one other Witch. At its core, for me, Witchcraft demands Honor and that means that I completely and unwaveringly respect each Witch's own decisions concerning where hir broom closet begins and ends. I have friends who make their living as public Pagan leaders. I have friends who are "out" in their federal government or nonprofit jobs, but who would fall on their athames before causing their fundie families the pain that would be caused if they "came out" as Witches. And I respect every shade of grey in between. And while my family, close friends, and select neighbors know that I'm a Witch, I could become less effective at and ultimately lose my job if people in that world knew about my religion.

I'll also say that, as someone who has been on the receiving end of TMI concerning other people's (fundie xian I was next to in first-class all the way from SF back to DC, recently, I'm looking at you) religious experiences, I often think that the world would "go round a good deal faster" if casual and business acquaintances were less, rather than more, "out" about their religions. There are (a few) times when religion naturally comes up in the conversation and there are times when you're forcing the issue and requiring others to participate in your own ego needs in ways they'd likely rather not. I don't like it when people force conversations with me about their religions and I don't feel any need to do that to others.

Which is all a rather long-winded wind-up to proposing a few suggestions for those who are going to be interacting with the media during "Out Yourself as a Pagan" Day.

1. The reporter is not your friend. S/he does not want to help you get your message out. Hir job is to sell Viagra. The more sensationalistic a story s/he can turn in, the more Viagra sales. Every word that you say to the reporter needs to be informed by this decision.

2. You need to become crystal clear about your objective. Why are you talking to the press at all? Can you put the message that you want to get out into one, short, pithy sentence? If not, don't talk to the media. Let someone else. Spend as much time as it takes to get your message into one, short, pithy sentence. Lawyers sometimes spend all day writing the opening sentence for a brief or oral argument. If you don't have the time to devote to this effort, then don't talk to the media.

3. My blog is a broken record on this topic, but I'm going to remind you that if you attempt to negate a frame, you reinforce that frame. If you've read even three books on Witchcraft, you've come across the notion that you don't craft a spell to focus on what you don't want. So, for example, you don't write affirmations that say that you're banishing sloth and loneliness from your life. You write affirmations that say that you bring Fire and the ability to focus as well as the ability to attract love into your life. Think of Richard Nixon announcing, "I am not a crook," or Christine O'Donnell saying, "I'm not a witch; I'm you." Today, when people think of Nixon, they think of a crook and when they think of O'Donnell, they remember that she "dabbled into Witchcraft." If you say, "Witches are not evil old women with green skin who do spells to harm people," the next time people think of Witches, they will think of . . . .

The message here is that you MUST NOT begin your interview by telling the reporter that, "Witches don't eat babies," or that "Pagans are not Satanists," or that "We don't really do evil spells." Negating a frame reinforces it. If you give the Viagra salesperson a sound-bite about not being a Satanist or not eating babies, I guarandamntee you, those are the six seconds of your entire, 90 minute conversation, that will show up on tv/on the radio/in print, etc. Really. Trust me. And you are not smarter than the reporter. The reporter does this everyday of hir life, while you may talk to the media a dozen or so (if you're v active) times in your life. If you say it, they will use it to (1) sell Viagra and (2) make you look like an idiot. You are playing on their field. Don't give them ANYTHING that you don't want them to use.

4. "Out Yourself as a Pagan" Day has even more pitfalls, IMHO, in terms of media communication, than does Pagan Pride Day. While even fairly mainstream religions may have Pride Days (DC has a great Greek Orthodox festival, for example), the entire notion of "coming out" brings up the issue of why anyone feels the need to stay in the broom closet in the first place. Discussing prejudices against Pagans (the reason some Pagans stay in the closet) without slipping into the whole "We're coming out because some folks think we eat babies, but we don't," (which winds up on the evening news clipped to "We eat babies"), requires a level of media-savvy that I don't think many of us possess.

So if you are going to participate publicly in this event, I urge you to have one, pithy, quotable sentence about why you are are coming out. "I want the whole world to know that a [doctor, lawyer, computer technician, architect, fireman, neighborhood volunteer, librarian] can also be a Pagan." "I am proud of the ancient traditions of Paganism that brought us democracy, philosophy, science, sustainable agriculture, etc., and I want to share that with my community." "I am proud of who I am and I wanted to participate in this nationwide event to share that with my friends and neighbors."

What will you say if the reporter asks you, "But what about the people who say that Witches eat babies?" You need to not only have your answer to this question written out, you need to practice with a friend (preferably on video, if possible) how you will answer this question and all of its variations. If you don't have time to do this, you don't have time to be a public spokesperson. The objective here is NOT to give a detailed, nuanced, thorough answer to the Viagra salesperson's question. The goal here is to get away from negating a negative frame and to IMMEDIATELY GET BACK to the message you've decided that you want to get out. "Sensationalism aside, Pagans have a long and proud history of providing civilization with important institutions such as democracy and philosophy that . . . ." "What I want to focus on is how modern Pagans can be important in a post-peak-oil world, especially given all we've learned over the ages about respecting the cycles of nature. For example, next month, my group will collect seeds at Ostara to donate to a local community garden, where, last year we . . . . " "As I mentioned, this Summer, MYGROUPX will be holding seminars to teach anyone who's interested the basics of Witchcraft and you can register for these classes at www.mygroupx.com or you can . . . ."

Go spend an afternoon watching, say, Rachael Maddow or Fox "News" and see how conservatives respond to every question that comes up by ignoring the question and repeating the message that they want to get out. It's a learned skill and you can learn it. Buy and read George Lakoff's Don't Think of an Elephant. Role play with a friend. You may not like conservatives, but they have been wildly successful at getting their message out and at framing (death tax, partial birth abortion, America is a xian nation, etc.) the issues that matter to them. If you're smarter than they are, why haven't you been more successful at getting your message out?

I'll leave to each Pagan's own conscience and decison-making process, whether, when, and how to come out. I've already made my own decisions on those issues. But I will beg each Pagan who decides to come out to the media to do it in a way that doesn't harm the rest of us. Dealing with the media is a skill and it can be learned. Or it can be royally botched. You owe it to all of us not to botch it, esp. when it's so easy to just shut up until you know what you're doing.

5. Paganism, Wicca, Faerie, etc. are religions. They are not faiths. Xianity and Islam are based, to a large extent, upon "faith." This is the notion that "believers" have "faith" in, for example, Jesus or Mohamed, and that they accept "on faith" certain precepts of the religion. Even when one's rational mind might cause one to "doubt" certain tenants of such "faiths," one is encouraged to "have faith" in one or another promises of the featured "faith." Not all religions are "faiths." Paganism is an umbrella term that encompasses a variety of religions, including, for example, Wicca, Druidism, Asatru, etc. None of these are exclusively "faiths," but they are all religions. So when you talk to the Viagra salespersons, don't describe Paganism as a "faith," or as a (tickles back of throat) "faith community." Describe it as what it is: a religion. My religion has nothing to do with faith and everything to do with direct experience of divinity/nature/nature/divinity/etc. If you're going to speak for all of us, speak for all of us, including the majority of us who have zero faith and 100% experience. Why legitimize the idea that the only valid religions are those based upon faith?

May the Goddess guard those who come out. May the Goddess guard those who practice privately. May all of us show Honor to all of the rest of us. So mote it be.

Picture found here.

My New Name for a Blog

What Medusa Coils Said.

Medusa does a fantastic job of covering topics important to Dianic Witches. If you don't check her out regularly, you should.

Mr. Mubarak, It's Time for You to Go

The god forsakes Antony

When suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive—don’t mourn them uselessly.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all, don’t fool yourself, don’t say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don’t degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
as is right for you who were given this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion, but not
with the whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen—your final delectation—to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.

- Constantine P. Cavafy (1911)


Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard

Find the Summerlands, Brian Jacques

May the Goddess guard him. May he find his way to the Summerlands. May his friends and family know peace.

So sorry to hear that Brian Jacques, author of the Redwall Series, has died.

Set at the pastoral Redwall Abbey in the misty English past, the books are written for children 8 and up. They center on the triumph of good over evil — specifically the hard-won victories of the abbey’s resident mice, badgers and squirrels over the marauding rats, weasels and stoats that perennially threaten their peaceable kingdom.

There are quests and riddles; cunning treachery and chivalric derring-do; and, in a feature that became a hallmark of the entire series, groaning boards spread with sumptuous feasts, lovingly described.

Redwall is a big favorite of G/Son's. It might seem odd for a Witch to introduce her grandson to a series of books set in an abbey, but the Redwall books (and the related series of animated movies) are never overtly religious, just overtly good, while being honest with kids about things like evil and death and struggle. And the female characters are kick-ass. The descriptions of the feasts at Redwall are written by a man who loved the Earth and its bounty and who would, I think, have agreed that all acts of love and pleasure are rituals of the Goddess. Son says that, no matter how large the meal, if he asks G/Son, "So, is THIS a feast?" G/Son always says, "No," because the meal isn't a proper Redwall feast.

A Perfect Day

In a recent interview with Washington Gardener Magazine, herbalist Jim Duke describes a "typical" day at his 40 acre home near the Lower Patuxent Reservoir, the Green Pharmacy Garden.

[A]t noon, we join in the gazebo for a vegetarian soup or such, with some fresh veggies and culinaries from the garden, some canned or dried, fleshed out with the usual starters like cabbage, carrots, garlic, onions, and potatoes, from the kitchen cabinet; sometimes serenaded with herbal country music from the HerbalBum. And Thursdays, the weekly volunteers' open house, we close with flower-watching (vespertine opening of such flowers as Oenothera or Datura), herbal snacks, live country music, sometimes with great classical guitarist Bruce Casteel, and the herbal folks discussing tall herbal tales and aching herbal tails.

Sounds absolutely wonderful to me.

Picture found here.

What Sadness Sounds Like

I Only Am Escaped Alone to Tell Thee

BY HOWARD NEMEROV

I tell you that I see her still
At the dark entrance of the hall.
One gas lamp burning near her shoulder
Shone also from her other side
Where hung the long inaccurate glass
Whose pictures were as troubled water.
An immense shadow had its hand
Between us on the floor, and seemed
To hump the knuckles nervously,
A giant crab readying to walk,
Or a blanket moving in its sleep.

You will remember, with a smile
Instructed by movies to reminisce,
How strict her corsets must have been,
How the huge arrangements of her hair
Would certainly betray the least
Impassionate displacement there.
It was no rig for dallying,
And maybe only marriage could
Derange that queenly scaffolding—
As when a great ship, coming home,
Coasts in the harbor, dropping sail
And loosing all the tackle that had laced
Her in the long lanes ....
I know
We need not draw this figure out.
But all that whalebone came from whales.
And all the whales lived in the sea,
In calm beneath the troubled glass,
Until the needle drew their blood.

I see her standing in the hall,
Where the mirror’s lashed to blood and foam,
And the black flukes of agony
Beat at the air till the light blows out.

Picture found here.

Home Soil

Every garden is based on affinity for and knowledge of the ground, on true intimacy and kinship with your home soil that comes not only from cultivating the garden but also from sitting completely still on the earth that you garden, and walking aimlessly and mindfully about on this same ground. These practices are rooted in listening to your soil and in following your garden down to its source. Begin by sitting still and doing absolutely nothing. Make yourself very comfortable on the ground and then, don't move at all. Give your full attention to what is happening around you. Watch the shadows of the black mulberry leaves move like cirrus clouds across the face of your garden. Be ordered by the beat of the ruby-throated hummingbird pulling red nectar out of full-blown salvias. Sink down to earth and sit deep in the saddle of your home garden. Settle yourself on yourself and let the flower of your life force bloom.

~Wendy Johnson in Gardening at the Dragon's Gate: At Work in the Wild and Cultivated World.

Landscape Guy dropped this book off at my house a week or so ago, and I am absolutely LOVING it. Reading it along with David Abrams' Becoming Animal (I've always been one of those readers who has a number of books going at once; it used to drive my mother crazy. Do you do this or do you read one thing at a time?) is an amazing experience in connecting to the Earth as part and parcel of a spiritual practice.

What do you know about your home soil that you didn't know a year ago?

Picture found here.

Sunday Ballet Blogging

A Task for Writers

For those of us who care for an earth not encompassed by machines, a world of textures, tastes, and sounds other than those that we have engineered, there can be no question of simply abandoning literacy, of turning away from all writing. Our task, rather, is that of taking up the written word, with all of its potency, and patiently, carefully, writing language back into the land. Our craft is that of releasing the budded, earthly intelligence of our words, freeing them to respond to the speech of the things themselves – to the green uttering forth of leaves from the spring branches. It is the practice of spinning stories that have the rhythm and lilt of the local soundscape, tales for the tongue, tales that want to be told, again and again sliding off the digital screen and slipping off the lettered page to inhabit these coastal forests, those desert canyons, those whispering grasslands and valleys and swamps. Finding phrases that lace us in contact with the trembling neck-muscles of a deer holding its antlers high as it swims toward the mainland, or with the ant dragging a scavenged rice-grain through the grasses. Planting words, like seeds, under rocks and fallen logs – letting language take root, once again, in the earthen silence of shadow and bone and leaf.

~David Abram

Picture found here.

The Garden in Winter

The ground's been covered with snow for the last few weeks, which is actually good for the garden, but difficult for this gardener. It keeps me mostly inside and leaves me longing for a chance to be outside, breathing fresh air and just being with plants. Today I went to the DC Seed Swap, sponsored by Washington Gardener Magazine, at Green Springs Gardens in Alexandria. It's drizzly, grey, and cold here, but it was still wonderful to step into the gardens with their very-well-shoveled walks, to feel the energy of seedlings and seeds (and gardeners!) inside the Horticultural Center, and to begin to feel my enthusiasm building over the opportunity to get things to grow.

There's this thing that happens to me (does this happen to you, too?) when I step outside in a garden, even in Winter, and can let my eyes move over a vista. There's a palpable loosening and expanding of my soul and a brightening in my body in the areas of my yellow and green chakras. It happened the moment I entered the gardens and I'm still feeling it, maybe more strongly than normal because it's been weeks since I've been anywhere except inside, in the city, in my car.

I took seeds of woad, Grandpa Otts' morning glories, dill, black-eyed Susans, and wildflower mix and came home with white narcissus bulbs and black bat plants. And a determination to spend more time with plants, even if we do still have a bit more Winter weather on the way.

/Goes and compulsively checks, yet again, seeds planted just 4 days ago.

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

My New Name for a Blog

What Gus Said.

Gus' post on abortion is short and incredibly well-reasoned. Please check it out. Here's a taste:

Spiritual literalism degenerates into irrationality.
. . .

By reading sacred texts in a purely logocentric way [fundamentalists] ultimately trap themselves and cut themselves off from all spiritual insight because as Sallustius and Augustine and Ambrose all recognized, they cannot be read that way wisely. When the 'literalists' interpretations are contradicted by historical evidence or scientific discoveries, because they have rejected myth they have no way to incorporate new knowledge into their spiritual understanding, and so new knowledge must be rejected.

I have a pretty much standard reply to people who tell me that we must outlaw abortion because it "kills babies." It goes like this:

First, please get back to me when we feed, house, clothe, give medical care to, and educate the actual babies who are actually born. Until then, abortion is better than exposure or sale into slavery, which is how humanity dealt with unwanted pregnancies for centuries and centuries.

Second, this society "kills babies" every damn day. We kill them with our bombs in Iraq and Afghanistan. We kill them because we've made the decision that it's more important for CEOs to get obscene bonuses than it is to make all kinds of companies stop polluting and poisoning the commons. We kill them because we've made the decision that it's too politically costly to stand up to the NRA and impose the regulations that the Second Amendment calls for when it talks about "well-regulated" militias. We kill them because we've made the decision that it's more important for America's wealthiest 2% (and corporations) to bear almost no tax burden than it is to provide the visiting nurse services and mental health care that it would take to stop some poor woman's boyfriend from shaking a six-month-old to death because it was crying. And the people who wail the loudest about how abortion "kills babies" are generally in favor of those other "baby-killing" decisions. So forgive me if I can't believe that they really give a flying frap about "killing babies" and that they actually have other motives deeply related to preserving patriarchy.

Third, anyone who truly wanted to cut down on the number of abortions (which would seem to include anyone who actually thought that abortion "kills babies") wouldn't be in favor of criminalizing abortion. Because criminalizing abortion no more prevents abortions than criminalizing pot possession prevents people from possessing pot. Criminalizing abortion simply pushes it into back alleys, where it not only "kills babies," but also kills women. Anyone who actually wanted to cut down on the number of "babies killed" by abortion would, instead, be doing the things that decades of research show actually do minimize unwanted pregnancies and, therefore, abortions. You know, things like regular and well-funded actual sex education (which would teach that abstinence is a rather-prone-to-failure method of birth control), free, easily-available, safe, and effective birth control. Education for girls. A social safety net, including pre- and post-natal medical care for mothers and children, free and fantastic day care, preschool, and early education, financial support for mothers and kids who need it, parenting education available throughout a child's life, etc. Yet, the people who wail the loudest about "killing babies" generally are actively opposed to each of these things.

So, you know, don't hand me shit and tell me that it's Shinola. I'm not stupid and I can see through that "oh, abortion kills babies" bullshit. Sell crazy someplace else; we're all stocked up here. And the planet's way past its carrying capacity, which kills and is going to continue killing people of all ages.

Picture found here. (And yes, sometimes, a picture DOES speak a thousand words.)

First (Week) of the Month 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 declare 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.

My New Name for a Blog

What Sara A. Said.

"Most witches don't believe in gods. They know that the gods exist, of course. They even deal with them occasionally. But they don't believe in them. They know them too well. It would be like believing in the postman." ~ Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

Once upon a time, a long time ago, I was a cute little witchlet armed with a copy of The Spiral Dance in one hand and The White Goddess in the other. I dove in, like you do, with exuberance. Reading Tarot! Casting spells! Trance journeys! Rituals! Meditations! Communing with trees! I did a self-dedication rite that I wrote myself! My awesomely shiny ear-wet witchiness was a sight to behold.

Possibly because I was kicking up such a fuss, a being started talking to me. She said I should call her Rowan.

"Are you THE GODDESS?" I asked.

"No, I'm something you can talk to," was the reply.

"Well, how come I don't get to talk to the real thing?" I wanted to know.

Suddenly, I was aware of the vast, cosmically profound black and starry depths of the Universe, and the intelligence that permeates it all, an intelligence so immense and complex that it is impossible to apprehend even how immense, complex, and profound it really is, only that the least touch from it overwhelms.

My brain did that thing that computers do when you try to run too much information through them. I blue-screened. *BOGGLE BOGGLE BOGGLE BOGGLE*

. . . then it went away. Rowan said, "That's why."

You should definitely read the whole thing.

Hat tip: Angela Raincatcher

Picture found here.

Sixth Annual Brigid Poetry Festival

There are the poems that you love, and then there are the poems that you write into your will. Here's one that I made the nice young lawyer from the white-shoe law firm write into mine:

When Death Comes

~Mary Oliver

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.


Picture found here.

Sixth Annual Poetry Festival

I've posted this before, but I love this poem, especially the call that it makes for us to find what we need in our landbase.



Blessed Imbolc.

We Need It All

Do what you love. Do what you can. Do what best serves your landbase.

Poetry for Imbolc

Sometimes

Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail.
Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war,
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best intentions do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.
-- Sheenagh Pugh

On this Imbolc, may it be so for you.

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

'Scuze Me While I -- Blam!

This week's page of my Ecological Calendar at work tells me that, at this time of year, some bees from every hive begin to make forays out in search of food, but that many are killed by freezing to death or by flying into snowbanks, which they mistake for the sky. I had this evil image of a heroic bee flying along in search of food, communing with the great Winter sky after weeks stuck inside the hive, and then, suddenly, blam! A snowbank. And the poor bee's last thoughts, inscribed idly by its poor frozen little legs doing their final bee dance, are "WTF?"

But on a more serious note, the bees' need for food is yet another good reason to begin starting some seedlings now (at least if you live, as I do, in Zone 7) so that they'll be ready to plant outside once the danger of frost has passed. Those seedlings will flower early and provide the bees with some needed food.

I save the pots that I get when I buy seedlings, wash them out in late Summer/early Autumn, and then re-use them every year to start seedlings. I've also made pots out of newspaper, which are great, as long as the ink is vegetable-based. You can pop them, paper pot and all, into the ground and the paper just decomposes. It's a perfect way to spend Imbolc, and if you have children, you can always get them to help, mark "their" pot for them, and then do all kinds of lessons about Science, Math (measurement, esp.), Poetry, Music, Art, etc.

Tomorrow, I'll be potting marigold, woad, cucumbers, and some orange cosmos (that I got as a freebie) for guerrilla gardening. I'll also sit down with my stack of garden porn catalogues and order datura, French tarragon, sweet basil, dill, Italian oregano, white foxgloves, black hollyhocks, and more black day lilies.

What are you planting? How many bees did you dance with last year?

I've got packets of one-year-old woad seeds for the first three people to email me their address at hecate demetersdatter at hot mail dot come.

Blessed Imbolc!

Nekhbet's Children

My brilliant friend NTodd has a good post that shows the historical developments in the growing field of performing effective revolutions. One hopes that, as people gain more experience with the business of overthrowing repressive regimes, they'll pay attention to lessons learned from previous attempts. I've no idea what's really going on in Egypt (no one has, just now, not even the Egyptians), but NTodd's post provides reason to hope that the young people in Egypt have been paying attention.

Ever since this revolution began, several days ago, I've had this huge sense of Hecate floating gigantically over that part of the world. For me, Hecate is that magical power that creates the situation in which change (personal, political (of course, that's redundant), world-shaping, time-sensitive) can occur. She doesn't cause the change, She shifts the atmosphere, gets a butterfly to flap its wings in Brazil, moves the molecules of air just a bit farther apart so that something new can begin to infill, opens up a doorway, signals liminality. And that's what makes Her both a dangerous and a deeply-beloved Goddess. And I can see Her floating -- three-headed, key-bearing, sycle-weilding, filth-eating, and holding Her torches high -- over every map of Egypt that I've looked at.

I am not a devotee of the Egyptian pantheon, although I've called to Isis, Nekhbet, and Nuit in extremis and I see much to honor in all of those alien and strange deities. But I have a candle burning on my altar for Egypt, for the young people there who hope to affect positive change, and for the protection of the many ancient temples and artifacts. May mighty Hecate, who strode out of the Anatolian planes into Greece and thence to Egypt and the world shift the winds for positive change. Whoooosh.

Update:

Janet Kane says:

I hate to say I told you so, but for the last few months I have stated that the Uranus/Pluto Square is the next evolution of the Uranus Conjunct Pluto that we experienced in 1964 to 1969. Uranus/Pluto brings in revolutionary energy and the promise to totally transform society. Of course, all of the astrologers I know predicted the same thing. I didn’t realize that the revolutionary activates would take place in the Middle East.

At the same time that Uranus/Pluto is square, Saturn is opposing and squaring Pluto. Saturn turned retrograde on the day the protests started in Egypt. Saturn was opposite Uranus from 1917 to 1923 when we had the Russian Revolution. Also, Jupiter entered Aries on Jan 22. Jupiter is expansive and Aries is the energy needed to go out and express the need for freedom. This complex configuration of planets started in 2010 and will be with us for the next 4 years.

More Janet here. She's v good.
Picture found here.

Sunday Ballet Blogging

Indeed, My Sheep Are Lactating

I mentioned recently to some friends that, as a Pagan, I'm preparing to celebrate Imbolc. One of my friends replied, "Really? Your sheep are lactating?" My response is that "lactating sheep" is an old way of describing a complicated process that also means "return of the light," "beginning of the end of Winter," "an inspiring time when we begin to throw off the lethargy and hibernation of Winter and concern ourselves with Spring, and new growth, and our own commitments to new life."

I am an old woman with a broken-and-held-together-with-titanium-screws-and-plates ankle, and there are five inches of snow and ice on the ground. But I am going out tomorrow afternoon, yaktrax on my boots, cane in hand, deep grounding accomplished, and I am going to bring pots and potting soil in from the shed. I am going to do that because Wednesday is Imbolc and I will be damned if I will allow it to come and go without starting some seeds. I know, I know deep in my muscles, and joints, and broken bones, I know that, however bitter the weather may be just now, I know that, in a few weeks, the Sun will begin to warm the ground and to coax green shoots from inside their thick bulbs and hard-as-glass seed-shells. And, more than almost anything, I want to be a part of that process, to partake of that metamorphosis, to find myself enmeshed in what is going on in my tiny garden, in my landbase, in the Potomac watershed, inside Columbia's district. I want to be as wick as the land, to keep on dancing the dance of the seasons.

One of the delights, for me, of being a Witch is the opportunity that the 8 major Sabbats (not to mention the Dark Moons and the Full Moons) give me to orient myself within the Wheel of the Year. The events of my own life can be fortuitous or calamitous; I can be engaged and fulfilled by my work or terrified that the economy is about to come crashing down on my head. I can be proud of my accomplishments on the treadmill or concerned that I am aging too fast. (Like Whitman, I say, "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. (I am large, I contain multitudes".)) I can be coasting or struggling, but, still, the Sabbats ARE. And each one calls to me, in the midst of my pleasure or my struggle, and reminds me to pay attention to the forces of the planet, to the Wheel of the Year, to what is always available to me as a With.

You come with me; we'll turn the Wheel together.

Picture found here.

Sixth Annual Brigid Poetry Festival

Here's some more David Whyte; the film is a bit jerky, but close your eyes and listen to him read his own poetry.



On Imbolc, may you see what you need to see, inscribed across the heavens or written in the ashes, but written inside you.

Sixth Annual Brigid Poetry Festival

Everything is Waiting for You

Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into
the conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.

-- David Whyte
from Everything is Waiting for You
©2003 Many Rivers Press

Reading Becoming Animal by David Abram has been reminding me of this great poem by David Whyte. I'd love to be a fly on the wall at a meeting between the two of them.

May your Imbolc be inspiring and bright.

Picture found here.

What Chas Clifton Said

The trouble is, the model of “religion” available from the monotheists is just wrong. Every seven days, everyone lines up and listens to holy books or to a long sermon or bangs their heads on the floor. That just is not us. We are supposed to be about embodiment, ecstasy, performance, and ritual.

More here.

Now

Now seems like a good time to go light a candle and send some Reiki/good vibes/positive energy to Egypt, Kemet, Ht-ka-Ptah, Misr, the Land of the Nile, home of Isis, the land guarded by Ma'at.

May there be peace. May there be food for the people. May the ancient temples be safe.

Picture found here.

Framing: How It's Done

I've complained before that Pagans tend to underuse and misuse YouTube. Go to YouTube and search, for example, "Wicca," and you get a lot of slide shows with pictures taken from the web and some music (often peppered with a number of misspellings), or a self-made video by a teenager discussing what Wicca means to hir. There's nothing wrong with either of those (well, except for the misspellings), but the medium itself provides the opportunity for some much more valuable sharing of information, both within the Pagan community and with the world at large.

A group of local, DC Pagans have made a YouTube that does, IMHO, a really good job of showing how YouTube can be used: in this case to explain Paganism to the world at large. Kudos to the people involved for getting the framing mostly right. You'll notice, for example, that the Pagans in the video discuss in positive tones what Paganism means, how they practice it, and how it relates to other religions. They talk about the seasons, service to others, mysticism, relationship to other religions, etc. They never (thank the Goddess!) get defensive and state that Pagans don't worship the Christian Satan or sacrifice babies, etc.



If I can offer two small suggestions, and these are things that I think come with practice: when you're talking to a camera, look into the camera. Practice really can make perfect; this is a learned skill. And please use "religious communities" or "religion," instead of "faith communities." "Faith" is a central tenant of the three large Abrahamic religions. Most Pagans view ours as a religion based upon experience (ie, I worship Hecate and include her in my religious practice because I have direct experience of her, not because I take her existence on faith) and none of our Goddesses/Gods requires faith from followers. Discussing all religions as "faith communities" frames religions as being more or less valid to the extent they involve faith, which only helps the three large Abrahamic religions, not ours.

However, those are, as noted, small suggestions. In general, I think these DC Pagans are showing how YouTube can be a great medium for teaching others about our religion.

Hat tip to Capital Witch.

Snow Damage

Comcast is out here in my corner of the mighty MidAtlantic. Please check out some of the great blogs in my blog list.