What She Said

Doing Magic Now, Here, Here, Now

Deborah Oak finds a swimming pool and well-apportioned kitchen to be magical tools. This Lughnasadah, I used my iPhone, the great magical tool of the 21st Century, to ground a circle of madly scattered women, two of whom had had the ultimate 21st Century meltdown: a bloggered computer.

Forget athames, chalices, drums. Upon which modern magical tool do you depend?

On the Eighth Day of the Eight Month in the Eighth Year of a Benighted Century . . . .

Tomorrow is 8/8/08, the eight day of the eight month of the eight year of this benighted century. I'm not a big student of numerology; I'd say that numbers and I have a difficult relationship, but there must first be some relationship for it to be difficult. My left-brained self, she has a v difficult time w numbers.

But somehow, w/in Tarot, numbers make more sense to me. The Eights are interesting. Eight is twice four. In Tarots, the fours are where things get so stable as to become, perhaps, stuck. In the Gaian Tarot, "Eights illustrate the test of taking action out in the world to make your dreams a reality, in their respective elemental suits."

For a long time in my life, almost every reading that I did for myself resulted in the 8 of Wands showing up somewhere. That's good. Movement. Going places. Heading towards goals. The Eight of Cups is v similar. Something's missing! Let's go find it!

The 8 of Swords is a bit farther back in the process. Realize that you need to move! Have a new idea! Quit sitting still! And the 8 of Pentacles is, as are all the Pentacle cards, about the practical way to get from here to there. How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice! Do the work! Even if you feel crappy, even if some practices are more about how NOT to do it, just do the work, chop wood, carry water.

May tomorrow, 8/8/08 be full of movement, practice, insight, and heading off on important journeys for you.


Art found here. Most Pagans in 2008 America live in cities. I love the idea of an urban tarot.

Ringtones

The other evening, as we sat down to eat following our Lughnasadah ritual, my iPhone went off. One of the other witches in my circle said, "It's your son calling; his picture came up. And, whoa, that's a good song for him." Here's the ringtone for Son on my iPhone:



Here's the ringtone for DiL:



For the women in my circle:



For people at the borg:




What ringtones do you have for special people?

All Acts Of Love And Pleasure

NYT.

111 - year - old reptile finally becoming a father
E

WELLINGTON, New Zealand (AP) -- Officials say an indigenous New Zealand reptile regarded as one of the last living remnants of the dinosaurs will become a father for the first time in decades at the age of 111.

Henry the tuatara and his younger mate Mildred produced a dozen eggs last month after mating at the Southland Museum on New Zealand's South Island in March.

Tuatara curator Lindsay Hazley said Wednesday Henry has lived at the museum's special enclosure for Tuatara since 1970 and had shown no interest in sex until he recently had a cancerous growth removed from his genitals. He was now enjoying the company of three females and might breed again next March

Picture found here.

Mystics

Been thinking a bit about the connection/overlap between mystics of all religions and Wiccans.

Poem by St Theresa

The Flower

All the earth with snow is covered,
Everywhere the white frosts reign;
Winter and his gloomy courtiers
Hold their court on earth again.
But for you has bloomed the Flower
Of the fields, Who comes to earth
From the fatherland of heaven,
Where eternal spring has birth.
Near the Rose of Christmas, Sister!
In the lowly grasses hide,
And be like the humble flowerets, --
Of heaven’s King the lowly bride!


Art found here.

Internal Glass Ceiling My Ass

What She Said.

Stop, Children, What's That Sound? Everybody Look What's Going Down.

What I don't understand about physics would fill libraries, but one thing that I have been able to grock is that the simple act of paying attention changes the object/situation/person/phenemonon to which attention is paid. I get that because that's the basic teaching of Wicca.

And so, perhaps it's because I'm paying attention (aka, perhaps it's "all in my head," as if that meant it's "not real"), but suddenly yesterday, the day after Lughnasadah, it all began to change. I went out yesterday afternoon to dance in the pounding August rain and there, just as I was about to go ahead and dance all the way into the stream, was a chilling breeze that made my bones cold and sent me inside for hot tea and a warm shower.

And there, this morning, as I finished the one task that I'd planned to do by Lughnasadah but hadn't gotten done -- cleaning out the garden shed -- was the change in light, the breeze in the leaves, the different "feel" that signals the lovely, slow arc of the year, from Autumn to Winter. I wanted to be at the Ren Faire w/ G/Son, I was thinking of a pumpkin-carving party, I was remembering my favorite recipes for soup.

It's only a glimmer. Here in the swamp over which they built our nation's capital, we're still likely in for six or eight weeks of heat. Son, DiL, and G/Son are at the beach. Congress is adjourned. The farmers' markets are still full of corn, tomatoes, zucchini, basil, and peaches. And yet, and yet, and yet, if you're engaged in that most magical act of all -- the act of paying attention -- you can hear the distant flutes of a changing season, the shifting of the leaves from green to gold, the birds feeding up and getting ready for the long flight South, the chill in the rainy air, a different quality of light in the morning mist.

A witch's job is to turn the wheel. And round and round the wheel must turn.




Art found here.

Oh, Heathcliffe!

One of America's most brilliant bloggers, Molly Ivors says that: all women's romance novels are based on either Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, or Pride and Prejudice. Molly reminds me of the sexist mistake behind the famous notion that there are only two stories in all of literature: A Young Man Goes on a Journey and A Stranger Comes to Town.


Me, I was always falling madly in love with the Heathcliffs.

Which women's romance novel are you?