Saturday, September 19, 2009

Blog Blog Blog

Phila's weekend Hope Blogging is up. If he isn't a weekly stop for you, he should be.

I'll just add that: The odious Operation "Rescue" is out of money.

Dr. Dean, Jane Hamsher, and NTodd, are still in there fighting for a public option. Me too; how 'bout you?

Michelle Obama's kids are back in school and she, too, is coming out swinging for health care reform.

I have a datura mutation growing in my garden and it looks as if it will make seeds for next year (slightly smaller and more upward facing flower and v creepy leaves). My brugmansia bloomed w the creepiest white blossoms ever (also, poison).


Poetry is alive and well.

Picture found here.

Mabon And Living In Relationship With The Land

There are eight Wiccan Sabbats each year: Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Litha, Lughnasadh, Mabon, and Samhein. I admit that Mabon is one of the ones that has often felt less "witchy" and significant to me. It's sometimes called "The Witches' Thanksgiving," which sort of makes it sound like a September version of the American Thanksgiving holiday, but one that falls too early to have that lets-eat-a-lot-because-seriously-people-there's-frost-and-shit-out-there-and-you-know-a-hard-rain-is-gonna-fall feeling that gives American Thanksgiving its real energetic push. But the more that I work with, and listen to, and continue to be in relationship with this one particular bit of land, the more I "get" Mabon.

First of all, the veils that began, incrementally, to thin on Litha now get demonstrably thinner every day and you can feel the rapid progress. By Ostara, they'll be back to "normal," which, for veils, means: but you can still slip through them, you just have to know what you're doing and do a bit of work. Being in relationship with this spot of land for a number of years now has allowed me to learn how the veils "feel" at all times. It's almost automatic, sort of like being aware of the quality of light or the presence or absence of bird song or cicada chant. I wake up in the middle of the night or the morning and sense them, I pull weeds in the herb bed and am aware of them, I walk outside in the pouring rain, stretch out my hand, and feel their heft. Mabon feels, in very many ways, like the beginning of, or the prequel to, Samhein.

Second, there's the actual harvest. Two years ago, our oak grove masted and there were more acorns than any dozens of squirrels could ever eat. I raked up a few tons of wet acorns, cursed them, spent the whole next spring pulling infant oak trees out of the cottage garden, the lawn, the poison garden, the mint. Last year, there weren't a dozen acorns from the entire grove. A number of our squirrels died off, which meant that the fox went hungry, and there were, due to poor nutrition, v few squirrel babies this Spring. This year, the harvest looks normal, and the squirrels love the new, big, flat, irregular flagstones that make up the winding walk to my front door. Apparently, those stones were made for cracking acorns. And, there's the harvest from the herb bed that I put in Spring before last. This year, the lavender and tarragon and sage and thyme and dill came back with a vengeance, the rosemary overwintered and grew quite a bit, the parsley came on almost too strong, and the pineapple sage, well, it's just ridiculous. Even the mint that was moved into pots is doing almost too well, the morning glories now come completely from self-seeding, and I'm growing dozens of datura, all from my own seeds. My rain barrel and I have learned each other's rhythms, and the beech tree and I are now friends. This year was, in so many ways, the Year of the Landscaping. I can't wait until next year to really see the results of all the black day lilies, white cottage garden flowers, and glossy gardenias that we put in this year. I plan to reap the harvest of beauty from this year's investment from now until I die.

And, third, I'm focused quite a bit on using this Sabbat to, as I imagine my ancient grandmothers did, take stock. To count up what I have, what I lack, what I'll need to use sparingly this winter, what I need to initiate this coming Spring. What must I hurry and procure and what should I be dumping or using up right away? I don't just mean that in terms of seeds, or dried beans set aside for soup, or dried herbs made into smudge sticks or hung from the rafters for cooking. I'm looking at my wonderful and blessed relationship w G/Son, the time we spent in nature, reading books, playing trains, and watching President Obama make his very serious promise to the country, to Nonna, and to G/Son. I'm looking at my amazing circle of amazing women, doing trans-Atlantic magic, magic in the shadow (and the Shadow) of power, magic for ourselves and the world. I'm counting up legal wins at work, political/activist wins and losses, plusses and minuses in terms of my health. Even in these areas, my relationship w the land helps. My continuing communication with this land informs my thinking, grounds me, allows me to be honest with myself about where I'm doing well and where I need to apply more effort, come Imbolc.

What does Mabon mean to you? Do you use it to take stock? How do you celebrate it? What are the veils all around you doing right now?

Photo by the author. Please link back if you copy.

Mabon's Almost Here And The Veil Begins Thinning In Earnest

Not a big Updike fan, but I've always liked this one:


The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel-
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
Burning brush,
New books, erasers,
Chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
Well-honeyed hum,
And Mother cuts
Like plates washed clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze."

Picture found here.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Doing Magic In The Shadow Of Power

And, so, tomorrow, I will do what I have been doing since I was a child, and a bit more than a child. On the Dark Moon, I will do what I have been doing since I off-trained from Chicago and pulled energy up from the Columbus fountain into my soul. I will show up at the intersection of the Capital, and SCOTUS, and Union Station, and a good restaurant, and an obscure agency, and I will do magic. You may look all over for me, but you will not find me, nor will you find the women with whom I gather. You may look for us, but you will not find the source of our magic. You may look for us, but we will be invisible to you.

Map found here.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Mary Travers Is Gone And Lots Of Assholes Live On. It Makes No Sense.

There's a tiny bitty speck in that crowd that is the young Hecate, in an Aran sweater, wearing a wooden peace symbol on a leather cord around her neck, marching w her dad and her sister, L. You can see her if you look v hard. It's been a long, long time, and we're not as far along as I had hoped.

May The Goddess Guard Her. May She Find Her Way To The Summerlands. May Her Friends And Family Know Peace.

Damn, I'm old

The Goddess Is Alive And


RICHMOND, VA – The Richmond Pagan Pride Day Association will hold their first annual Pagan Pride Day in Richmond, Virginia, at Dorey Park’s Shelter #3. The event will be held on October 3 from 10:00 am to 4:00 pm. All ages and faiths are welcome. Dorey Park is located in Henrico County. The address is 2999 Darbytown Road Richmond, VA 23231-6010.

Pagan Pride seeks to educate the public about the various paths in Pagan spirituality and to promote community unity among the various faiths in our area.

Workshops in several areas highlight the event. Admission is a suggested donation to the food drive for the Central Virginia Food Bank or to the food drive for area animal shelters. Donations of non-perishable human and pet foods will be taken at the Gate. Dogs on leash and up to date with their shots are welcome.

Live entertainment by a bard will be throughout the day. Tarot and intuitive readings will be available throughout the event for a small donation. There will be an Autumn Equinox Ritual that will include a Croning Ceremony to begin at 3:00 pm. There will be a potluck following the ritual. The ceremony, open to the public, celebrates a woman’s passage into the Wise Woman stage of her life. Anyone wishing to celebrate their own Croning is asked to contact Freda at

Come join us for fellowship and fun. Bright blessings.

And, Richmond Pagans, I love you, and the croning ceremony sounds lovely, but do not do this: Live entertainment by a bard will be throughout the day. The festival features day-long entertainment by a bard. Or, A bard will provide entertainment throughout the day. Please. I'm begging you.

/Hat tip to my madcap friend, R.

Picture found here.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Monday, September 14, 2009

The Burning Times

Interesting article about how Swiss persecution of witches evolved over time. And, a reminder of just how dangerous it still is today to be called a witch.

Picture found here.

Obama Restaurant Watch

The President ate lunch today with former President Bill Clinton. The lunch was at a Greenwich Village restaurant, as the President was in NY to give a speech.

“We had fish, pasta and salad,” Mr. Clinton said as he turned to leave, smiling and waving at a few reporters on the sidewalk. “It was very healthy. Even I was healthy.”

The menu at Il Mulino is attractive, if limited.

Always Hungry says: Il Mulino is the quintessential NY staple. The unassuming Greenwich Village location was opened in 1981 by Italian brothers, Fernando and Gino Masci. Now, 20 years later, Il Mulino’s dishes continue to define NY Italian food though their adherence to tradition, bold garlic flavor, large portion size, and charming staff.

PIcture found here.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Mabon Approaches

As we rush onward into Mabon, the late afternoon sun is doing such amazing things with the Japanese Maples that Landscape Guy planted last Fall.

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

Sunday Poetry Blogging


To live at all is miracle enough.
The doom of nations is another thing.
Here in my hammering blood-pulse is my proof.

Let every painter paint and poet sing
And all the sons of music ply their trade;
Machines are weaker than a beetle’s wing.

Swung out of sunlight into cosmic shade,
Come what come may the imagination’s heart
Is constellation high and can’t be weighed.

Nor greed nor fear can tear our faith apart
When every heart-beat hammers out the proof
That life itself is miracle enough.

Photo found here.