V busy today. Check out some of the v good writing in the many blogs listed on the right. If you're in DC and looking for a way to celebrate Samhein:
SAMHAIN ANCESTOR CIRCLE Jefferson Memorial (closest Metro is the Holocaust Museum) (Parking under the bridge near the Jefferson, come in on Maine Avenue, turn around, go next to the Jefferson and under the bridge toward Potomac Park, park in the closest lot and walk back). You may drop of your stuff at the kiosk next to the Jefferson but the Jefferson parking lot is permanently closed.
8 pm - 9:30 pm (depending on the weather)
Bring your noisemakers and your rattles, your sticks and your washtubs. Bring a glowstick for the cauldron.
Janet Farrar and Gavin Bone of Ireland will be there. Wear your finest warm clothing and join us.
The past few weeks have been v rainy, and these amazing orange mushrooms have sprouted all over the Western side of my yard. Anyone know what they are? I love that they are orange for Halloween.
Not that age doesn't have its privileges. A few years ago, my years of experience and my incredible skill at injecting the most evil demons imaginable into that nasty candy corn shit and those ghost-shaped Peeps earned me a promotion and I got to spend a few years hexing Godiva's Halloween treats. And, I'm not bragging, mind you, I'm not, but even though that job required more than a bit of sampling, I won a rather rapid promotion. Don't tell the xians, but I've spent the last sixty days hexing Vosges, and, assuming that enough demons manage to insinuate themselves into xian homes on Saturday, well, your faithful author may find herself spending next Autumn in ("Shhhhh!") Belgium, candy central, itself.
/This post is satire. I have never, actually, hexed any candy. Or, have I? Bwhahahhah! Don't tell the xians, but there's really only one brand of hex-free chocolate.
I count myself in nothing else so fortunate as in a soul, remembering my good friends.
~Wm. Shakespeare
I have to say that I consider myself quite fortunate to call Spocko my friend. Some lovely Chinese health balls that Spocko gave to me sit on my altar and I use them whenever a ritual calls for making a lot of noise. I was present at Eschaton II where Spocko got one of the longest standing ovations that I (an aficionado of the ballet where prolonged standing ovations are common) have ever seen, for his work taking out talk radio hate hosts. Spocko often works years and years for a single "win," usually considering, experimenting with, and modifying multiple strategies. He's a true patriot, an American hero, and someone I'm honored to call "friend."
Ahhh, Mother. Now, I don't like to think of myself as a weak woman, but the veils, just now, are so, so, so thin, that I feel all raw nerves, all open wounds. My dreams have me ready to tape a sign up on the headboard of my bed: Dear Hecate's Dead Family Members: Give It A Fucking Rest; I'll See You Next Year. Enough is Enough.
I can't watch Starhawk's lovely video w/o breaking into sobs. There were years and years when -- a lonely solitary witch in a conservative, rural community, a solitary who had no real hope of ever meeting another "real" witch -- the simple knowledge that the Goddess was alive and magic was afoot in, at least, San Francisco, seriously helped to keep me going, and, by "going," I mean: continuing to get up out of bed every morning. That's what those of you who dance the Spiral Dance do for the rest of us. Don't ever think that it doesn't matter.
And, reading Starhawk's lovely post about how the crumbling of San Francisco's infrastructure will make it harder for Pagans to continue to grow the Spiral Dance (you saw it, didn't you, Fifth Sacred Thing, you saw it, didn't you?) I can't help but think: this is how it begins. This is how the twilight of an age begins. Devotee of Hecate that I am, I am bound by my blood and my soul to recognize and honor those liminal spaces where we transit from one culture to another. And, wherever we go, there we are. We're here. All our lives we have known that we would walk this way. But, yesterday, we did not know that it would be today. Yet, here it is: Samhein 2009. The year when crumbling infrastructure made it impossible for some to get to the Spiral Dance, while our government had money for war but not to pay craftspeople to fix bridges.
Ritual, as Starhawk says, gives us courage and hope. As we hurtle into the post-industrial era, may it be so for you.
Pasadena Freshwater Shrimp Pecatonica River Mayfly, Robert's Stonefly, Fort Ross Weevil, Mono Lake Diving Beetle, Chestnut Ermine Moth, American Chestnut Moth, Phleophaga Chestnut Moth, Central Valley Grasshopper, Rocky Mountain Locust, Antioch Dunes Shieldback Katydid
I'd order the Frisky Witch because I love cucumber-based cocktails. Meanwhile, I agree with Teacats. (Not only would I have to drink before listening to the chirpy directions), I'd throw away the apple cider and just use booze. (In case you can't tell, the lovely young lady thinks her punch smells very good.)
In a religious sense, the iPhone is a monotheistic religion. Basically, its OS believes in one device. Yes, I know there is the iPod touch, as well as variations of the iPhone (original, 3G, 3GS), but these are essentially all the same device with essentially the same hardware, just boosted specs. Meanwhile, Android, Windows Mobile, BlackBerry, Symbian, etc. are all polytheists. But "pagans," while perhaps not exactly right, is a cooler term, so let's go with that. All of these other mobile OSes are pagans. They answer to many devices, their "gods."
Now, I'm not saying that the pagan approach is a bad one, I'm simply saying that in trying to kill a monotheist device with a pagan OS is going to be very hard. The problem is that none of these pagan OSes have any one device that they can use to sell the masses. They may put more faith in one device at any given time (which Android is already doing with Droid), but ultimately, their allegiance lies with the many other devices under their OS umbrella as well. The pagan church (in the Android case, Google), would be unwise to play favorites because it would undermine the ultimate goal: To be on as many devices as possible.
A few years ago, I was in a shopping mall -- not a normal occurrence for me -- and I walked past a Bombay Company outlet that had in its window the hugest silverplate pumpkin punchbowl. It was on sale, just following Halloween, and I couldn't resist.
Of course, I should have realized that every year, between mid-November when I put it away, and mid-October when I pull it out again, the damn thing would tarnish like nobody's business. I never look forward to the polishing job that it takes to make it presentable. Yet, I've found a way to make the process magical. I spend some time before polishing thinking about the things that I need now to wipe out of my life and project them onto the tarnish that covers my big harvest pumpkin centerpiece. I hum an old tune from South Pacific, although it's generally not a man nor my hair that I'm considering. Somehow, it makes the job more interesting.
I can't believe that we're six short days away from Samhein. What do you still have to polish between now and then?
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."
