Breaking Radio Silence

...ever so briefly.

I've just returned from Crucible.  As always, Arthur put together a highly informative, well run and fun gathering. The only dramas (at least that I was aware of) were of the more or less scripted variety.  I learned stuff.  I hung out with friends.  I met new people that I certainly hope will become friends in the future.  I got a couple of "hey, pay attention!" flicks from the Universe.  Nothing that would raise welts or create bruises, mind you, but just in case I didn't pay sufficient attention, the Sunday newspaper, waiting for me at home had a reminder.  Jow and I had a very significant talk (although I doubt he realized the significance; I certainly did not at the time) about gates, doorways and silence, while standing at the bar at a very noisy party.  I got to drink some of Deb's home made cordial.  And during some quiet, contemplative time on the ride home, I did get some insight into some of my own behavior.

All in all, a nearly perfect magical conference weekend.  (what kept it from being perfect?  Those, baby, are my issues!)

I've no idea if this means that there will be a return to writing or not.  But I am certainly not going to sweat it.

In the famed words of Monty Python...

I'm not dead yet. 

But with the looming death of google reader, I suspect that I might as well be, even should I decide once again to write.

Should these be my last words, I will leave you with these:

Magic works, dammit.  Just do it.  Practice it.  Live with it.  Reading about it, studying about it, chatting about it all have their places, but the proof is in the practical pudding. 

Get busy and do it!

My learning experience of the week

Everyone wants to be heard.  People (whether we are referring to humans, or other "people") need to know that they are listened to, heard, acknowledged to exist. 

I am good at listening.

No one wants to feel as if they were put under the business end of an electron microscope. 

This, I need to remember.

I have friends who write books!

Real, workable (and worked!) magic from Deborah Castellano, who brings you the Charmed, I'm Sure blog, and many articles and essays on Witch Vox, The Witches Voice.  The book is available here.

After all, can you really say that you couldn't use some glamour in your life?

Initiations; Break-throughs; Change States...

A major, long term magical/psychological experiment has reached it's end.  I've come out the other side and conclusions are being drawn.  And I am shedding like a damned snake.  I've had this happen before, upon going through a doorway at the conclusion of a long term magical project.  I know of other magical workers who have dealt with far worse physical manifestations as they move from one state to another.  I just wish I wasn't so itchy.



Editors note:  I am not using metaphor, this is a very physical reaction I am describing, and it is somewhat disconcerting (and itchy!). 

Yes, I am alive!

I know this blog is practically moribund, blogging just doesn't seem to be part of my life path at the moment.  I did want to mention though, that I will be "doing" the ritual at The Witches Moonlight Masquerade  Ball this Saturday (October 27th).  If anyone reading this in the general area of New Jersey and is on Facebook and is interested in attending, information can be found here:  https://www.facebook.com/events/226430980818301/  (please note, I am not running or administering this event).  Having attended this Ball several times, I can say it is a lot of fun, and the money raised goes toward two worthy charities (one for humans, one for animals).

As for this years ritual; all I can say is, if performing it is anywhere near as interesting as writing it was, it should be a very interesting evening, indeed!

A framed art nouveau depiction of gotterdammerung just fell off my wall, sending shards of glass (more shards of glass than the picture frame had glass originally, I swear) everywhere. What do you think this is a portent of?

What I am reading now

This isn't a review because I am only 1/3 of the way through the book.  I am reading it with a growing sense of glee that such a book exists (and that I didn't have to attempt to write it!) and that Ms. Williams is the author.  (Before they became generally moribund, I had the pleasure of "conversing" with her, courtesy of Yahoo Groups.  I've also found one of her previous books "Ecstatic Ritual, Practical Sex Magic," to be well-written and useful.)

And now, back to happy reading...

Seemed like a good idea at the time...

I am a contrary human being.  All over the world, people are sharing via their computers and the internet.  Political movements are given umph via Twitter and Facebook.  Blogs are being written and posted and auto-published on multiple platforms.  Personal "brands" are being burnished in the ether that is modern communication.  And I have less and less desire to participate.

For those of you might notice these sorts of things, I've removed the Pagan Blog Project widget.  I am just not keeping up with the project.  I thought it would give me the inspiration and the push to write more often, but it has not.  All it has done for me is given me something to do that doesn't get done and a deadline to be surprised by.  And I've been surprised by it every week.  So I've taken the widget off and will not berate myself for not participating.

I am spending more time interacting with actual humans, no keyboard interface needed.  I find that highly satisfying, both for the interaction and because I did do a bit of magic to help bring that about.  And I am always up for meeting new people, especially those of you who would only be new to me in the fleshly sense.  If you want to stop by, I'll put up a pot of tea.

Spring Cleaning

(so, "C" is for "cleaning?"  I have been highly remiss in the blogging, almost as remiss as I've been with the cleaning.)

Dropped a deck of tarot cards.  All the cards landed face down, except for the High Priestess, 2 of Wands and 3 of Cups.  This bodes well for the coming season.  I can live with that.  (maybe, "C" is for "Cards?")

In other spring cleaning news, I dusted 4 stuffed crows, 1 owl, 1 large Bast figure, 2 smaller black dog figures, 4 chicken footed candlesticks and found a new and better home for my silver kalyx. 

What?

Aren't those items on everyone's cleaning lists?

Not really a blog post

Noted this evening; an offering of red wine, poured onto a snow covered offering stone, looks really gruesome.

Belief

"The teenage girl was visiting her grandfather; a revered orthodox rabbi and a leader of his community.
'I don't believe in God' she said, defiantly.
'That's alright, He believes in you' was the rabbi's response."
(I do not remember where I first read this, it may have been on the Aish website.)


“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

Belief is a funny thing.  Especially in American society, we appear to give it high value and want to see it in others, as if a persons ability to believe (and here, we are talking about belief in a Deity of some sort) is a function and proof of a higher morality.  But belief is much like gnosis.  You can have it, you can experience it, but there is no form of proof of such possession.  Any outward behavior that might be taken as manifestation of belief can be faked, at least for a period of time.

And then there is the idea (belief?) that the Gods NEED our belief in them.  Excuse me?  Is it even possible that a more self-centered philosophy could be created?  We may need to believe in order to propitiate a Deity properly, so that we might receive assistance, but that is far different from from the idea that an unbelieved in God dies, or no longer exists.

What do I believe in?  Here is where I am tempted to quote the long passage in American Gods, by Neil Gaiman, where Sam Black Crow tells Shadow all that she is capable of believing in, but it is a long passage (and best heard read by Mr. Gaiman himself) and enumerates only what it is possible for her to believe in, not what she actually believes.  So instead,

I believe I will go make myself a cup of tea.

January 18, 2012

There was a death in the family last week.  My Great-Aunt, my Grandmother's youngest sister.  She had only recently received her diagnosis, with the expectation of her living for another 6 to 9 months.  She wasn't willing to live with the lifestyle changes that would have allowed her that time, though.  So, she waited for her children and her grandchildren to arrive, that she might see them once more.  And then, She Just Stopped.  No assistance, no additional painkillers.  She refused food, but hadn't stopped eating long enough for that to be the cause of death.  Just like her older sister,  life was to be on her terms or not at all.  Have I ever mentioned that I have some scary strong-willed women in my background?

("A" is for Ancestor)

A is for Anat and Altars that Alter Attitude

I have several altars in my home.  Some are permanent, such as my altar to my family and my beloved dead.  They don't change all that often, when I dust and clean them, all the items pretty much always go back into the same exact places.  Caring for them, sitting in front of them, and even just walking past them, these altars remind me of who I am, where I've come from, what grounds me and strengthens me for whatever else I do.

There are the long term, semi permanent altars, such as the one set up for Columbia, Goddess of Freedom and Matron of the capitol city of this nation.  Hers is front and center in my living room, impossible to walk past without seeing, and perhaps thinking "now would be a good time to light some incense to her."  She is not a "personal" goddess for me, but certainly through this political season I will propitiate her and implore her to look after her people and her nation.  Her space is as spare and clear as the family altar is colorful and filled with "stuff."

I have my circle.  Which is a holy place, but not permanently set up for any one specific ritual.

And then, there is the Anat tile.  I posted this picture once before, and I will admit, I was completely surprised by the reaction to it.  I think she is beautiful, not gruesome, as one commentor said.   I am not a Canaanite reconstructionist, I do not worship Her, but She bears an important message to me, and when I need to be reminded of that message, the tile comes out and is set on my desk, where I cannot help but see Her.

(image and tile by the very talented Thalia Took )

The message?  IT DOESN'T ALWAYS HAVE TO BE YOUR BLOOD.

As a wife and a mother, and a healer, this is a lesson I've had to learn over and over again.  My personality inclines me to giving my "all" to those I love, to those I work to heal, to help.  But, you can't give your "all" if you expect to have anything left.  If you have ever taken a CPR certification class, or a Red Cross first aid class, you know that the first rule is protecting yourself; the most important person is the healer, not the injured.  The rule is the same if you are talking emotional or spiritual or psychic support-if you damage yourself, how can you help anyone else?  A hard lesson.  One that I learned the hard way.  And relearned again.  And again.

The tile comes out far less often these days.  Sometimes, all I need to do is think of it, and her.  I am learning.  And, when I need Her, She is there for me.

Poised for reset, in three, two, one...

Chanukah is for family.  Christmas is for my husband, DH.  Yule is for friends and community.  But the Solstice, that is for ME.

This year, all of the holidays/occasions seem to happen very closely upon one another, like the Fortuny pleats on a vintage gown.  Two weeks ago, we attended a Jolfest/Blot/Wedding.  Last weekend was my family Chanukah party/family reunion.  This weekend will be Christmas.  Each event requires planning, cleaning, cooking, gift collecting and wrapping (with the exception of the Jolfest/Blot/Wedding, which only required cooking and some planning).  There is also the collecting of daughters from various cities and schools, and the accompanying readjustment to having more people in the house.

And then, tonight there is the Solstice.  In inspiration, Solstice celebrations are close kin to the celebrations of the other holidays, but for me, the observation is very very different.  Today, I will clean the fireplace hearth and lay the wood for a fire.  At the base of the wood will be the chunk of charcoal saved from last Winters fire; after all, last years fire was successful in seeing us through to the return of the sun.  I will also make sure that there is plentiful firewood on the porch to make it easier to keep the fire going all night.  (This year, there is no snow on the ground, but things are awfully soggy.)  At sunset, the fire will be lit. There will be a light dinner (already prepped!).  DH will come home from work and have dinner.  There will be Chanukah candles.  And a quiet evening.  And DH and daughter will go to bed.

I will stay up.

Solstice is the night that I tend the fire; I tend the hearth and the home and wait, in vigil for the return of the sun.  It is a quiet night, just me and sometimes, the cat.  I will read.  I will meditate.  I will scry in the fire and with my drop spindle. (I am not very good as spinning yarn, but I find it a remarkable aid to scrying.)  I will, most likely, trance.  I will eat and drink lightly, and in honor of those Deities Whom I honor.  The night is long, and the house will get cold.  Come dawn, I will go outside and raise a toast to the return of the light and the Spirits of this place.  Then, I will come back inside, bank the fire, and get into bed, to get what sleep I can before the activities of the day begin.

In some Germanic traditions, the night of the Solstice is Mothers Night, sacred most specifically to Frigga.  She, and her handmaidens will check each household to make sure that all household work for the year is finished, and to reward those industrious souls, and perhaps penalize those who have not finished.  It is a very good thing that mothers are forgiving, because there is no way that I could ever be "finished," not when there are so many varied traditions to be honored.  The Solstice is both my "pause" button and my "reset" button in a busy season, at the end of a cycle of time.  The dark and the quiet and the fire feed me and my spirit, so that I can go back into the bright holiday observations with a lighter heart and without a sapping sense of martyrdom to the season.  It allows me that time to contemplate the year that is ending, and the one about to begin.


*********************************************************************************

On a related note, Deb, over at Charmed, I'm Sure, is running a program on transforming oneself over this limnal season.  I am not participating, but that has no reflection on what I see as a quality idea-I simply came upon it late, and I already had my own ideas/plans in the works.  While it has already started, there is still time to join in.  You can find the link here:  New Year, New You

(I will admit to a bit of amusement at the title she chose.  "New Year, New You" was the catchphrase that I used to market personal training programs every December/January, when I ran a gym.  If  there is "egregoric" strength to a phrase, this one should do well for  it's participants.)

Awaiting the Reset Button

I'm pretty sure that there is a new blog post percolating. In the meantime, you may find this new publication of interest:

Incantatio
An International Journal on
Charms, Charmers and Charming

Issue 1, 2011, can be read as a pdf file, found here:

http://www.folklore.ee/incantatio/01.html

and sometimes, it is my nature to complain.

Today, I should have cleaned up the gardens to prep them for sleeping though the winter, but I didn't.

They've broken my heart these last two summers, and even though I know I will return to them and care for them, plant them and weed them, croon at them and hope over them; I'm just not ready yet. Two years ago, I found out that I was top listed in the salad bar section of the Zagats guide for deer and groundhogs. I think we salvaged a single tomato for the humans.

This year, I only had one garden to plant (the second one had been taken out of commission, the idea being that DH was going to dig it up, shore up the sides and put in better fence posts...) and I did figure out a way to discourage the critters who so abused my hospitality. So I laid the soaker hose, planted, weeded, and watered. June and July of this year were among the hottest I can remember. The gardens and I were very glad of the huge rain barrels that DH had built. During those months, I pretty much had a continuous drip of water going into the garden bed to keep the plants from drying up and dying in the heat.

It was an OK spring for the salad greens and peas. And the tomatoes did like the heat, especially since I kept the water flowing. And then we got to August, and it rained. I'm not sure what it was like in other parts of the country, but August 2011 was the rainiest single month in my county since written records were kept. September brought us a hurricane and more weeks of rain. (we have lived in this house since 1986, and this summer was the first time that we had ever gotten water in our basement.) If I had a stop motion camera, I'm sure I could have gotten some remarkable pictures of exploding tomatoes. Of course, the topper to all of this was our 16 inches of heavy snow right before Halloween that toppled our apple tree. So, currently I am somewhat broken in spirit regarding the gardens and the planting.

Perhaps coincidentally (or not) during the same time period, I have been trying to learn some material. I'd really like to be done with it, I feel stuck. Several times now, I think I've done it-I'm ready to present what I know and what I've done, so I could move along. But then something intervenes, and I don't. Sometimes, it's my doing, sometimes it is someone else, and sometimes, well, nature and seasons and events get in the way. And then, it feels as if I am starting all over again. Again.

I am always on guard and trying to make sure that I follow through on things, and do what I've told myself (and others) what I've said that I would do. Perhaps it is my flittery Gemini nature that I am on guard against. Maybe it's the responsible older sibling syndrome. I really don't know. But tonight, I will open up my notebooks and start quizzing myself. And tomorrow, weather permitting, maybe I will clean up the gardens.

Social Whirl

Last night, DH and I attended the Witches Moonlight Masquerade Ball. This is an annual event organized by the Bergen Wiccan and Pagan Group, and others, and is a fundraiser for St. Jude Children's Hospital and Four Legs Good, an animal charity that focuses on feral and homeless animals. But, primarily it is just a fun evening.

DH and I are friends with some of the people responsible for this event, but mostly, we were meeting people for the first time (although there was one mutual moment of "what are you doing here?" with a Rennie musician/actor). As I met people, I was really surprised to be told "Oh, I've heard of you!" Really? I admit, it surprised me. I also admit, I have an ego, and it was massaged very nicely.

Even though we are not members of any of the organizing or sponsoring groups, DH and I were asked to take roles in the Samhain ritual that preceded the dinner and dancing. DH was Door Warden, believe me, he can look very intimidating when he wants to, especially with sword in hand!

I was asked to call and hold the West Quarter, a spot where I am happy to be. We weren't able to attend the run-through of the ritual that had been held earlier, and since I am not Wiccan, I was a little concerned about the lack of "stage directions." The HPS reassured me that I should do what was right to me in that Quarter (as long as I stuck to the spoken part of the script, of course), and so I did. That meant that West was done a bit differently from the other directions, but no one and nothing seemed to be bothered by it. I was given a message by one of the Oracles, which, in the way of such things, could be understood in more than one way, depending on whether one of the words was used as a verb or an adjective.

After the Ritual, we partied. There was food and wine and beer at the tables, and a cash bar not too far away. We had an excellent DJ and a large dance floor. For the most part, we were in costume, and there were even some masks at the masquerade. (I wore one last year, but found that it got in the way of the dancing, eating, drinking, schmoozing...) I even came in second in the costume contest, wearing one of my younger daughters kimono.

Many, many baskets had been donated for the Tricky Tray portion of the evening fundraising, and two paintings had been donated for a Silent Auction, including one by Devyn Barat that I really wouldn't have minded taking home with me, except even the minimum first bid was a bit rich for me. I was glad to see that others weren't so constrained.

All in all, it was a good time for a good pair of causes. I am already looking forward to next year's event.

Mid October catch up

Today marks a full week without rain. This hasn't happened since sometime in July. Tonight should be a night of dancing under the Full Moon, but the center of the circle is a mud pit, and footing is hazardous in daylight, without a shift in reality. I hope the Devas (or Wights, or Spiritus Loci, they do seem amused by my attempts to give name and classification to them), will accept a more snake-like movement, with my feet planted, and allow the circle to whirl about me.

I've been waking to the sound of crows. Well, alright, I've been waking to the sound of the alarm clock, but I quickly become aware of the sound of crows. Mid day, and afternoon, they are gone and their sound is replaced by the calls of hawks. All though, I hear the chirping of chipmunks, they are chattier than all the birds put together, not even silencing in the presence of the hawks. And then, come dusk, the crows return.

Weeding the lavender, one is rewarded for patience and slow care. Weeding the roses, one is punished for impatience and lack of total attention. There is a parable and a lesson, here. And I will finish figuring it out, once I finish removing the thorns from my hands and arms and staunch the blood...

Columbia

Columbia, Matron of our Nations Capitol, and by extension, of our Nation. Goddess of Freedom.

Lady, do Thou look after Thy people, so that we may all worship (or not) as we see fit!

(and I am infinitely pleased that her altar is atop a book case.)