WHEW, GLAD THAT'S OVER ...

Mercury retrograde has been a bitch this time around. Full moon, lunar eclipse and planets lining up all at an already stressful time where so blatantly a pagan holiday has been taken over by a bully. Blah, blah, blah, I'm so glad the pressure is off, near completely off.
I can sleep again, the sleep of darkness, warmth and dreams. The deep sleep of winter. Sinking deep down into the rich dark earth and healing, dreaming. So many past issues regurgitated into December, my head still spins during my wakeful hours.

Today I return to my volunteer work for a local women's shelter that provides free services to women and children of abuse. Haven't volunteered since I was a teen and I'm glad I decided to do community service again. I had ( and still have sometimes) a hard time acclimating to the multiple egos that rear their ugly heads from the many volunteers. It's amazing to me that there are STILL office politics even when no one is collecting a paycheck. I stupidly thought since we were all volunteering our time we'd all be equals, my ridiculous utopian naivete shines again. My lesson is to figure a way to get women to work together. Patriarchy has ruled us for too long.

All in All, things are getting back to manageable again. I shall have a better plan in place for December next year. I had a beautiful Solstice but the "muggle" xmas thing wears me out, on many levels.
Happy hibernation !

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE YULETIDE

Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the glen
Not a creature was stirring, not a fox, not a hen.
A mantle of snow shone brightly that night
As it lay on the ground, reflecting moonlight.
The faeries were nestled all snug in their trees,
Unmindful of flurries and a chilly north breeze.
The elves and the gnomes were down in their burrows,
Sleeping like babes in their soft earthen furrows.
When low! The earth moved with a thunderous quake,
Causing chairs to fall over and dishes to break.
The Little Folk scrambled to get on their feet
Then raced to the river where they usually meet.
“What happened?” they wondered, they questioned, they probed,
As they shivered in night clothes, some bare-armed, some robed.
“What caused the earth’s shudder? What caused her to shiver?”
They all spoke at once as they stood by the river.
Then what to their wondering eyes should appear
But a shining gold light in the shape of a sphere.
It blinked and it twinkled, it winked like an eye,
Then it flew straight up and was lost in the sky.
Before they could murmur, before they could bustle,
There emerged from the crowd, with a swish and a rustle,
A stately old crone with her hand on a cane,
Resplendent in green with a flowing white mane.
As she passed by them the old crone’s perfume,
Smelling of meadows and flowers abloom,
Made each of the fey folk think of the spring
When the earth wakes from slumber and the birds start to sing.
“My name is Gaia,” the old crone proclaimed
in a voice that at once was both wild and tamed,
“I’ve come to remind you, for you seem to forget,
that Yule is the time of re-birth, and yet…”
“I see no hearth fires, hear no music, no bells,
The air isn’t filled with rich fragrant smells
Of baking and roasting, and simmering stews,
Of cider that’s mulled or other hot brews.”
“There aren’t any children at play in the snow,
Or houses lit up by candles’ glow.
Have you forgotten, my children, the fun
Of celebrating the rebirth of the sun?”
She looked at the fey folk, her eyes going round,
As they shuffled their feet and stared at the ground.
Then she smiled the smile that brings light to the day,
“Come, my children,” she said, “Let’s play.”
They gathered the mistletoe, gathered the holly,
Threw off the drab and drew on the jolly.
They lit a big bonfire, and they danced and they sang.
They brought out the bells and clapped when they rang.
They strung lights on the trees, and bows, oh so merry,
In colors of cranberry, bayberry, cherry.
They built giant snowmen and adorned them with hats,
Then surrounded them with snow birds, and snow cats and bats.
Then just before dawn, at the end of their fest,
Before they went homeward to seek out their rest,
The fey folk they gathered ‘round their favorite oak tree
And welcomed the sun ‘neath the tree’s finery.
They were just reaching home when it suddenly came,
The gold light returned like an arrow-shot flame.
It lit on the tree top where they could see from afar
The golden-like sphere turned into a star.

The old crone just smiled at the beautiful sight,

“Happy Yuletide, my children,” she whispered. “Good night.”

SING IF YOU FEEL IT !!!

SILENT NIGHT
Ellen Reed

Silent night, Solstice Night
All is calm, all is bright
Nature slumbers in forest and glen
Till in Springtime She wakens again
Sleeping spirits grow strong!
Sleeping spirits grow strong!


Silent night, Solstice night
Silver moon shining bright
Snowfall blankets the slumbering Earth
Yule fires welcome the Sun's rebirth
Hark, the Light is reborn!
Hark, the Light is reborn!


Silent night, Solstice night
Quiet rest till the Light
Turning ever the rolling Wheel
Brings the winter to comfort and heal
Rest your spirit in peace!
Rest your spirit in peace!


 
 
Gods Rest Ye Merry Pagan Folk




Gods rest ye merry Pagan folk,
Let nothing you dismay
Remember that the Sun returns
Upon this Solstice Day!
The growing dark is ended now
And Spring is on its way


O, tidings of comfort and joy!
Comfort and joy!
O, tidings of comfort and joy!


The Winter's worst still lies ahead
Fierce tempest, snow and rain!
Beneath the blanket on the ground
The spark of life remains!
The Sun's warm rays caress the seeds
To raise Life's songs again!


O, tidings of comfort and joy!
Comfort and joy!
O, tidings of comfort and joy!


Within the blessed apple lies
The promise of the Queen!
For from this pentacle shall rise
The orchards fresh and green.
The Earth shall blossom once again
The air be sweet and clean!


O, tidings of comfort and joy!
Comfort and joy!
O, tidings of comfort and joy!

BEEN A WHILE

My goodness it's been a busy time.
Car repairs, fall influenza, icicles threatening to tear down gutters, working on a handmade Winter Solstice, snowed in for a week and much more I won't bore you with.
Watched the Women's Spirituality Series by Donna Reed. Even though they were made in 1992 it was wonderful to watch. And to see some founding women of the Goddess movement, so young and full of fire, and to see some who have passed on. Watch it, if you haven't already.
New additions to my altar; three muses relief found at a garage sale, and a huge conch shell from a different garage sale, a ulexite stone and a crystal encrusted stone the size of my hand, passed down as a toss away.
I definately feel a new chapter beginning in my life. Sorting out the people who are my friends from those who drain me for one reason or another. Life's too short.
I feel inspiration taping on my shoulder, off to create ... be well!

A PAGAN MAGAZINE IS A POWERFUL TOOL

Here's one for you, enjoy!

RECLAIMING QUARTERLY

WE ARE PREDITOR, NOT PREY!

It's a catchy title and just one small line, from this interview, that holds profound meaning for some. This interview is full of amazing snipets of knowledge. Go make a cup of tea and listen, if you feel compelled. Blessings!

Radio interview with Dr. Ada-Belinda DancingLion, healer, medicine woman and spiritual counselor.

Deep lessons revealed in a 30 minute interview that some will never learn in 30 years.

I'm inspired, hope you are too!

WILD WITCHES DON'T GET THE BLUES

SAMHAIN

Time of Hag Time of Crone

Time of Blood Time of Bone

Hecate offers cold embrace

Spectre, wraith and banshee pace

Wait for Hallow's eve to fly

Wait 'til deepest dark to scry

This night the veil is very thin

Life goes out and death comes in

Open wide to all the fear

Trust that from the darkness here

Life and light will rise again

Death goes out and life comes in

~ Ila Suzanne

From Goddess Spirituality Book, Rituals, Holydays, and Moon Magic by Ffiona Morgan

HOME PROTECTION SPELL

My man came home with a bucket full of rusty used railroad spikes and knew I would receive them like a gift of gold. I'm not really a follower of hoodoo but folk magic has always crossed my path since I was little.

Well used rusty railroad spikes are used in home or land protection spells to secure your home from those who wish to move you from it. You need a spike for each corner of your property, some anointing oil ( peaceful home, protection) and a well meant, from the heart, incantation seeking security and peace of place. Drive the railroad spikes into each corner with a hammer. In hoodoo work each spike is then topped with a silver dime, covered over with graveyard dirt of one's ancestors and marked with fresh urine.

ANI DIFRANCO "Reprieve"

Marija Gimbutas - SIGNS OUT OF TIME

There are 7 parts that complete this dvd. Please take the time to treat yourself to a full viewing.  I was very excited to stumble across this you tube version as I never really have the spare cash to make these kinds of puchases. This woman and her life's knowledge are too rich to keep from us.

"I stand on the shoulders of the sisters before me."

"Seasons of the Witch" FALL

I quote to you from Patricia Monaghan's book "Seasons of the Witch" page 65; 
( I'd read this to you if we were together. This passage has touched my heart so deeply this year, maybe for you, the same ... Blessed Autumn to you all! )

FALL  The Measure of Her Powers

Now comes a time of reckoning, a season of limits.
 There will never be more than there is now. The harvest is done, the cellars are full. Two seasons of growth have lead to this richness, this security, this abundance. This is a season for celebrating the plenty that work and time have wrought. This is a season for feasting with friends, sharing the bounty, toasting to work well done.
 This is a season, as well, for endings. For nothing more is growing. Nothing more will grow this year. There will never be more than there is now. And the winds of autumn descend to tear seed from stalk, to scatter what has not been captured.
 This is the time to decide what will die. Not all of last spring's calves and lambs and ducklings can be fed through the winter. Some will die, and in dying provide food. It is a season of decisions. And of prophecies: for as other life dies, it foreshadows our own deaths. The taste of death is in the air in fall. On our tongues, too, the taste of death: of plants that give us their seeds, of animals that give us their flesh.
 Such communion! As we pick the pumpkin from it's shriveled stalk, as we press the juice from apple's flesh, as we tear out carrot life by it's roots, we taste the deepest knowledge we can have: we need others to survive. That we breathe only because something has died. That we make our own flesh of the flesh of our world.
 Never in the seasons of our life do we feel more responsible.
 As she moves through autumn, a woman feels a passionate connection with all life. Yet, wise in the seasons of living, she can be unsentimental, even pitiless. She does not try to nurture everything and everyone, for she knows not all can-should-survive. She becomes selective. There is enough of everything- strength, love, passion, lust-everything but time.
 Time, she knows, grows short. Nothing seems endless anymore. her life grows full of endings: parents and friends die, animals she has loved disappear in a gasp, dreams fade beyond reclaiming. She does not recognize, when the deaths start, that fall has begun. But later, she will remember: after that one, it was never the same. Never again can she hold a living body without knowing the fragility of it's life, the closeness of it's death.
 She finds that she has limits. Her energy falters, her mind drifts, her patience snaps. She begins to husband herself, to save herself for what really matters. She has seen enough to guess the trajectory of most events, to hold back from repeating old mistakes. She knows now that some energy is wasted. So sometimes she seems parsimonious. But just as often, she is generous. That old coat? Give it away. That pretty pin? Oh, do take it. The half-finished book? No, it's yours. She does not need to cling to what she has outlasted. Things leave her: she does not need it all.
 Fall consumes a woman many times before and after middle life, whenever the time demands that she becomes decisive. She empties her womb of a conception; she leaves a convent, a marriage, a carreer; she puts a loved old pet to sleep. She cleans a closet, she gives away old books, she cuts her hair. Autumn finds her free and vibrant, impatient of delusions, ready to do whatever she needs to do.
 For she knows what she needs, and she wants it fiercely. For every false dream that dies, a true one is remembered. She climbs mountains to stand in alpenglow, she gallops out on a magnificent horse, she paints her secrets and her nightmares. She has a last and cherished child; she remembers passion with an old friend; she writes her own, her individual, story. She knows what memories she needs to store, to provide her winter years
 The autumn woman moves toward dreamtime. Though she knows her limits, she has also felt limitless. She has known the ineffable. She wakes at night from dreams of high windy places where small blue flowers bloom, and she knows in her bones that such places exist. Luminous beings appear in her dreams and pull her towards them. She recognizes the dust of infinity in a windstorm, the odor of timelessness in a fire.
 There is a transcendent energy about her, but she remains rooted in life's imminent realities. In her eyes you see the fire of primal knowledge: the knowledge of life and death. She knows that she will not escape this life alive. And she embraces it, moment by moment by moment.

A Witch Bows To No Man

Love this Dianic Witch !

Z. Budapest

"I stand on the shoulders of the sisters before me."

Witchcraft deserves the same respect accorded to any other spiritual tradition.

STARHAWK

The Washington Post

Real witchcraft deserves respect --not O'Donnell's dabbling

Makes EGO seem all the more useless and ridiculous .. ha ha ha

 
LONDON (Reuters) – God did not create the universe and the "Big Bang" was an inevitable consequence of the laws of physics, the eminent British theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking argues in a new book.

In "The Grand Design," co-authored with U.S. physicist Leonard Mlodinow, Hawking says a new series of theories made a creator of the universe redundant, according to the Times newspaper which published extracts on Thursday.

"Because there is a law such as gravity, the universe can and will create itself from nothing. Spontaneous creation is the reason there is something rather than nothing, why the universe exists, why we exist," Hawking writes.

ANCIENT CALLING

Feeling the need for a little magick in my life ......

SKIN BOUND BOOKS

The macabre herbalist witch in me has to pass this on, enjoy the article and their amazing site.

SORRY I MISSED CHURCH

I tried to add to the last post and it's not showing the changes, so I'll add ORNERY HAG PART DEUX ...
after all your fun emails and comments I decided to find a way for everyone who wants one to have one ;

Ornery Hag, I am I am !

FOUND :  at a yard sale,
One purple t-shirt with this saying across the front for $1.

Since the 4th of July falls on a Sunday the "moral majority" jumps on the chance to preach all day over the load speakers at the local park while the masses mingle and shop, eat and await fireworks .....

In celebration of my Freedom & Independence I wear my new found treasure

the facial expressions and mental disturbance I cause today - priceless !

"Not ALL women are guilty"

Amazing the things that turn up in old books while doing research ;

Reynolde Scot, a Kentishman whom we recall as gardener

and author of the Hoppe Garden, 1574, wrote the

Discouerie of Witchcraft in 1584. He felt that not all

women who were tried as witches were guilty, stating,

"Now the witches are mortal women, which be commonly

old, lame, blear-eyed, pale, foul and full of wrinkles,

poor, sullen."

A WITCH'S FIVE GRASS OIL

Protection, Change bad luck to good, Clear your way.

VAN VAN OIL

16 parts lemongrass

8 parts citronella

1 part vetiver

1 part palmarosa

1 part ginger grass

mix well and store in a dark glass bottle.

for a 1/2 oz bottle of van van oil add

1 dropper full of above recipe

a pinch of lemongrass

a pinch of pyrite

fill with an unscented carrier oil of your choice

PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE

 Artist - Hrana Janto

I find myself at a crossroads.

 My little box doesn't fit anymore. The box my peers put me in over the years. The multiple sided, neatly labeled place my friends, family, lovers, co-workers, clients have filed away my mysterious knowings, quirky personality, feminist sensibilities, gypsy lifestyle, awkward social skills, piercing tongue ... you get the idea. 

The moment I defined and accepted my box, it shattered. 

An uncomfortable experience it has been, no cave to crawl into, nothing from my past soothes me, no dream lulls me - it's all uncharted territory.

Lions, Turtles and Life, Oh My !

Hello dear blog , I've missed our time together, quiet contemplative time. So many things are happening in the world and I can't seem to slow down and sit still long enough to put my deep musings to page. Mercury is back in place, a glorious new moon passed. A fast flow of happenings have caught me up in the current and I'm re-learning to go with the flow. When did I become so inflexible ? Has age brought on this embarrassing unbending stiffness ? At least I can laugh through it. I suppose it's of some cosmic benefit that complete strangers watch me struggle through my inner changes. See me lash out with my leonine power when cornered by some perceived threat. See me as I smooth my fur, work through the uncomfortable parts til I gain peacefulness and laughter again. During my daily walk three turtles made themselves known. They tell me to honor the creative goddess source within me, to be grounded to the earth, to observe my situation with compassion. I haven't paid much attention to my protective shell lately and turtle reminds me I remain too open many times, which is okay but I forget to use protection. Hope you all are doing well, I'll return soon, so many things to share. Be well !

You are Unique and yet we're all the same ....

We've all seen the ads : would like to meet like-minded people ..... : I see them in every "pagan-y" form of networking available. Wish I had a penny for every time I've heard those words. Oh com'on, we've all said it ! ...  in our newbie phases, our lonely and misunderstood phases, when that love spell went wrong & I could really use a friend who's done this before phases, you know what I'm talkin' bout.
Well, let me save ya a little time and trouble, .......  there is absolutely No One out there who is "like minded". It's just you ! Just you in all your complicated and unique glory. Just you who has experienced Those things, at Those times, in Your life. Just you, who can see the Sacred the way you do, who Believes the way you do, and that's okay.  Once you get past that roadblock ( the one where you spend years searching for the "like-minded" group of friends) you are Free. Free to be friends with anyone. People who have entirely different beliefs expand your world and you, Theirs.

A Witch's Work is Never Done

Busy, busy week !
Fueled by introspection, personal breakthroughs, morning nature hikes, righteous anger and helping others.
A chaotic swing of moods to match the chaotic seasonal weather.
I happened across a coyote one morning in the beginning of my week. I've never been so close to a coyote before in my life. She was busy eating a young canadian goose, I slipped by respectfully.
Mid-week I was at an elder sister's house, in her gardens, discussing her clean-up plans. While she went into the house, I stood and took in the fresh morning smells, the brown gnarly  hedge, the vegetable beds full of weeds, the soggy herb beds, the wild honeysuckle and roses. Lost in thought, I awoke to hummingbirds in a swirl around my head and just as quickly gone, leaving one sitting on a branch before me chattering away, chewing me out proper.
The end of the week found me angry with my lover, so hot tempered I jumped in my witchy wagon an flew towards the coast. Better I go cool off than fly off the handle. I drive til it feels time to stop. I stare off into the waters til all my anger washes away. Turn the key and head back home. Accompanied by a bald eagle.

MAX DASHU - Restoring Women to Cultural Memory

    

" We stand on the shoulders of the sisters before us."

I've been stumbling around on this entry for over a week.
No words I can write will even come close to honoring the amazing work that Max Dashu does.
In 1970 she founded The Suppressed Histories Archives . Go there. Live there. Tell me you aren't touched, moved, inspired, relieved, reclaimed, in awe of our ancient cultural history.
The Art of Max Dashu
Very affordable Online Courses  to keep her important work (our true history) alive and passed on to future generations.
Max Dashu's Channel; Real Women, Global Vision
An Interview with Max Dashu, go to the second interview
 

GODDESS FESTIVAL 2010

Did you know ? 

We have our very own Goddess Gathering on the West Coast put on by our very own sisters, Z. Budapest and Bobbie Grennier.

Burnt Offerings - Palo Santo

Palo Santo ( Burseara Graveolens) known as "Holy Wood/Tree/Stick" .
A highly aromatic wood used by the indigenous people of the Andes for centuries. A close relative to the frankincense and myrrh bushes with a hint of sandalwood and an indescribable clean scent that permeates the air whether smoldering or not.
Used as a spiritual remedy for purifying, cleansing, to remove evil spirits and misfortune.
Medicinally used as an insect repellent, for colds, asthma, stress, anxiety, migraine, dermatitis and arthritis.
Palo Santo is a protected species in South America and the harvest is monitored by the government. Naturally fallen branches lie dead on the ground for 4-10 years before they are harvested. This creates a limited supply and a higher price so use in a sacred way, a little truly goes a long way.

If I have this sacred wood on hand, I use it to clear space before doing a reading.
If you'd like to try it out for yourself, click the picture above and add Palo Santo to your witchy cupboard.

MOON, MOON by Anne Kent Rush

In 2003 I found myself closing another witchy store in another small west coast town. I had a huge, month long, estate sale and sold everything. Everything from the store, everything from my life. I filled my 22' witch wagon with the necessities, some prized books, some store stock to barter along the way, and some personal mementos. My journey was to be 3000 miles at a slow pace that wouldn't wear out my old wagon. I hit the road with the fall chill on my coat tails. The inevitable happened in the Northern California mountains and I found myself camping in a relatives driveway while waiting for engine parts. Two weeks I was stranded in a California driveway during a freak heatwave in a tin box wagon. I walked about town, from shade tree to mountain fed rivers passing the longest of hottest days. I found a decent health food grocery and the coolest second hand bookstore hidden away in an industrial warehouse. The bookstore guy played the best browsing vinyl, had quartz crystal clusters the size of  breakfast tables crated in from Brazil (his own mine) and a whole room dedicated to herbals and the mystical arts. Moon, Moon was a book that had been attracting my attention for a couple years. I never bought it for some reason or another, it's big, it's outdated, it's not going to be what I want it to be, blah, blah, blah. This time, in this store, there it was again. And here I was with two weeks to burn and in need of some inspiration. I bought it, paid more than I normally would have, and went home to my little hot tin wagon. This book was amazing. Every page answered a question I had about the moon. Things I'd pondered and was too lazy to research (for years) was right there in my new "old" book. What a joy to read. Pictures of ancient moon goddesses, moon mythology and folklore in other countries, the ancient feminine connection to the moon and her cycles. I continued to read, page by page, and absorb the information. It became my little comforting ritual each day to turn to a new page and let my troubles melt away. My witchy wagon was ready to go while still reading my book so I said my goodbyes and once again continued on my slow journey with a new ritual added to my daily routine. I collected maps and pamphlets from the places I stayed and added them as bookmarks amongst the pages of my book. It was a sad day when I finished the last pages somewhere in Louisiana. I've never had the same experience with any other book, but each of my special books have their own rituals and stories I guess. I've never read another of Anne Kent Rush's books, but this one has joined my collection of books that will always have a place in my wagon wherever life may take me.

Moon, Moon

Patricia Monaghan - Seasons of the Witch

" I stand on the shoulders of the sisters before me. "

Warning

She won't make wigs

of it. She has more brutal plans.

Some she feeds to pigs.

Some she burns in distant lands

you never want to visit.

Is it

strange that nude

before a flat stone altar

she fashions crude

and obsene figures from your hair ?

Beware

women who don't falter

when they pick up scissors or a knife,

who know the names of poison plants,

the purpose of each star,

the absolute anatomy of life.

Such women are, however,

individual and rare.

A single warning:

never let one cut your hair.

page 1, Seasons of the Witch 1992, by Patricia Monaghan, Delphi Press

Wikipedia Patricia Monaghan

Patricia Monaghan's Bio

I have a copy of Seasons of the Witch. Can't tell you how long I've had it and it most likely joined my collection via some thriftstore purchase. Books have a way of falling off shelves and into my path just when I need them. The poetry and artwork inspire me still to this day (and I'm not a real fan of poetry).