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Blessed Mabon, happy Autumn Equinox & have a good first day of Fall!

Wheat & corn, wheat & corn, all that dies shall be reborn!
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The goms are acting up. It must be getting close to the Equinox. Been hearing noises in the house all day & Chelsie's been starting and barking at thin air.

:D It's kind of hard to believe we've had the dog almost a year now.
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Most people who know me know I’m a Pagan – I’m pretty much out of the broom closet as far as that goes. I’ve noticed from some of the forums that I’ve visited online that one of the problems with Paganism is that, except for books, no one really talks about what it is that they do. Some people may want to stay in the broom closet out of fear of repercussions from relatives, friends, neighbors, employers, etc. Others just don’t talk about their religion or spirituality – it’s too personal to share. There are even some who like to feel superior because they’ve got a ‘secret’, or access to secret knowledge. Generally, I don’t talk about what it is that I do because I am constantly struggling with my personal faith. There’s also a lot of what I’ve done and experienced that places me in the ‘whack-job’ category that I disdain. For some reason, though, I want to share what I do on Samhain.

Samhain is considered by many to be the Pagan New Year. (In some places, though, April 1st held that honor, hence April Fool’s Day – when the calendars changed the foolish folk in rural areas still celebrated New Years on April 1st while everyone else had switched to January 1st). There’s a lot of controversy over how important Samhain was to the Celts, and honestly I consider the ‘New Year’ to occur on January 1st. It seems more right to me because I’ve lived by that calendar all my life – and my birthday is on the last day of the year. Seasonally and agriculturally, Samhain marked the end of the harvest season. The grains and fruits and lasting roots were prepared for storage. Herds were culled down to the breeding stock most likely to survive til the following spring & meat was salted and placed into storage for the long winter. Firewood was gathered, the winter woolens were brought out of storage and the earth prepared to lay fallow until planting time rolled around again. It was a time when the dark nights lengthened and an atmosphere of uncertainty and anxiety fell on those living in temperate climates where winters were hard and cold. With the last of the wheat sheaves reaped the God would die, returning to the womb of the Mother to wait for rebirth at the Winter Solstice.

All my life I have had a unique kinship to the Horned Lord, Lord of the Hunt, the darkened face of the Solar God, and once the Summer Solstice is upon us in June, I tend to slide a little deeper into depression, because I sense His death is near. Even though I enjoy all the modern conveniences and the lack of a bitter winter by grace of a hot desert sun, I still worry about the arrival of Spring. I’ve also had a long relationship with the Greek God Hades and His consort, Persephone. Hades is the Lord of the Underworld, and Persephone became the Lady at His side. When I lose hope with the death of the Sun, Persephone reassures me that Her winter confinement in the root cellars of the earth will end and She will return to the surface bearing flowers and new green shoots. To honor the bargain between Hades and Persephone that was sealed with pomegranate seeds, I placed a taboo on myself that I will only eat pomegranates from the Autumn Equinox til November 2nd – it’s a hardship because pomegranates are my favorite fruit & they start getting into the stores around the first of September. Hades and Persephone receive the first best pomegranate I find.

For a week or two before and each Sabbat, I was taught that the Veil separating the world of the living from the world of the dead grows thin, and it is especially thin during Samhain. Maybe the passage of the God tears a hole in the Veil and the Goddess has to mend it? At any rate, around this time of year I tend to notice more otherworldly activity in and around the house. I believe in ghosts, I believe I’ve seen, heard and communicated with ghosts since I was a child, and even though I usually don’t acknowledge their presence because of the aforementioned ‘whack-job factor’, it gets harder to ignore them. Divination is supposed to be easier this time of year, and I used to do my yearly forecast Tarot readings every year, at least until I realized that my future is bleakly predictable. I don’t really do much by way of rituals or anything anymore – when I was a Wiccan, I would do a full-blown ceremony every year, but I put all that aside. Now I host a dumb supper.

Every Samhain, I try to cook dinner. I cook all the food without salt, because I learned from Vodou that salt is like spiritual Agent Orange. I usually try to make some kind of beans or rice – the dead love beans and rice. I set up a table and light a candle to serve as a beacon. I don’t know if my parents have reincarnated yet, and I never felt close to any of my many deceased relatives, but I still a cigarette and serve black coffee because that’s what my mother & dad & most other relatives favored. I also set up a shot of liquor, sometimes rum, sometimes tequila, sometimes whiskey – it’s not so much the type of liquor that matters so much as it’s for the Guedde – the family of death Gods in Vodou. This year I’ll also serve up an apple to the Shinigami (Japanese death Gods) – now that I’ve learned about them I can’t leave them out of the festivities. I set aside a little of all I cook for myself & Rob, and I make sure when I serve the beloved dead that I taste it to show them it’s not poisoned. I place the table near the front door & open the door wide, and I invite the dead into our home to eat supper with us. After we’re done eating and what feels like an appropriate amount of time has passed, I thank the dead for coming to dinner, tell them whosoever wishes to stay may stay but they are not bound and I close the door. I leave the candle burning for however long it takes it to go out – usually it’s a 7-day candle.

When I lived in Memphis, I had the pleasure of going around with a teacher of mine & her family & friends who practiced Vodou, and she would go into cemeteries and clean neglected graves on the weekend before or after Samhain. We’d scrub headstones and markers, patch sod, replace vases and candleholders and leave home-made wreaths of fall foliage and dried berries. We’d also hold a prayer circle and wish the dead well. If Rob & I had stayed in New Orleans, that would have been the plan that year, too. Here in Vegas, it just doesn’t seem right – I’ve never encountered a cemetery here that felt like it would appreciate the attention. I miss that aspect of service. For me, Samhain is kind of like the universal reset button. The earth gets to relax and kick back until it’s time to start growing stuff again. I can feel the world just going, “Ahhhhh”. It feels deep, warm and sacred, and no matter how much I’m struggling with my own spirituality, it helps renew my focus on the important things. Plus, there’s the added benefit of how much fun it is to celebrate in the secular world.
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Merry Autumn Equinox to y'all.
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I am really in a funk right now. I can feel it. I try to go places & just can't make it out the door. My dreams are just weird & confusing. I have decided that I cannot eat any more sushi that involves roe - no matter how good it tastes. I had some last week, & my voice & chest have been kind of gruff this weekend - last night I dreamed I was coughing up snotballs that were full of developing fish eggs... I could see their little eyes... I was thinking, "well, if they hatch I'll just swallow 'em" & then I thought, "Yeah, but this crap is coming out of my LUNGS!" I have two classes that I've completely blown off this weekend - instead of reading & watching lectures, I've been playing WoW, getting that last 3-day weekend hurrah in. My back is killing me, my knees hurt - everything hurts from the hips down, as a matter of fact - but do I get up & stretch? Noooo, 'course not. I do have an appt w/my ortho guy on Friday at least.

I can feel Autumn creeping in around the cracks in the door and it only gets worse from now til Yule. I can yammer on about spirituality on forums & to people around me - but I'm not feeling the spirit. It all seems very academic. The more I try, the more mired in the mundane I get.

I've have been getting this weird desire to fully resurrect the Greek-ness of my childhood. Ancient Greek religion was more academic than charismatic, so maybe it's something I can use right now. It's very hard to give due worship to Dionysus when I know how bad it would be for me to start seriously drinking. I might get stuck, feeling this way. There isn't a lot to go on about Hades - He was only honored at funerals & given respect during seances/necromancy by the shady sorts in ancient Greece that may have been given to that kind of practice. It seems His worship was centered around rivers and springs said to be rivers that led to the Underworld, and caves that were doors to the Underworld. Persephone was rarely worshipped as an individual, Her rites were included with Demeter's at Eleusis. The Greeks were superstitious about death and death deities, Persephone was referred to as simply 'the Maiden' and Hades rarely if at all. Miners had to bargain with Him in their procurement of metals and stones.

I just read this rendition of the transformation of Kore into Persephone... it's one of those things that make me go 'Wow.' It's interesting that the author kind of focuses on Persephone being the sole sovereign of the Underworld, but I know in Roman times Hades was integrated into Pluto/Saturn, who was a God of the Harvest. Persephone plants the seeds, Demeter helps them grow, Saturn reaps the harvest.

Apparently, and I've never heard this connection made before - modern mythologists & scholars have linked Persephone to 'the nameless maiden of the labyrinth at Knossos'. Gee, where have I heard that phrase before?


Sep. 17th, 2007 03:11 am
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As much as I love this waning of the year... I also hate it. Hate what it does to me. I wish I was honestly crazy, or maybe if I just had a schizophrenic label taped to my forehead I could at least tell myself, "Oh, hey, yeah, I'm nuts, it's perfectly normal for me to hallucinate." Removal of stress is what's done me in. I just know it. Stress and workaholism, in its own damaging way, is a fantastic shield for a lot of emotional crap to hide behind, safe and sound where it never fully bothers you.

Tonight, as I was leaving work, I saw two cowboys in the lobby of the Excalibur. I'm not talking ranch hands like at Bonnie Springs, or the stable guys... at first I thought 'bikers', but no, these were dusty, right-off-the-range cowboys. Wearing beat up, tattered longriders, sprung leather boots, they were dusty and smelled like horse and sage and desert night. They were older, with long lank greying hair and moustaches. For a minute, I thought one was Jody's boyfriend, Brad - who looks a lot like Sam Elliott (he was in Ghostrider). Then, they walked past a pillar and emerged on the other side as two mid-20's club guys in nylon t-shirts and tight jeans, clean shaven, clean, smelling of some hideous cologne, probably Axe or something like that. Brain spoke & said, "brothers, for a long time". One of them looked at me, probably because I had some bizarre befuddled expression on my face. The Excalibur is an anachronism all on its own, and woefully tacky... but even two trail-hardened cowboys seemed strangely out of place there, walking past a huge plastic statue of Spongebob Squarepants.

The more I think about the nature of linear and non-linear time, the more malleable it becomes. Past, present, future, all merging into one seemless conglomeration of events and people and places. It'd be okay, if I was completely mad. If I didn't have moments when I could almost touch the 'infinite being of light' within me. If I didn't have those Jonathan Livingston Seagull moments. Knowing that part of why my memory of my childhood is so absent is because I wasn't there.

Rob tells me to deny everything. Everything except for what I know is right there, accessible to my five senses & all this crap would go away. The hard part is that I don't always know the difference. I believe, therefore it is real, it simply is what it is, and it cannot be separated from what it is not - because it's all part of the same thing. Excising my belief in reincarnation & precognition and Vodou and sympathetic magic and the power of the mind to manifest things into being, the power of the body to heal itself and others makes no more sense than pulling out a perfectly good tooth - or separating atoms of carbon from other atoms of carbon. Sometimes I feel like... well, it's as if someone gave me glasses with the Kabbalistic Tree diagrammed on them, so that everything I see is connected to everything else along one of those pathways. And everything fits into those neat little sephiratic filing cabinets. And all those drawers are connected to one another. And in the center, where the Daath is is light. Endless, limitless light. Only if I look directly into that light, I see everything out of its filing cabinets - past, present, future, everything, every star, every planet, every living thing, every spiritual entity, every place, every negative space, all glommed together, everything happening at once, without end forever, amen. That is what the light is. Everything is light.
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Oh, me so horny...

Of course, I'm sitting here drinking a 40oz. I don't think that has anything to do w/it really. I think it's more the lazy crescent moon outside. The crickets singing, the promise of Autumn in the night air. I find myself thinking about Grecian hills & blood smeared thighs.

Part of why booze scares me as much as I love it is because it's the connection. Ties all those lives together. I can remember things I should have forgotten. It used to be I could drink past the memories, til it all went black.
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I guess what I've been avoiding saying is ... I feel it today. I walked out of work & into a summer morning breeze that was full of the promise of winter's death. The light looked like late afternoon, slanting through the trees in the parking lot.

It's just a few days past Lughnasadh & already Sol fades. It happens so quickly - one moment it's Midsummer and brutal heat, and then within six weeks there's that undertone in the air.

Time is all we really have.
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Hot spiced cider, with cinnamon sticks in it

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I originally logged on because Rob was telling me about a new ghost-hunter show involving a panel of experts like a psychologist, a scientist, a skeptic & a few more. These folk went to N'Awlins & were invited to a closed Voodoo ceremony, and they all became horses. Rob said that even the skeptic had no explanation for the experiences they had - no rational, explainable, scientific excuse or anything. One of them said something to the effect of "You can't understand it unless you experience it for yourself." 

I wish Rob had the foresight to tape it for me, but oh well. It's only topical because I'm currently reading 'Urban Voodoo', a book written by some guy who makes Aleister Crowley seem politically correct and humble. He pretty much said the same thing - also that more & more, the African Diasporic spirits are calling people cross-culturally, not just because Their pool of potentials has broadened, but because They are getting desperate for the attention. (He mentioned a book, one of the original cyber-punk novels called 'Count Zero' by William Gibson(?) that's about a time in the future when the lwas get into the internet and start wreaking Their own special brand of havoc... I'm gonna have to get ahold of it - I've been delving into cyber punk more & more thanks to Neal Stephens' 'Snow Crash') Anyway, I'm one of those typical white folk who heard the call... and ignored it. Mainly because, well, They want more from me than I can give. I probably will never have a time in this life where I can give myself over to the life of the spirit, especially not a public life of the spirit. The whole reason I even pulled Urban Voodoo off my shelf is because I'm weaning out my collection of Ars Magicka to sell off or give to Jody. It's been at least moderately entertaining, if nothing else.

Anyway, it's just that time of year - Autumn, Samhain rolling around. I start thinking to myself that I could answer the call, bring the spirits back into my life, complete the prophecy... but then again, maybe I should just let sleeping Gods lie.
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Happy Mabon, all - may your harvest be bountiful and your fertile earth well-prepared for a winter's rest.

Giving y'all my love, in Darkness and in Light.
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Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Hate crying. Bawling, really. Think I need to see if my gyno can get me stronger b/c pills because somewhere a hormone has escaped or something.

Maybe it's the solar eclipse & the wind that picked up when we got home.

Maybe it's because tomorrow is the Autumn Equinox.

I think I posted this once before - it's my one & only short story.

I don’t know why Coyote chooses to come & visit me Especially considering that I’m a short, fat white woman; completely bound to concrete and sidewalks, flushing toilets, that sort of thing. I never really was a wild-woods kind of child. You’d think that Coyote would be out harassing some weather-beaten old Paiute or Apache elder somewhere. But no, he shows up on my doorstep, drinking my Guinness & looking around for leftovers.

Anyway, for some reason Coyote came to visit me, in his dusty blue jeans & sprung boots, floppy leather cowboy hat shading his ancient amber eyes. He squatted down on his haunches & scratched himself in places better left unsaid. After telling me a few of his dirtier jokes & reacquainting himself with the novelty of television and good Irish suds, he looked at me sideways & said, "You know, I’ve got a dirty secret."

Now, knowing Coyote like I do, this wasn’t a big surprise. He gets blamed for everything. And there are a few things he’s been blamed for that he really didn’t do. Before you laugh, notice I said a few things. I don’t think Coyote’s to blame for the religious right. Or Republicans. But the platypus and tumbleweeds and sticker-bushes... those are all his idea. So are handicaps and death... but that’s for another time. I wondered exactly what kind of secret Coyote would consider being dirty. So I asked, "It must be pretty bad if you’re calling it a dirty little secret."

He smiled his toothy grin, "Yeah, so don’t tell nobody else. I’ve got a reputation to maintain." At this, I laughed. A great big belly laugh came up from my toes. He waited for me to regain my composure. It’s hard to know when he’s serious or about to tell one of his nastiest cathouse stories. Even when Coyote was known as One Big Angry, he kept a grin under his nose.

“You see, once, way back when, back when there were still more buffalo than white people, I made that little joke about the rock."

“I remember you telling me how you voted Death into office."

He nodded. “I didn’t know how widespread it would be, though. Until one day I looked up & saw there were more people than buffalo. And that clued me in. Right away I noticed there was something happening. It wasn’t just the buffalo that were gone. Other four-leggeds, and six-leggeds, and no-leggeds were coming up missing every day. And more and more of your kind were taking their place." his yellow eyes glared at me briefly, and I just shrugged.

"Hey, man, this was before I even got here."

"I know, I know. But let me finish. I roamed the plains and the hills, and saw more & more people, and more & more dead buffalo. And then almost no buffalo altogether. No mountain lions or wolves. No big hunters. Only us coyotes and foxes... a few rattlesnakes. Saw a lot of cows and sheep and white folk, though." He polished off his third Guinness and held out his paw for another one. “You guys do make great alcohol, gotta give you that much. So, I’m out walking somewhere a little East of the big hills you call the Rockies, and I hear someone crying, and I go to look & see. Maybe there was something dead I could finish off, once their grieving was done," he licked his chops in reflection of road kill.

"When I got to the source, it wasn’t anything left to eat. It was a den full of wolf puppies, starving and scared. Someone had probably done away with the parents, or maybe they found poison bait or stumbled into a trap left for someone like me. I don’t know what happened to ma & pa wolf, but I knew then I was looking at the last of my cousins." He looked off into the distance past my porch, his yellow gaze taking in the early colors of Las Vegas sunset, "now you know how I feel about my family. I mean, they hate me and I hate them. But we’re still family."

"Been there, done that... So what did you do?"

"Well, I took up those pups with me, and starting them looking for sturdy sticks and twigs, and some pointed rocks, and feathers, and I started making arrows."
"Did you plan to hunt down whoever did away with the adult wolves, or were you going to have some shish-ka-bob?" At least Coyote had the decency (or pretended to have the decency) to look mildly hurt by the last comment. But what did he expect from me, compassion? Especially with my last beer in his dirty paw?

"No, ya stupid white woman, I took those arrows, and I built a stairway into the sky. I called together all the wild folk I could find to help me. It took a long time; too, because the higher I built it, the more of my help disappeared. But eventually I built that stairway all the way into the sky so those wolves would have somewhere to go. And if you look up, you can see them chasing the buffalo up there, too."

"And that’s your big, ugly dirty secret?" I tried to keep from letting him see me wipe the tears out of my eye - he’d never let me live it down.

Coyote only grinned, "Yeah, so don’t tell no one, ok? Especially where that stairway is. You & me, we might need it some day, too."

We have no symbolic vocabulary, no grounded mythological tradition to make our own experiences comprehensible to us. We have, in fact, no senior shaman to help ensure that our dismemberment be followed by a rebirth.
- Stephen Larsen, The Shaman’s Doorway

So what am I supposed to be? The shaman's apprentice, or the shaman?
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Been out of the house over the past few days, shopping for Rob's clothes, mostly. Feeling that autumn melancholy sweep over me like it does every year. Thinking about the slow, inexorable passage of time, the ticking of the clock, counting out my mortal span.

The root of mortal, mori, means death. As mortal beings, we are not living, we are dying. Like the year itself, growing old, passing on.

Looking at my greying hair, wondering if I should give up on the vanity of dying it. Rob's right, tho - if we're out together, people will ask if I'm his mother, or they'll think he's a very unattractive gigolo or something. I guess I'll give it another few years, see if I'm tired of shopping for new colors when I'm 35.

I started thinking about how I occasionally step out of linear time to go somewhere else. Fold the map, so to speak, stop the clock. Wherever it is I go when I do that, time is longer there than it is here. Maybe that's why I feel so much older than I am, why my hair is so much greyer than it should be, why it started to grey when I was 12... About 2 years after I consciously recognized myself as Pagan.

And of all the time I spend outside of time, I seem to waste it on making sure I get to work on time, waste it on making it to appointments, waste it on getting someplace here faster than the local physics allow.

Thinking about all the time that has left gaps in my memory - no memory of being here, like when I got hit by the car. I spent a week of local time somewhere else, and that's time I'll never retrieve.

I bought a pedometer today, mainly because the doctor wants me to walk an hour every day at a brisk pace. I keep telling people I do a tremendous amount of brisk walking at work, but I honestly don't know how much walking that really is. So now, as well as tracking the minutes of my life, one sweep of the second hand at a time, I'll also be tuning into my steps. Briskly going nowhere, same as usual.

Anyway, been doing school crap, trying to make Java programs work, math math math, reading The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, reading about all my ethnobotanical heroes before they became tenured at Harvard & Yale, before the Grateful Dead, before Vietnam... watching an old film of Bob Dylan, watching history fly by. 5 years since September 11, 2001. 100 years since Mohandas K. Gandhi.

I'm so tired.
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It's coming to an end, the old year. I can feel the cycle winding down, the Earth growing quiet & still.

Read 'Black Light' by Elizabeth Hand last night. Its the counterpart to her 'Waking the Moon'. 'Black Light' is about Dionysus. I was thinking to myself last night, after drinking a glass of blackberry wine & giving a pomegranate to my Goddesses, given the choice, I would free the God. I would be of the Malandanti. Of course, it's not like my serpent priestess isn't a consort of Dionysus. If I had lived in ancient Greece, I would have been a maenad - I would have eaten the pomegranate, drank the poppy wine, and torn a man to pieces with my teeth and nails during the grape harvest festival.

... if you go back far enough and long enough, you will see only two faces staring back at you from the darkness: the hunter and the mother.

I think I figured something out about the rise of Christianity. It wasn't all about fearing a woman's power... They had mothers back then, too - some were devouring sows, Medea and Cybele & Cerridwen, crones to be feared, and some nurtured their sons and daughters, Isis among women... everyone has a mother & it's a familiar & comforting symbol, even when She is the Black Sow. No, I think men feared (and still fear) the Hunter and the Hunted within themselves. They took the Stag, the He-Goat on the wild hill's way, and turned Him into a shepherd - someone who runs from the wolves because he has no weapons to stand against them. He still had to fulfill his ancient role - he still had to run and die and be reborn, but it was no longer the poppy-maddened women wearing fawn-skins chasing him down & ripping his throat open. The chaos, the divine madness, was stripped from the rite and he instead went willingly to a common criminal's death. He was no longer the Hunter and the Hunted, the God come to Earth - he was a common man, sober and filled with regrets. And somehow that was a more comfortable archetype for men to relate to than being filled with a God's infinity and knowledge of His own impending death and resurrection.


Sep. 16th, 2005 11:47 pm
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I can really feel it tonight.

I was outside after my computer class let out early, about 8:30pm. Smoking a vanilla-flavored clove & feeling the air. The way sounds carry, the way the night felt on my skin. Autumn is creeping up on us, slowly but surely.

Pomegranates in the grocery store, but none for me til after Mabon

Harvest Moon in the sky, getting bigger & rounder day by day

Rob's perpetual hard-on these past couple of days

Slanting light in the house, spreading across the floors in the afternoon

Us moving furniture around

The smell of woodsmoke in the neighborhood

Hallowe'en goodies in the store aisles

Wanting hearty warm stews and crusty bread - damnit, I was going to pick up yeast & flour but forgot!!!


Sep. 22nd, 2004 09:41 am
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Happy Autumnal Equinox to all who want it. Light & dark in balance, the back of Summer broken, the Sun Lord's strength fading into darkness once again. I already look w/hope towards His Solstitial rebirth.

Last night I dreamt that, for whatever reason, Rob & I were riding horseback through a town & we passed a circus/carnival type set-up. Smoke was boiling up from the center of the tents, and apparently the Big Top was on fire. Animals were being led out - I remember seeing black horses in plumes & traces, their eyes rolling to white, and oxen being let out of a pen. We rounded a corner & there was a mother giraffe who refused to leave her calf - she was all aflame & bawling like a dying cow. In the dream I started crying, and for whatever reason the dream switched to one of cats being cared for in someone's basement.

Last night, watched, for the first time ever, 'The Black Cauldron'. It was pretty low-key for being a Disney movie. Reminded me a lot of how the animation in 'The Hobbit' looks, even tho 'The Hobbit' was a Don Bluth venture. I think some of the same animators worked on it. Good story, tho, w/a lot of Paganish overtones amid a heroic quest.

Have to go to the gynecologist today. Waaaahhh!


Sep. 20th, 2004 08:46 pm
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Autumn Equinox in a day & a half or so. Someone proposed the notion of wearing a purple ribbon if yer Pagan... and I think I might. I'll probably be the only one who knows what it means. Now I just have to get a purple ribbon...

Ate turkey tonight. I'm a fantastic cook. I am very sleepy now tho...

Ho Hum

Sep. 18th, 2004 08:59 am
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Jody called me at work last night to inform me that Miranda is probably pregnant. She's had a skipped period (well, she can't remember exactly when her last period was) & a positive EPT. She'll probably be going to the doctor next week for a formal pregnancy test, & then to the welfare office (of course... where else do pregnant women go? Yes, yes, bad Karma on me, phooey - I work at Child Haven, I know how pregnant women think. More of my tax dollars at work). So much for her school & her basketball scholarships. Jody doesn't even seem very happy about the prospects. She's got a new puppy (Andy) & she said that he was there to remind her that she just doesn't have the patience for puppies & babies any more. I didn't even think to ask her what Tom thinks about the whole thing. And Miranda's ex-boyfriend (who assaulted her earlier this year) is the father - he told Miranda "Just because my dad abandoned me doesn't mean I'm going to do the same to my baby." But he's already missed a job interview up at the ranch w/out so much as a phone call, so Jody's not expecting too much from him. I didn't expect it to be Miranda, I figured it would be Jamie first. Dane & Tina already have their kids, which everyone expected. Jody was surprised that I didn't guess Miranda was pregnant right off - I never really expected it out of Jamie or Miranda, to be truthful. They both seem so focused on school & work, & Miranda's still hung up on her dad.

Saw Jeff briefly this morning. I actually miss him. Ugh. Have weird thoughts about him on occasion. I ought to do a hex-breaker but it's kind of interesting to feel weirdly about someone. I haven't felt weirdly about someone since I was a teenager.

Sarah got her nipple pierced - I don't feel weirdly about her at all ;)

Still trying to plan this whole BodyWorlds shebang. Trying to get Ann down to L.A. for the day w/us. It probably won't work out - she's very wishywashy.

Been reading Dion Fortune's 'The Goat Foot God'. It's basically a companion to 'The Sea Priestess' & 'Moon Magic'. Instead of a disillusioned man assisting a woman to connect with the Goddess, it's a disillusioned man trying to connect w/his inner Pan. It's been pretty interesting. Has a crotchety old bookseller in it, one of those, "Are you going to buy that book, sonny, or do I need to stand here all day?" kind of booksellers.

Finally went to that freakin' diversity class yesterday morning. Talked Molly out of a breakfast comp - the Excalibur's food isn't so bad when it's freshly cooked. Anyway, I heard some surprising statistics...
1) Approx. 70% of the world's population is illiterate, & only 1% has a college education. So it's not just me, most of the world really is stupid.
2) Only about 1% of the world's population owns a computer. If this is true, where do all the people on the internet come from?
3) 70% of the world's population is not Christian. Woohoo, I'm not a minority anymore!!!

Autumn is definitely creeping in on us on golden paws... the light's shifting, that underlying chill in the air, Rob's in the rutting mood. Things are starting to slip around the corners of my eyes, just out of sight, little noises & shifty sounds around the house & night audit office. The Veil is slowly but surely starting to thin. I'm getting all happy inside as the days slip by.
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At least if you live in the desert it is. I've got pots of morning glory seeds, some kudzu, and some jimsonweed. I've got to get ahold of some of the D. metel 'Black Currant Swirl' soon. I figure even if we can't plant it in the front yard it'll look mighty fine in some big-ass pots out there. I hope the morning glory does well - I soaked it over night, & some of the seeds were already bursting from their arils like soggy popcorn.
Bought a cyclamen. I didn't think it was good for anything, but turns out the root is a powerful & potentially fatal purgative that was used in ancient Britain as an arrow poison. Nifty. Alls I know is that it's a pretty & unusual specimen. Has all these unopened flower buds below the leaves, and as they get ready to open, they poke their heads up above the leaves like swans... the flower petals are snowy white, and open backwards, like butterfly wings. The leaves are dark green, like rose leaves, but are round w/white chevrons on the upper sides. A really nice plant. And it likes our cooler indoor temperatures. And I rescued a failing aloe vera from Lowe's as well as the cyclamen. It's already looking a little fuller since I repotted & watered it. I still have tomato & pepper seeds, and I'm drying some pomegranate seeds. I have doubts that the poms will germinate at all, but I've got hopes for the peppers & tomatoes.
Got that other toof pulled last night. I was right - you can barely see the gap behind my fang where it's missing. I got a bone graft from a cadaver. Some dead person's foundation is now inside my head. Cool.
Must see: Brother Bear & the third Matrix. I'm going to see if Rob has regained his sea legs enough for a double feature tomorrow. Rented "May" the other night. Beautifully strange little movie. Starred some guy named Jeremy Sisto - I know I've seen him in something recently, but I'll be damned if I know what, and nothing in his online bio's seem familiar. Huh. Maybe because he's got that sunken-cheeked, black freestyle haired Jim Morrison look to him. I caught a pun after seeing his bio - he played Caesar in a made-for-HBO movie, and in May, his Halloweenie costume was Caesar. Very slick of the directors.
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Tonight's one of my favorite kind of desert nights. I can feel Autumn under the oppressive heat, there's heat lightning coming across the valley, low to the ground. We drove up Craig Rd. to the bank & the wind was swirling little eddies of dust across the street, illuminated by oncoming headlights... When I lived w/Jody up on Las Vegas Blvd. (in the estimable Blue Bird Trailer Park) I used to take Lady (my psycho dog) out for runs along the washes on nights like this. I'd let her off her leash & we'd run & run across those patches of desert that aren't there anymore. I'd roll in the dirt w/her, come home filthy & with tumbleweed bits caught in my hair. Me, Sneakers & Brutus used to do the same over off of Lamb. Sometimes I'd walk to Eric or Phillip's house (before Phillip got bodysnatched by Garth Brooks & Amway, that is.) in the dead of night, one time Phillip gave me a guitar & I felt so cool walking home w/it over my shoulder. Ah, to be 15 again.
Of course, I can feel that tide, still, pulling me along, all yearning & hunger...
The typical backlash of any magickal working is that when you work a spell on someone else you really work it on yourself. That's really what the threefold return is all about.


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Rainbow Serpent Woman

August 2014

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