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Just Being Political
Jan. 11th, 2008 07:23 pmVoice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to greater danger.
- Herman Goering at the Nuremberg trials
- Herman Goering at the Nuremberg trials
A Sharp Intake of Breath
Nov. 9th, 2006 08:22 pm
One of those things that make you go 'Ahh!'
They say the nightingale pierces his
bosom with a thorn when he sings his love
song.
So do we all. How else should we
sing?
-excerpt from Sand and Foam, by Kahlil Gibran
Dropping a chunk of frozen brussel sprouts on the floor & watching them separate & scatter to the various corners of the kitchen like a perfectly executed break shot is one of the things that make you go "Aggghh!!!" Not that I've had recent experience with something like that or anything.
They say the nightingale pierces his
bosom with a thorn when he sings his love
song.
So do we all. How else should we
sing?
-excerpt from Sand and Foam, by Kahlil Gibran
Dropping a chunk of frozen brussel sprouts on the floor & watching them separate & scatter to the various corners of the kitchen like a perfectly executed break shot is one of the things that make you go "Aggghh!!!" Not that I've had recent experience with something like that or anything.
I Like This
Nov. 5th, 2006 07:20 pmI went looking for a poem... got this instead. It's okay, though, because I like it anyway.
Those who give you a serpent when you
ask for a fish, may have nothing but
serpents to give. It is then generosity
on their part.
-excerpt from Sand and Foam, by Kahlil Gibran
I got it from here:
http://www.math.miami.edu/~jason/gibran/gibran/sand_and_foam.html
Quotes for Someone's Collection
Sep. 25th, 2006 02:02 pm
"Treasure life. Don’t abuse your bodies & souls. Don’t do anything to stop it. And the next time you see some racy girl screaming her lungs out while playing three cords on an out-of-tune guitar, know that I’ll be there in spirit cheering her on. Thanks for all the beautiful noise." And remember that when you’re attracted to someone, that person becomes an angel, a real angel, not one of those harpists you saw last night. And sometimes that person will be an angel of death. Sometimes an angel of life. Whichever you choose, treat the magic gently. Let your life lightly dance on the edges of time like dew on the tip of a leaf. - O! Lament, let all delight in this fragile form we borrow. Just a dimming in the light til we cast it off tomorrow. - The Azrael Project - Seen on a t-shirt Faith is not knowledge of what the Mystery of the Universe is, but the conviction that there is a Mystery, and that it is greater than us. It’s best to be ruthless with the past. It’s not the blows we’re dealt that make us stronger. It’s the ones we survive. Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance, in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance, when you’re perfectly free. - Rumi When we live, we live for ourselves. But when we die, we give to everything in the world. W.
- Craig Lee, 1956 – 1991
Deep peace of the running waves to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the shades of night to you.
Moon & stars always giving light to you.
- Traditional Gaelic blessing
The day of death is when two worlds meet with a kiss; this world going out, the future world coming in.
- Josef ben Abin
From one darkness
Into another darkness
I soon must go.
Light the long way before me,
Moon on the mountain rim.
-
Desire is half of life; & indifference is half of death.
-
-
Without fear there is no courage.
-
After death, we remain, our actions placed beside us in heaps.
- From an ancient Egyptian text, circa 2100 b.c.e.
Tempestuously she turned her back to the windy shore.
There, looking at the open sea with tearful eyes.
With grief in her eyes, she addressed her native land:
“Land which begot me, land which brought me forth,
I am abject to abandon you like a runaway slave!”
-
(Ok, some weirdness from the Land of Rob: He's reading over my shoulder, because he hopes that eventually I will type something about him. Then he asks me what 'day' is in Spanish. I replied 'dias', so he says, "So it's Dias de los Muertos", & I said, "Actually, I think it's masculine - Dios de los Muertos". He says, "Hey, at least I didn't say "Day-o's o los Dead-o's")
Obviously, I've discovered text formatting in the 'rich text' mode. Annoyingly enough, it won't let me switch to left alignment without changing the whole freaking thing. Anyway, I've really got to quit screwing around with the rest of the internet & do some school crap.
Rob's been in this shopping phase, but at least I don't have to hear about it for the next coupla years. We've gotten him shirts, pants, socks, underwear... he wants to start hitting the Hallowe'en Experiences for body parts... He's getting comfortable enough leaving our material possessions at home alone to where he wants to decorate again - right when I'm in a 'throw it all away' groove. It feels good to get rid of stuff. The other night I went through my closet & pulled out every shirt I never wear & dropped it in a 'SafeNest' clothes donation bin. My closet is a lot less packed w/out all that crap in there. Of course, if 'What Not to Wear' ever came to my house, they'd have to buy me a whole new wardrobe because I know my jeans & t-shirt thing would infuriate them.
So anyway, I'm gonna go warsh my face & brush my teef & we're gonna get outta here again - he wants to go to an antique store that may have scythes for sale. Don't ask...
There are times when even to live is an act of bravery.
-
The greatest blessings come to us through madness, when it is sent as a gift of the gods.
Say yes to life, even though you know it will devour you.
Stephen Larsen, The Shaman’s Doorway
Coyote Crazy
Sep. 22nd, 2006 07:32 am
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?
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?
The Mother & the Hunter
Oct. 7th, 2005 04:56 pm
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.
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.
Modern Shamanism
Jul. 5th, 2005 02:14 amJust a blurb from a book I started reading... thought provoking, but I'm not sure what I think about it right yet. I've got to sleep on it. Even I can understand that, while Leary was talking about drugs, he wasn't just talking about drugs. Yanno that old saw, 'When the pupil is ready, the teacher will appear'?
What if there are no more teachers?
Drop Out: Detach yourself from the external social drama which is as dehydrated & ersatz as T.V.
Turn On: Find a sacrament that returns you to the Temple of God, your own body. Go out of your mind. Get high.
Tune In: Be reborn. Drop-back in to express it. Start a new sequence of behavior that reflects your vision.
Actions which are conscious expressions of the drop-out, turn-on, tune-in rhythm are religious.
The wise person devotes his life exclusively to the religious search – for therein is found the only ecstasy, the only meaning.
- Timothy Leary
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
What if there are no more teachers?
Drop Out: Detach yourself from the external social drama which is as dehydrated & ersatz as T.V.
Turn On: Find a sacrament that returns you to the Temple of God, your own body. Go out of your mind. Get high.
Tune In: Be reborn. Drop-back in to express it. Start a new sequence of behavior that reflects your vision.
Actions which are conscious expressions of the drop-out, turn-on, tune-in rhythm are religious.
The wise person devotes his life exclusively to the religious search – for therein is found the only ecstasy, the only meaning.
- Timothy Leary
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
Stillness & Movement
May. 8th, 2005 03:25 amFed all my peeps today - Ellegua, Ariadne, Medusa. Danced around my house to the tune of Colossus by the Afro-Celts. Great band, great music. I don't know how I lived w/out knowing about them all that time. Pulled all the music off all the tapes in house & put my stereo back in its accustomed spot. I've got to stop buying albums for one, maybe two songs. I heated up the living room a good 10 degrees w/my work-out. Went from 70 or so to 80.4. The rest of the house is relatively cool, but I fired it up some. Took Bob on a grand, jingly tour w/all his beads falling off. Burned Nag Champa in every room, even Rob's. Anything to lighten the atmosphere & stay occupied.
Tomorrow (well, today, it being 3:30am & all), being the traditional guilt-trip known as Mother's Day, I offer prayers to the Great Mother:
Divine are Your honors, O Mother of the Gods and nurturer of us all. Your swift chariot drawn by bull-slaying lions, O mighty Goddess Who brings things to pass, join our prayers. Many-named and reverend, You are Queen of the Sky, for in the cosmos Yours is the throne in the middle because the Earth is Yours, and You give gentle nourishment to all mortals. Gods & men were born of You & You hold sway over the rivers & all the sea. Hestia is one of Your names & they call You Giver of Prosperity because You bestow on man all manner of gifts. Come to this rite, Queen Whom the drum delights, all-taming Savior of Phrygia, Consort of Kronos, Ouranous’ Child, honored & frenzy-loving nurturer of life. Joyously & graciously visit our deeds of piety.
- Orphic Hymn #27, To the Mother of the Gods
O Earth-Mother, Thou of uncounted names & faces, Thou of the many-faceted Nature in & above All, Nature Incarnate, Love & Life fulfilled; look favorably upon this place, grace us with Your Presence, inspire us & infuse us with Your Powers; by all the names by which You have been known, O Earth-Mother
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Druids call Danu.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Erde of the Germans.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Slavs call Ziva.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Nerthus of the Vanir.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Poles call Marzyana.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Frigga of the Aesir.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Romans call Terra.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Diana to the Etruscans.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Persians call Kybele.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Iphimedia, Mighty Queen of the Greeks
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Egyptians call Nuit, Star Mother.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Ninmah of Sumeria.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Hittites call Kubala.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Mami-Aruru of Babylon
Come unto us.
Thou Whom Canaanites call Arsai.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Our Lady of Biblos in far Phoenicia.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the children of Crete call Mountain Mother.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Yemanja of the Umbanda.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Dahomeans call Erzulie.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Shakti & Parvati of India.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Tibetans call Green Tara.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Kwanyin of China.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom Nipponese call Izanami
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Sedna & Nerivik of the Eskimos.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Pawnee call Uti-Hiata
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Cornmother of the Plains
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Navaho call Estanatlehi
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Ometeotl & Guadalupe in Mexico.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Islanders call Hina-Alu-Oka-Moana
Come unto us.
Thou Who art the Great Mother, the Star Goddess, the All-Creating One
Mother of All, we call upon You
Terra Mater, Mater Sotier, Earth Mother
Come unto us!
- Litany of the Earth Mother, From the Hasidic Druids of N. America, published in the Druid Chronicles (Evolved) courtesy of Drawing Down the Moon by Margot Adler.
Tomorrow (well, today, it being 3:30am & all), being the traditional guilt-trip known as Mother's Day, I offer prayers to the Great Mother:
Divine are Your honors, O Mother of the Gods and nurturer of us all. Your swift chariot drawn by bull-slaying lions, O mighty Goddess Who brings things to pass, join our prayers. Many-named and reverend, You are Queen of the Sky, for in the cosmos Yours is the throne in the middle because the Earth is Yours, and You give gentle nourishment to all mortals. Gods & men were born of You & You hold sway over the rivers & all the sea. Hestia is one of Your names & they call You Giver of Prosperity because You bestow on man all manner of gifts. Come to this rite, Queen Whom the drum delights, all-taming Savior of Phrygia, Consort of Kronos, Ouranous’ Child, honored & frenzy-loving nurturer of life. Joyously & graciously visit our deeds of piety.
- Orphic Hymn #27, To the Mother of the Gods
O Earth-Mother, Thou of uncounted names & faces, Thou of the many-faceted Nature in & above All, Nature Incarnate, Love & Life fulfilled; look favorably upon this place, grace us with Your Presence, inspire us & infuse us with Your Powers; by all the names by which You have been known, O Earth-Mother
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Druids call Danu.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Erde of the Germans.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Slavs call Ziva.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Nerthus of the Vanir.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Poles call Marzyana.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Frigga of the Aesir.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Romans call Terra.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Diana to the Etruscans.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Persians call Kybele.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Iphimedia, Mighty Queen of the Greeks
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Egyptians call Nuit, Star Mother.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Ninmah of Sumeria.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Hittites call Kubala.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Mami-Aruru of Babylon
Come unto us.
Thou Whom Canaanites call Arsai.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Our Lady of Biblos in far Phoenicia.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the children of Crete call Mountain Mother.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Yemanja of the Umbanda.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Dahomeans call Erzulie.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Shakti & Parvati of India.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Tibetans call Green Tara.
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Kwanyin of China.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom Nipponese call Izanami
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Sedna & Nerivik of the Eskimos.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Pawnee call Uti-Hiata
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Cornmother of the Plains
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Navaho call Estanatlehi
Come unto us.
Thou Who art Ometeotl & Guadalupe in Mexico.
Come unto us.
Thou Whom the Islanders call Hina-Alu-Oka-Moana
Come unto us.
Thou Who art the Great Mother, the Star Goddess, the All-Creating One
Mother of All, we call upon You
Terra Mater, Mater Sotier, Earth Mother
Come unto us!
- Litany of the Earth Mother, From the Hasidic Druids of N. America, published in the Druid Chronicles (Evolved) courtesy of Drawing Down the Moon by Margot Adler.
Knees & Hips & Back... oh my...
Feb. 11th, 2005 07:50 amDaily Om
February 11, 2005
Distinctive Beauty
Embracing Your Physical Individuality
The mirror can be a friend and the mirror can be a foe. Few people are willing to accept that their physical individuality is something amazing rather than something to be ashamed of. But like the individual beauty of a single flower placed in a bouquet, each of us, no matter what we look like, contributes to the beauty of humanity and enhances the world.
Though society often emphasizes physical conformity, regardless of what your height or weight may be, you have legs that carry you, arms that hug, lips with which to kiss, and eyes that express a range of emotions. Your body is your perfect home and the ultimate expression of your inner beauty, and is naturally and individual as your personality. You may see your body as a collection of flaws, but more often than not, it is the so-called flaw that provides the counterpoint that creates a vision of beauty. The old adage is true: If we all looked alike, then much of the appeal of the visual world would be lost. For a variety of reasons, mainstream culture asks us to view our physical selves negatively and with a strict eye toward improvement. But in confronting assumptions about our bodies as well as how those assumptions were shaped over time, it becomes possible to accept that true beauty is more than a shape, a size, a color, or a standard. It is when we stop comparing ours! elves to others that we can recognize the true miracle which is the beauty of each and every human body as a whole, without reverting to any erroneous ideal.
The briefest glance through a crowd reveals a wondrous variety of real people. William Shakespeare wrote: “The boughs of no two trees ever have the same arrangement. Nature always produces individuals.” The physical presence of each person on earth fills a unique void and adds a complexity that would be lacking were we all copies spilled from a single mold. With this in mind, take another look in the mirror and make the effort to love what you see.
Or, as another writer so succinctly put it:
Remember the beauty & sacredness of your woman-body. And remember that no matter how your personal body is shaped, whether it is abundant or slight, somewhere in the world a Goddess is venerated Who looks just like you.
- Kimberly Snow, Keys to the Open Gate
After watching 'The Grudge', which by the way, had me completely terrorized for a good 2 1/2 days... I realized part of why this house makes me so nuts. It's my knees. I used to be able to run & fight. I could get out of handcuffs & squirm thru cop car windows... I had complete ability to use my body as a weapon. Now I lay in bed & wonder, 'Can I make it to the door without my knee just collapsing under me? Can I make it to the gun in the closet?" I know that when I get up suddenly, my knee tends to buckle, simply because there's nothing there to keep it rigid enough to stand on. Hel's bells, sometimes I'll be walking & my whole leg will twist at the knee so that my foot is pointing forward & the top of my thigh is facing in towards my crotch... or trying to turn backwards. It's usually accompanied by some alarming grinding noises and blinding pain, but that's par for the course. It's more alarming when my thigh is pointing the way it should be, but my calf swivels in mid-stride & my foot ends up facing the wrong way... it feels the same, but looks a heck of a lot freakier. My kneecap floats around aimlessly. Sometimes it stays where it should, sometimes it sags & interferes w/me being able to bend my leg at all... sometimes it rides up & does the same, or switches from outside/inside... I can actually feel every step I take - it's not autonomic movement anymore. I have to think, tell my thigh muscles to lift & my calf muscles to propel. Otherwise I end up dragging my foot like a zombie. And all this tells me that if I was ever in danger, I better hope I can hop really fast.
February 11, 2005
Distinctive Beauty
Embracing Your Physical Individuality
The mirror can be a friend and the mirror can be a foe. Few people are willing to accept that their physical individuality is something amazing rather than something to be ashamed of. But like the individual beauty of a single flower placed in a bouquet, each of us, no matter what we look like, contributes to the beauty of humanity and enhances the world.
Though society often emphasizes physical conformity, regardless of what your height or weight may be, you have legs that carry you, arms that hug, lips with which to kiss, and eyes that express a range of emotions. Your body is your perfect home and the ultimate expression of your inner beauty, and is naturally and individual as your personality. You may see your body as a collection of flaws, but more often than not, it is the so-called flaw that provides the counterpoint that creates a vision of beauty. The old adage is true: If we all looked alike, then much of the appeal of the visual world would be lost. For a variety of reasons, mainstream culture asks us to view our physical selves negatively and with a strict eye toward improvement. But in confronting assumptions about our bodies as well as how those assumptions were shaped over time, it becomes possible to accept that true beauty is more than a shape, a size, a color, or a standard. It is when we stop comparing ours! elves to others that we can recognize the true miracle which is the beauty of each and every human body as a whole, without reverting to any erroneous ideal.
The briefest glance through a crowd reveals a wondrous variety of real people. William Shakespeare wrote: “The boughs of no two trees ever have the same arrangement. Nature always produces individuals.” The physical presence of each person on earth fills a unique void and adds a complexity that would be lacking were we all copies spilled from a single mold. With this in mind, take another look in the mirror and make the effort to love what you see.
Or, as another writer so succinctly put it:
Remember the beauty & sacredness of your woman-body. And remember that no matter how your personal body is shaped, whether it is abundant or slight, somewhere in the world a Goddess is venerated Who looks just like you.
- Kimberly Snow, Keys to the Open Gate
After watching 'The Grudge', which by the way, had me completely terrorized for a good 2 1/2 days... I realized part of why this house makes me so nuts. It's my knees. I used to be able to run & fight. I could get out of handcuffs & squirm thru cop car windows... I had complete ability to use my body as a weapon. Now I lay in bed & wonder, 'Can I make it to the door without my knee just collapsing under me? Can I make it to the gun in the closet?" I know that when I get up suddenly, my knee tends to buckle, simply because there's nothing there to keep it rigid enough to stand on. Hel's bells, sometimes I'll be walking & my whole leg will twist at the knee so that my foot is pointing forward & the top of my thigh is facing in towards my crotch... or trying to turn backwards. It's usually accompanied by some alarming grinding noises and blinding pain, but that's par for the course. It's more alarming when my thigh is pointing the way it should be, but my calf swivels in mid-stride & my foot ends up facing the wrong way... it feels the same, but looks a heck of a lot freakier. My kneecap floats around aimlessly. Sometimes it stays where it should, sometimes it sags & interferes w/me being able to bend my leg at all... sometimes it rides up & does the same, or switches from outside/inside... I can actually feel every step I take - it's not autonomic movement anymore. I have to think, tell my thigh muscles to lift & my calf muscles to propel. Otherwise I end up dragging my foot like a zombie. And all this tells me that if I was ever in danger, I better hope I can hop really fast.
Rob is Tim...
Oct. 19th, 2004 09:55 pm
You are Tim the Enchanter! Sure you can blow up
small objects, but no-one really respects you.
But you'll have the last
laugh...MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Which Monty Python & the Holy Grail Character are you REALLY?
brought to you by Quizilla
Favorite quote: "You can't be a leader just because some watery tart threw a sword at you!"
Opening Lines
Jul. 15th, 2004 12:19 pmTwo of my favorite lines in literature:
Watership Down by Richard Adams: "The primroses were over." It has nice continuity because it's also how he opens the last chapter, when Elahrairah comes for Hazel.
I can't remember the name of the derned story, maybe "The Dunwich Horror"? (Ah, of course, it's "The Rats in the Walls". Duh.) Anyway, it's by H.P. Lovecraft: "From the sound of it, there are some huge rats in the walls." Stephen King borrowed a little from Lovecraft for "Jerusalem's Lot", a short story in the Night Shift collection. Love it.
Watership Down by Richard Adams: "The primroses were over." It has nice continuity because it's also how he opens the last chapter, when Elahrairah comes for Hazel.
I can't remember the name of the derned story, maybe "The Dunwich Horror"? (Ah, of course, it's "The Rats in the Walls". Duh.) Anyway, it's by H.P. Lovecraft: "From the sound of it, there are some huge rats in the walls." Stephen King borrowed a little from Lovecraft for "Jerusalem's Lot", a short story in the Night Shift collection. Love it.
My last post made me think about the word "fat". "Fat" doesn't make me uncomfortable one little bit. It's descriptive. I tell people who don't know what I look like that I am "short, fat & tattooed." Sometimes I'm "short, fat & dumpy." Occasionally I'm "short, fat & white."
Immediately, they say, "Oh, you're not fat!" They don't care about "short", "tattooed" or "dumpy". They just automatically respond "you're not fat!" Even though they've never even seen me, I'm not fat. I call 'em on it. "How do you know I'm not fat? You've never even seen me!" Fat is a very useful word. I'm not "big-boned", "heavyset" or "a big woman". Even though I do kinda like "big woman" - if I was taller, I'd probably tell people I was a "big woman". "Big woman" has power.
Now, people that can see me... this really kills me. I say something at random, like "Oh Gods, I am so fat. Eventually I'm gonna have to lose some of this". They too respond, "You're not fat!" So I ask, "Well, if I wasn't here, how would you describe me?" I get the blank, shocked stare... "Uh, not thin?" They stumble around & grope for a politically correct, inoffensive term for "fat". Even Rob - he tells me "I hate when you call yourself that." or "I hate when you use that word." He won't even say it, so I pick on him, "Call myself what? Dumpy?" or "What word? Short?" I make him say it - he looks away from me, at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at me, as he mumbles under his breath, "fat". I hear more people casually use the n-word than I hear them say "Fat". I think the only person who uses both words equally is possibly Eminem. All hail Eminem, he who can use the most politically incorrect & offensive word in the English language w/out flinching.
I don’t like small cars
Or real big women
But somehow I always find myself in ‘em
- Kid Rock, “Welcome to the Party”
Kiss of Life by Peter Gabriel
From the Security album
See me a big woman, big woman look how you dance
see me a big woman, big woman caught in a trance
dancing on the tabletop, covered up with the Easter feast
you’re dancing for the fishermen,
from the very large right to the least
dancing for the slow release, first the man and then the beast
Then the beast
burning, burning with the kiss of life
burning, burning with the kiss of life
See me a big woman, big woman so full of life
see me a big woman, big woman going to be my wife
watching for the different eyes - they change your face -
they come inside
watch the spirits laugh and cry, watch them find a place to hide
watch the spirits talk in tongues, watch them take you for a ride
Down at the ocean lies a body in the sand
big woman beside, head in hand
with heat from her skin and fire from her breath
she blows hard, she blows deep in the mouth of death
burning, burning with the kiss of life
burning, burning with the kiss of life
burning, burning with the kiss of life
Immediately, they say, "Oh, you're not fat!" They don't care about "short", "tattooed" or "dumpy". They just automatically respond "you're not fat!" Even though they've never even seen me, I'm not fat. I call 'em on it. "How do you know I'm not fat? You've never even seen me!" Fat is a very useful word. I'm not "big-boned", "heavyset" or "a big woman". Even though I do kinda like "big woman" - if I was taller, I'd probably tell people I was a "big woman". "Big woman" has power.
Now, people that can see me... this really kills me. I say something at random, like "Oh Gods, I am so fat. Eventually I'm gonna have to lose some of this". They too respond, "You're not fat!" So I ask, "Well, if I wasn't here, how would you describe me?" I get the blank, shocked stare... "Uh, not thin?" They stumble around & grope for a politically correct, inoffensive term for "fat". Even Rob - he tells me "I hate when you call yourself that." or "I hate when you use that word." He won't even say it, so I pick on him, "Call myself what? Dumpy?" or "What word? Short?" I make him say it - he looks away from me, at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at me, as he mumbles under his breath, "fat". I hear more people casually use the n-word than I hear them say "Fat". I think the only person who uses both words equally is possibly Eminem. All hail Eminem, he who can use the most politically incorrect & offensive word in the English language w/out flinching.
I don’t like small cars
Or real big women
But somehow I always find myself in ‘em
- Kid Rock, “Welcome to the Party”
Kiss of Life by Peter Gabriel
From the Security album
See me a big woman, big woman look how you dance
see me a big woman, big woman caught in a trance
dancing on the tabletop, covered up with the Easter feast
you’re dancing for the fishermen,
from the very large right to the least
dancing for the slow release, first the man and then the beast
Then the beast
burning, burning with the kiss of life
burning, burning with the kiss of life
See me a big woman, big woman so full of life
see me a big woman, big woman going to be my wife
watching for the different eyes - they change your face -
they come inside
watch the spirits laugh and cry, watch them find a place to hide
watch the spirits talk in tongues, watch them take you for a ride
Down at the ocean lies a body in the sand
big woman beside, head in hand
with heat from her skin and fire from her breath
she blows hard, she blows deep in the mouth of death
burning, burning with the kiss of life
burning, burning with the kiss of life
burning, burning with the kiss of life
Doodle doodle dee
Dec. 10th, 2003 07:42 amWubba wubba wubba. I've got MTV2 now, but haven't really had an opportunity to sit & watch it.
Ya know, I never really know how to respond to people that IM me & say, "I'd really love to lick your pussy." It makes me feel socially awkward. I think it may be in part because I'm not too big on receiving oral sex. I don't know. Maybe it's the word "pussy". "Pussy" makes me uncomfortable on a deep level, so I try to use it often to get over it. I don't think a word should have that much power over me. "Cunt" used to just stop me in my tracks, but Bianca at the Partyline helped me through that one. There's a certain racial term that bothers me, but its ghetto variant, "nigga", as in "Nigga, please!" doesn't. Maybe because one has power while the other takes power away.
"Words are weapons, sharper than knives..."
-INXS, Devil Inside
Tribal people say that words are sacred. By this, we don’t mean that you should kneel down and worship them. We mean that, in your being, you should recognize that when you speak, your utterance has consequences inwardly and outwardly and that you are accountable for those consequences.
- Paula Gunn Allen
Behind naming, beneath words, is something else. An existence named unnamed and unnameable.
- Susan Griffin
Ya know, I never really know how to respond to people that IM me & say, "I'd really love to lick your pussy." It makes me feel socially awkward. I think it may be in part because I'm not too big on receiving oral sex. I don't know. Maybe it's the word "pussy". "Pussy" makes me uncomfortable on a deep level, so I try to use it often to get over it. I don't think a word should have that much power over me. "Cunt" used to just stop me in my tracks, but Bianca at the Partyline helped me through that one. There's a certain racial term that bothers me, but its ghetto variant, "nigga", as in "Nigga, please!" doesn't. Maybe because one has power while the other takes power away.
"Words are weapons, sharper than knives..."
-INXS, Devil Inside
Tribal people say that words are sacred. By this, we don’t mean that you should kneel down and worship them. We mean that, in your being, you should recognize that when you speak, your utterance has consequences inwardly and outwardly and that you are accountable for those consequences.
- Paula Gunn Allen
Behind naming, beneath words, is something else. An existence named unnamed and unnameable.
- Susan Griffin
