Monthly Archives: June 2011

Midsummer in the Evergreen Forest

I‘m preparing infused hibiscus and rose hip honey for
the spirits.  Turned out a beautiful cherry amber tone!

Midsummer is on the way and I can feel it in the air.  The sun bakes the earth and sends the smells of woodsmoke, river water, the marshes and fresh grass wafting through the air.  The winds are gentle and breath against my skin.  The ground is growing harder, thicker and dryer and the herbs wilt around the edges in the oncoming heat.  Ocean air is carried far inland, and I watch children kayak down the river that carves my backyard while I weave wreaths, burn herbs in the clay bowl and toss carrots to my rabbit and raccoon friends in the garden.

Gotta prepare little cakes for the green
ones: rum in bindweed and a little oat &
honey with a tiny herbal bread loaf!

I’m a green path witch made for the sunlight, the warm long days and the cool ocean air from the Sound.  Midsummer this year will be dedicated to the Shining Pair, Belenus and Belisama.  I’ll wake early to Walk the Land this auspicious day- moving in-between the worlds with my stang and my keys, to deliver personal invitations to the spirits and the otherfolk to attend my rite in the evening.  Walking the Land can be dangerous; you can be lost in it for hours if you let yourself walk too long and too lightly.  It can be like the Wild Hunt, though it is YOU who walks the land, the land and spirits do not come racing for you.  But you can get lost none the less in the land, and the water and the wind.  I


Midsummer is the harbinger of the great summer festivals; the feast of Corn Mother, the feast of the Bee Queen when we infuse the honey, honor the newly corked mead and spice the honey cakes to honor the Bee Spirit.  The Bright Lady and the Wild Hunter and all their kin; Áine, light dancers who only appear in the dapples of sunlight between the canopy of trees, the seelie and green-people- are the rulers of this time in the old tales.  In the winter, the Hunt will ride with the sluagh and cold-eyed ones and Beloved Dead, so we must rejoice in the warm summer joy while we can.


Being the delightfully Gaelic-oriented pagan I am, most of my rituals for the day before, day of and day after Midsummer will follow some very old customs of Scotland and Ireland- lighting Aine’s fires, the telling of old tragic epics, collecting my roses and st.johnswort before the sun hits them and baking lots of pastries which I’ll take to the ritual I’m co-hosting at Nessa’s place later in the evening. Mead makers throw the best parties ^_^.  Sharing this day with other European-style pagans is a blast, we’re all such nerds about reconstructing.

Sacred honey for the altar of the Bee Queen later on in the summer!

May you all have a blessed Midsummer/Litha!


Summer Sweet Honey Recipe: – herbal infused honey 
I used:
  • Two cups of 100% pure Canadian clover honey
  • a tablespoon of water
  • half cup hibiscus
  • half cup rosehips
  • heat on medium, stir consistently and often (use a double boiler if you’re prone to forget to stir, to avoid burning), keep on low-medium for twenty minutes (adjust the heat as needed) until the honey is a rich cherry amber color.  Taste the honey often as it steeps to avoid making the taste too strong and cloying.  Enjoy!

Properties: romantic feelings, connection, gifts, charity and beauty

Nantosuelta’s Shrine


The Nantosuelta statue was created by yours truly!  At her feet is an oven, representing her special tie to the home, and her arms cradle a bowl or cauldron which are tied to the magic of healing springs.  Her breasts are chalices, honoring her fertility and protective gifts.  I bless healing and protective sigils at her feet and surround her in oats.  Her shrine often sits at the base of my hazel tree which towers above the river- very auspicious for us Gaelic pagans; it is a healing tree of wisdom and protection of the home.
Oh winding river, Oh sunny valley, Oh raven, hear me…

For Nantosuelta; herbal infused honey, beeswax, figs (healing herbs), feathers, spring water and oats.  She is a guide for healers, a keeper of sacred waters, a bee-hive tender, mistress of the home and protector of the land and garden, may she receive these blessings and know I’m listening.

Oh My Various Gods

Many of us worship or devote to or work with gods, spirits, divine entities- all sorts of energies.  For some monotheists that I know, the idea of all these names and concepts is threatening and downright ridiculous- but I like to think of it in terms of nature: variation and plenty are the very basis of life.  While this may be one planet, there is so much diversity, so many different energies that I find it hard to NOT stop and notice and appreciate the individuality that exists therein.  

Every aspect of my life is interconnected with the lives of those around me, the life that exists in nature and the inevitable cycle of endings and rebirth that we are all of us bound to.   It’s not a conscious effort on my part, it’s as natural to be as breathing and completely justified in my own mind.  I don’t think I’m right, I don’t believe in any one right answer- but I only get ONE life (in this form at least) and I should live it the way best befitting my own happiness.

We all express our faith differently.  For example, I have my central deities: which include The Morrighan (whom I work as priestess for in my trad), Brighid the Healer, Aligena Pandemos and Cernnunos and  my central pantheon which include Belenus, Rosmerta, Airmid, Nodons, Lugh, the Daghda, Belisama, Nemetona, Flidais, Cailleach, Nantosuelta and spider woman to name a few.  Some are household deities who are worshiped as spirits of my kitchen, home and land (Airmid, Rosmerta, Nantosuelta), some are seasonal deities usually honored during the festivals of the equinoxes and solstices (Corn Mother, Bee Queen, Elk Woman, Lord of the Wild Hunt), some are cultural spirits I was raised with as an urban skin (meaning non-rez Native) like salmon, spider woman, raven. 

They aren’t just names, they are ideas, concepts, representatives of nature and certain functions of this planet that are honored and celebrated because of their personal importance in my life- not because I liked their pretty names lol.  Being Native has had a lot to do with what I believe in, strange as it seems.  I spent my childhood completely immersed in being a mixed-raced skin- living with my Indian family, eating our food, attending our schools, going through our rites of passage (canoe journey)- you’d think I would have wound up just walking the red road like most of that side of my family… but I am what I am and I can’t help it… and don’t want to lol. 

We are who we are, and I don’t believe the gods discriminate.  


I think it’s easier for me than some to have so many personal relationships with deities because my life isn’t so very distracted.  Some people have a relationship with their gods that occurs only on special occasions, and that’s perfectly fine.  Not everyone seeks out strong personal relationships but still carry the faith, and that works for them.   I dedicate so deeply to what I do because it’s the path that my life took, and I find no fault in that.  If what you believe in brings you joy and violates no other person, than what could be wrong with that?  


Some pagans are “laypagans”, some are devoted, some are clergy- all of us have faith of varying degrees and that’s all good (though admittedly I have a more critical stance towards witchcraft, not paganism).  For the pagans who are also witches (like myself), the faith coincides with the practice and becomes something strong and special.  But of course, not every pagan is a witch, or a polytheist for that matter- but those of us walking that pagan, polytheistic path find ourselves drawn to the old gods for every kind of reason; I find it hard to believe in a singular divinity and I believed these great spirits are as much a part of this world as the material world.  Some found their faith in the old gods for other reasons; pure connection, childhood interest, even a lash out against their upbringing.  Whatever way it came about, I’m proud to see the gods resurrect.


I hope one day the polytheist culture begins an upswing into understanding and general acceptance.  I hope we keep the gods alive in our hearts.


What makes you a polytheist and who’s in your pantheon?

Stop The Threat

I’m not going to pretend to be an expert in any style of martial arts so take this as personal experience. I have studied and practiced Krav Maga and some boxing. Because of recent circumstances I have been reviewing a lot of online self defense videos on youtube. I can say there are a lot of different techniques out there for self defense and a lot of classes.

From my experience some work and some probably don’t. When looking for good classes there is one sure way to tell which are worth it and which aren’t. By exploring videos that do what’s called “stopping the immediate threat” you can teach yourself what you are looking for when you get into your first self defense introduction class. 

There are many videos on youtube to glance through and again, some have good techniques and others have techniques that seem to work in the little snippets of video or on paper, but fall short in a real world scenario. The videos that fall in the latter category show you a “potential” situation generally in slow motion. They are positioning the attacker’s hands in a specific way and the victim is also particularly positioned so that the maneuver looks good in theory. See the video at the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QO2FEdtRi44&NR=1&feature=fvwp

You see the man with a young girl pushed up against a wall, his hands seemingly tight around her throat. She places her hands up through his open arms and goes for his eyes. I have seen this technique taught in other self defenses classes and of course, in class it may go smoothly. In the video it looks flawless and easy. In reality, it’s not so simple.

When I train it is no holds barred. When I am practicing it is with as real a choke as possible (with safety measures in place, of course). It is so if I’m in a real situation I’m prepared for how little time I have and how tight those fingers can get fast. Because of this practice I can place myself in this young lady’s situation. The first thing I notice is she isn’t stopping the immediate threat. When someone is getting choked the immediate threat is the hand (or hands) around your throat.

The biggest hole in this scenario is if this girl is getting choked she will continue to get choked if she does what is being shown and the only thing her action is going to do is cause him to squeeze her throat tighter in order to brace himself for whatever she’s doing. She is making the situation worse!

Let’s examine addressing the immediate threat (jump to 1:04):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VDbjFBciJE

For all those who wanted to know this technique is called a “thumb pluck.” If you can’t breathe it is only a matter of seconds before you will collapse and the fight will be over with you losing. The thumb pluck stops the immediate threat by releasing the attacker’s thumb(s) from your throat. 

Onto another scenario. When a gun is pointed at your face, the gun is your immediate threat. On instinct (or hopefully on instinct after training) you’re not going to grab for someone’s neck or kick them. You aren’t addressing what can kill you at that moment – the gun. In a proper scenario the first thing you are going to grab for is the gun:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3N6CIMtj24M

My point in using these scenarios is not for you to attempt to learn them if you have no training. The point is knowing which self defense classes are worth your time and money and which aren’t. I don’t care what line of bull they sell you and I would be very leery of any Krav Maga classes that don’t teach the “thumb pluck” at all. If the self defense instructor doesn’t focus on the immediate threat, thank them for their time and go back on your search.

Again, I’m NOT AN EXPERT, but stopping the immediate threat is common sense and the first thing that matters. The simple fact is you can’t continue the fight if you’re dead. If your class is not teaching that, you need to move on to one that does.

Five Scenes

Waking up this morning, I felt like I had lived through a Twilight Zone marathon. All that was needed was Rod Serling, nursing a cigarette, narrating the end to tie it all together. While some of the episodes have a flow to them, where one obviously follows the preceding, some seem absolutely random. Even still, I’m not sure how to take them as a group.

Episode 1: Surrendering the Bow

My footsteps echo in the hall. Polished stone floor, polished stone walls. Towering pillars of smooth Doric columns stand as silent witness as I firmly stride down the hallway. I am dressed in what would me by clothes for magic, except I’m wearing all white. Even the boots are white. My right hand is empty, and only wears the white leather glove. My white-gloved left hand, carries a long bow. Except for the opal pendant that now appears in my dreams with me, I have no other accoutrements.

The hallway ends at a private altar room. The ceiling is far, far above my head, but the floor space is barely enough for four people to stand side by side. Taking up a large amount of floor space is a rectangular stone altar. As I face the long side of the altar, I see a short length of white cloth laying across the stone. It falls over the side and ends at a point. White with gold trim, the cloth is the width of a hand. Two white tapered candles burn on either side of the cloth, but the gold candle holders are placed towards the back of the stone. I note the candles are placed to neatly divide the length of the altar in thirds.

Behind the stone altar, is a mirror. Where the temple space I am in, and the clothes I am wearing are all shades of white and gold, the reflection in the mirror is shades of black and silver. Within the temple, the stone altar is like polished marble. In the reflection, the stone altar is polished obsidian. Even the candles change color in the reflection, still burning with a flame’s true color, the wax is black, and the holders are silver.

I stare at my reflection for a moment. Then with heavy heart, I lift my hand and place the longbow on the altar. Somehow, I know I must be parted with it for a while, but I do not know when I will be reunited with it. I look up at my reflection, and see my image’s eyes have changed. Instead of being a normal reflection of my face, the eyes are now as black as the obsidian altar. I feel like I’m leaving more than the bow behind.

I take a deep breath. Look longingly at the bow for a moment. Then swiftly turn and stride out of the small altar room with the same military determination I entered with. The further I stride down the pillared hall, the more the scene fades into white. Soon after whiting out completely, it fades to dark and the scene ends.

Episode 2: Finger Licking Good

The talons plunge into my chest. My left lung collapses as it is pierced. There is pressure as they grip around my ribs. It tries with two hands first, but only succeeds in lifting me off its lap. So it holds me down with one hand, and rips open my rib cage with the other. Until this, I had no wounds, no marks of assault. My eyes are open, I am conscious and mostly aware. But I have no will. I have been conquered by a method that left me untouched. I am in great pain, but unable to express it. All I can do, is cough as the blood starts to fill my right lung.

It didn’t bother to remove my clothing before cracking my torso open. Blood pours out of the cavity, spilling over my white clothes. I feel my opal hanging off the back of my neck, growing heavy with blood. I can’t see much, my vision dimming as I start to gurgle. I know the furry humanoid intends to devour my flesh. I know it looks something like a werewolf, but isn’t. But my head is tilted back, leaning over its legs as it continues to snap and pull my ribs out of my body.

Breathing is much harder now. I hear it licking my blood off its hands and talons, savoring the taste. It pulls what’s left of my left lung out of my chest and tosses it away, idly. I hear other things scrambling after it, fighting among themselves for the quickly devoured scraps.

Is it growling? Or purring? I can’t tell. I know it is contented with itself, as it drags a talon across my exposed beating heart. The heartbeat quickens, not because of fear. I am unable to feel fear. It quickens because I am bleeding to death in its lap. It shifts position and a wave of blood spills over my neck and runs down my face. It takes its right hand, and grabs me by my hair. It holds my head up, so I can see what it is doing. In a quick motion, with its left hand, it grips and snatches my beating heart out of my chest. The aorta shears, spraying what little blood I have left in a fanning spray. My last moments of life, I watch large canines rip into the beating heart. I watch my enemy eat my heart in the seconds of life remaining. I gurgle. I twitch. I die. The scene ends.

Episode 3: Let It Burn

I have been caught up in the sound and fluttering of wings. Large black wings have enveloped me. There are ravens every where. As quickly as I am enveloped, the ravens leave me and I feel a pressure under my butt. I’m sitting on something, something round, lumpy, and numerous. One of the ravens, the largest of them, circles me widdershins twice then flies to the ground not far from me. The bird, easily half of my height, shudders, and Ravenwoman stands up. She is wearing her raven mask, so I can not see her face. She is cawing loudly at me. But not in anger.

I look at her, not able to completely understand her. She cries out loudly, and I feel a twitch on the back of my neck. Reaching up, I feel the raven feather she had lodged in my skin was still there. The chain from the pendant was rubbing against it. But still, I did not understand her. She shrugs, and starts picking about the bones around us. Tossing some aside, and others into the bone-fire that burns not far from us.

I look down, and see I am sitting on a pile of human skulls. I pick one up, and study it. I wonder if this skull was someone I knew, or someone I once was. Dirt falls out of the eye sockets. It falls onto my white clothes and slides away back to the ground it came from. Almost disinterestedly, I notice I am dressed in the manner for magic, but once again, I am wearing all white. Except for the opal, there is not a single non-white article on me.

Ravenwoman caws at me again, but this time, I understand her. I drop the skull I was examining back onto the pile and get to my feet. She gestures and grunts. I was supposed to bring that skull with me. I retrieve it, identifying it from the thousands of other skulls around me with ease, and hold it up as I approach her. She looks at the skull, up at me, down at the skull, then back at me. She snaps her beak at me, then turns me so I’m facing the bone-fire and roughly pushes me forward.

I approach the bone-fire, and note with curiosity the flames are making my white clothes glow intensely. I rub the skull, as if saying farewell, and toss the skull into the bone-fire. The flames accept the skull greedily. I stand, probably a little too close to the fire, and watch the skull quickly disintegrate. I don’t hear Ravenwoman behind me until she snaps her mask’s beak again. Before I can turn to look, she shoves me into the flames.

The flames leap onto me almost viciously. My clothes burst into flame as the fire envelops me completely. I fall to my hands and knees as I feel the fire catching the fat in my skin. I cry from the pain of the flames for a moment, before realizing I was fighting to remain whole. I make the conscious decision to let go of myself, to let the flames take me. As I settle into a kneeling position in the flames, I realize I’m not in any pain now. Surrendering to the bone-fire, I can feel the heat penetrating further and further into my flesh. My clothes completely consumed, I raise my right hand to watch the flesh burn and melt away.

To my surprise, I see my humanity was only skin deep. As the skin burns away, I see the bone structure of something else revealed. I wonder if this was what a butterfly feels when it emerges from the chrysalis. The dull nails become talons. The fingers elongate slightly. But before I can see what I am changing into, the heat overcomes my eyes and they pop noisily into the fire. I cry out in surprise and dismay. I really wanted to see what I was changing into.

I hear Ravenwoman clacking her beak, and the scene ends.

Episode 4: Oh What Fun

(Here are paragraphs and paragraphs of a sexual encounter. However, because one of the participants is a person I know in the Waking, I will not be detailing the action. I have told him privately, however, and I think it will be a month before that smug grin finally fades from his face.)

A friend calls me into his room. I walk in and see he is already engaged in a coupling. He asks if I want to join. I do. Much fun is had by all. No clothes were worn, not even my pendant. And the scene ends.

Episode 5: Recovering the Juju

It’s been three years since I last stood outside these doors. My former employer attempted to scapegoat me for his fuckup. He was going to fire me anyway, so I called the client, gave the client all the backdoor passwords, and informed him how to secure his systems. His client was grateful, the fucker of a slave-driver wasn’t.

Three years ago, he waited for me to return to him. To come begging for my job back, to put myself under his whip. Instead, I called each and every one of his clients, and told them the truth about their servers and so-called protection. Understandably, the revelations did not turn into a job offer. Instead, I grew a little more spine and stepped forward in my life.

But all that was in the Waking. I knew I was Dreaming. Why would I be here, now? I looked down the street, where the rest of the building faded into dreaming gray. There was an uncharacteristic chill in the air, and I pulled my black trench coat tighter around me. Wait. Black? I examine myself, and sure enough, I’m dressed for magic, but now the colors are normal. Black coat, gloves, pants, and boots. White long sleeve blouse. Opal pendant secure at my neck. I have the cane the Embroidered Man uses, but he is nowhere in sight. My introspection did not answer why I would dream of this place after three years.

I sniff the air for clues. Literally. Close my eyes, raise my face, and sniff. Delicately at first, deeply at last. There is something here, something that belongs to me. Something that has been hidden from me. And I’m going to get that something back.

I open the door, and walk inside. Four years ago, I would have been too timid to even touch the handle. Too afraid of my boss. Three years ago, I almost ripped the door from the frame as I made my exit. This time, I open it normally. Inside the receptionist is waiting. I am not surprised to see a face I don’t recognize. The owner was notorious for “hiring” undocumented workers, and replacing them every three to six months depending on how much head they gave him. The poor girl probably thought she was on her way to becoming a legal alien.

“Excuse me, you can’t go in there!” She started to rise from her chair, flustered by my boldness. I had already put a hand on the second internal door. I paused and looked at her. In her face, I saw the images of all the girls he had hired before, and several more that I did not recognize.

“Don’t make this your problem. If you remember my words in the morning, leave this place, and never come back. He will eat your soul if you let him.” She stops, and backs away slightly. I wonder how much of this is Dream and how much is World Walking. She cries a bit, and turns to face the front door. As soon as I pass the internal doors, stepping fully inside the facility, I notice over my shoulder, she has grabbed her purse and left in my wake.

I sniff the air again, almost tasting it. Yes, there is a piece of me here. The knowledge enrages me and emboldens me. Other employees come out to confront me. I recognize them to be archetypes of the people the owner has hired. Vulnerable, low self-esteem, desperate workers. All told what a great job they are doing, and how good they were “taking one for the team” by not being paid for what they were worth. All the while, being denigrated to other tech companies in the area and degrading their financial worth. Five years ago, I was of the same mindset. Easily used. Easily discarded.

One by one, as I pass the cubicles, they step out to stop me. Trying to protect the owner, the source of their miserable happiness. Most of them, I don’t have to speak to. I just look at them. Somehow, they recognize the true state they are in, and crumple into their chair, weeping. As I pass them, some stay, choosing to remain enslaved. A few leave, willing to risk the unknown than continue the now exposed lie.

A few put their hands on me. I look at the hand, then look up to them. They try to bully me, the way the owner would bully them. I tap their hand with the cane, and they draw it back, withered and scorched. I reach the cubicle where I used to sit. It has been sealed off, a metal gate locked across the entrance. Inside, I see a child version of me. She is wearing the company shirt. It sits loosely on her, oversized.

“Mija.” (“My daughter.”, in Spanish.) At the sound of my voice, she looks up. This is the piece of me that bastard stole. This is the part of me he locked away. I gave him this portion. I allowed him to take my hopes hostage, as he whored me out. Paying me $12/hour and claiming I wasn’t worth that, while charging the clients $150/hour for my work. The child looks up, and sees me. She bursts into tears and reaches through the bars for me. I take her hand, and speak reassurances. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the owner approach. He and his Yesman, come to me, as if they are going to grab me and throw me out onto the street.

“What the fuck are you doing here! You’re trespassing. Get the fuck out before you get hurt getting the fuck out.” The Yesman, the one directly responsible for the clusterfuck that resulted in me leaving, is reaching for my collar. I hiss at him, a reptilian hiss. I know I have the power of the rattlesnake in me. I stamp the cane onto the floor, it echos like a shaken rattle. Yesman pulls his hand away but continues to berate me.

“What do you want, Kerian? Haven’t you done enough damage already with your bullshit?” The owner’s Waking name is that of another ravisher. Too distinct to name here. I call him by his name, and ask how many undocumented “receptionists” did he pay to have abortions since I left. He straightens stiffly. “I’ll have you arrested. You think I fucked up your life? I’ll truly begin today.” He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket and starts tapping at the screen.

“Say, Bossman, when is the last time you checked licenses?” He freezes. “See, I remember how you behaved while I worked for you. You don’t spend any money more than you have to. If I were to call the BSA on you, you’d come out clean. But what about all the licenses you were supposed to be purchasing for your clients? What would happen if I called the BSA on them? Would you indemnify them?”

“What does it take to be rid of you, Kerian?” His face twitches. “What does it take to be rid of you once and for all? You haunt me. You’ve already chased off half of my clients, with the information you stole.”

“I know who left you, and who stayed. And the information I gave them, was theirs to begin with. So, fuck you.” I tapped the gate with the cane. The light tapping shook the entire building. The girl child giggled at the ruckus. “I want my child, Boss man. And I am leaving with her. Please, stand in my way. Please, try to stop me. I’m not the coward that ran from you before. I see you for what you are, crocodile. And I know where your weakness is.” I start idly tapping on the gate. I know I could rip apart the cage. But I wanted him to surrender the child to me. I wanted him to have to give something up.

Yesman reached for me again. I slap him in the face, my nails slicing his cheek. As he draws back, I lick my lips with a forked tongue. The rattlesnake venom acts quickly, and he turns and runs for the exit, screaming in pain. I continue tapping on the metal door. The child within clapping in rhythm and singing softly to herself. The tapping still shakes the building. I hear a piece of ceiling tile fall in the distance.

Bossman doesn’t move. Without warning, I take the cane and homerun strike a nearby cubicle. The computer system on the other side of the wall explodes in sparks. Bossman flinches but doesn’t open the door. I look at Mija behind the gate, and wink. She starts giggling and cheering me on. I grab the sparks, calling on electricity and prepare to shove the surge into the nearest network jack.

“Wait! God damn you, Kerian. Damn you to hell! What the fuck are you! I’ll open it. Take the bitch and get the fuck out!” He opens the cage, and Mija runs to me. I rip the navy blue work shirt off of her and drape my coat over her tiny body. Bossman yells at me, “Now will you leave me in peace?”

“I’ll think about it.” I smile at him, lift the cane, and bring it forcefully onto the cubicle walls where Mija was imprisoned, where I had slaved for him. The force knocks over not only this cubicle, but the entire row. Bossman stands there, face twitching. “Don’t come after me. Don’t call me. If ever you cross my path in the Waking, I will hurt you. Your money is not safe, Bossman. Sleep well.”

I feel Mija’s hand in mine. I look down, and see she is wearing a mini version of my magic clothes. “Mommy, that’s a pretty necklace!” She points to my opal. “Will I wear it when I grow up?”

“My dear Mija, now that you are free, you will never grow up. You’ll be a part of me again, like we should have been from the beginning.” She cheers and holds tight to me. I kneel and return the hug. She disperses into a fog of black smoke that soaks into my body. As I stand up, I know, deep down inside, Bossman can never hurt me again. Not even the memory of his ill will can move me. I stare at him, until he is unable to return the glare. He breaks off eye contact, yelling for his loyal workers. Many of them have fled, and the rest is afraid of me. He retreats into his glass walled office, sits behind his desk, and glares at me.

Only when he drops his head, unable to face me any further, do I turn and leave the building. To my dismay, a new receptionist already sits where the other had fled from before. But as I leave, she whispers, “You’re not forgotten. He curses your name, but we know. We’re just not strong enough to do as you did.” I nod, leave the building, and the scene ends.

~~~

I wake up, and realize I’m crying. I don’t remember the dreams right away. Instead, I’m puzzled why I feel more whole than I did before. As if a long lost piece of me had returned. Then I remembered the dreams.

Make of it, what you may.

Where Did Your Gods Come From?

To keep the ball of inspiration going…

I was reading lovely Nellie’s latest post when I stumbled across an idea I hadn’t thought about sharing until just then- the connections we have to our various gods and how we got them.  She finds herself connecting through the birds- a new idea to me, I suppose that’s because I don’t know much about birds and I never seemed to connect to them, but she got me thinking seriously about paying a little more attention to our avian allies.  

Anywho, I was thinking about how people become connected to their different deities.  Some become connected through reading and research, some get random feelings and go on a hunt, some just feel the presence and choose to give it no name or give it a personal name.  Some people connected to their deities through fantasy books, television, movies- all sorts of places.  Some people were raised polytheists and are carrying on family worship.  

Me?  I am one of those people who feels something and chooses to give it no name until I’ve come across the name or divine it on my own and in my own time.  Some spirits or entities are still nameless for me, and I’m not on a steady hunt- for all I know these Old beings have no name that can be read in a book or found on the net, and it works for me to just refer to them by what they feel like.  

Not every entity is some recycled standard, some are simply… what they are. The Old gods, the ones that were the first to emerge from the existence of this world, the ones who were older than life as we know it and were there in the before time, before religion or man or land animal who may be the great progenitors of primordial existence and thus our ancestors- I believe they’re still around.  

I am not the type of pagan who believes that gods exist regardless of us- I think the divine energies and “gods” are what they are today because of beliefe and prayer and memory.  What they represent; their energies and values and spirits may have almost always existed- love, death, war, poverty, joy, kindness- these feelings are old energies and when you believe in an energy strong enough and long enough, they take on their own power and are sustained by those beliefs.

It’s complicated to explain exactly how I believe what I believe but I think the gist of it is that I don’t believe that everything that exists simply dreamed itself into being.  I believe that belief itself is what gave way to the gods of man, and that the gods or entities that existed before us (which was a good 4.5 billion years of Earth’s existence) probably were the older forms of the “God’s of Man”.  Some gods we worship were probably human ancestors who became legend and became divinity, some were spirits of nature so powerful and universal that they extend to every culture, and some are animal gods- and since our species owes everything to other animals, I’m not surprised we’d turn them into deities.  Whatever the beginning, I have a very deep faith that the primordial gods, the ones who are as old as the first life of the primordial seas are probably the first of this planet and the progenitors of all that followed in some way and that even though they’ve all but faded away from human belief and knowledge, they are far too old and too powerful and too connected to everything to need be sustained by human belief or prayer. 

How many gods existed since the dawn of human spirituality are forgotten and nameless and lost to all human knowledge?  And what becomes of them?  Do they loose all influence in this world or are they worshiped in new incarnations? Who really knows, everyone feels differently about this.  In Dilis Glas, we have the concept of the Oneness, the Opposites and the Many: the Universal Unconsciousness which is the existence of all that is, has been and will be, the opposing forces whose friction makes and unmakes material and energy (some call this feminine and masculine because of the passive/active relationship), and the many- which are the lifeforms, spirits, energies, entities, whatever that coexist in the universe and fill it with all the invisible and visible life.  

The Oneness is NOT god.  It is not a god, it is not concious, does not care or feel because it is everything- life and death and all inbetween- not a god.  It feels no compassion or anything at all, it simply is existance and nonexistance as it truly is, not as we understand it- it is everything.  The opposites are energy and matter, they are the complex relationship that creates and destroys, often symbolized by the phallus and the womb- the active energy and the passive energy that ALL life as we understand it is based on.  And the many- well, it is the energy that exists from those actions- the spirits who were here at the beginning of our universe 14 billion years ago who were never human and are unaware of time as we know it, our planet’s creatures, the creatures of all the universe, the gods- all that is a product.  In simple terms: everything is connected, there is no separation between us and anything else, and there is no single right path in this universe. 

Getting back to the point:  How we discover these beings, which some of us call gods (though admittedly, that word means something different to all of us) or how they discover us varies from person to person.  I don’t disbelieve in any god, but I don’t worship them all.  It just so happens that the deities I’ve become most connected to or called to were Gaelic/Brythonic/Gallic in origin and I can’t really answer to why exactly.  Maybe those spirits/energies just speak to me, maybe what they represent by those names makes sense to me, or maybe they just like me a lot lol.  The truth is I don’t know and I find it hard to believe anyone really knows the WHY when they’re sincere in their faith.  I try not to obsess over the Why and focus more on the moment and how I feel.

I liked reading about her connection to the gods through the birds, because I too connect through nature- being that I worship nature and gods who were probably originally nature spirits.  I find myself most connecting through the weather, through the changes of the seasons and the change of nature based on the weather. I speak my most powerful prayers on the wind, light my charms by the sun, bless my tools by the tide or the torrential rain.  I’m a weathery kind of witch- it’s the change of it all that makes me feel most connected to the divine by all their many names.  

How did you find your divine connections, how did they find you and where did it come from?

Household, Home and Rosmerta

coins for the river, fruit for the Abundant One



I have many kitchen spirits following and wandering about and many deities connected to my kitchen and work therein.  Usually, I dedicate tea-crafting and baking to Brighid, the making of herbal healing remedies to Airmid and things that involve abundance, liquor/spirits and fertility to Rosmerta.  



These change depending on everything; the time of day, the season, my mood, the sunlight- today, I was called (quite loudly) to answer to Rosmerta.  Her altar moves around the house- all of my altars do.  Not just because I am in the transistion of moving, but because no one place ever feels permanently right to me.  


I follow daylight and the wind, I follow the call of crows in the evening as they fly from pear tree to pear tree out back, or the gentle chirp of robins beneath the guelder rose.  Sometimes my altars are out on the stumps of long dead trees, or on the boughs of nursing logs in the forest, or even on the moll-hill mounds in the patches of herb Robert and creeping buttercup by the garden gate.  In the kitchen, the altar is wherever the clearest space is!  What isn’t cluttered with antique teacups and saucers, or potato bags and apples, or even the coffee maker and magic bullet, becomes a space for the altar.



Rosmerta’s repaired statue stands anywhere she likes.  Sometimes on the secret cabinet compartments above the sink or on the counter-top where I bake my tea cookies and grind my herbs.  Recently, I’ve been going through a transformation of the self and the home- Andrew graduated from his program, my sister came back for a visit which gives me a world of inner peace, state budget cuts put me and my department on the chopping block and I’m being tormented by the strangest paranoia.  It doesn’t seem like the end of the world, and I don’t think it is… it’s all just an awful lot of change, and anyone who knows me personally knows that I possess a visceral and almost violent fear of sudden change heh…


Setting up and dismantling altars is one of my forms of meditation.  Not only do I get the outlet to exercise my aesthetic, my desires and feelings but I get to connect and watch the energy of creation build and be destroyed all of the time.  Sometimes I do it without thinking; with no intention, reason or desire- I just start throwing things together until it feels right, and I’ll find something beautiful, peaceful, and powerful standing before me.


In these times when the whole world is being loaded with stress and everyone feels so alone, misunderstood and disconnected I think it’s important that people find something to believe in that is good, find something that gives them a sense of belonging and worth.  Even if I feel surrounded by disingenuous asses, arrogant she-devils and all manner of cold and self important individuals, I remember that everyone is as misunderstood and unknown as I feel most of the time.  


It’s okay to feel misunderstood because you’re probably being misunderstood by one person or another, especially by those more ego-driven than you think you are personally.  The people you call important are probably as flawed as you, and those who find the time to put you down or resent you do not have the monopoly on whatever it is that makes them feel so important.  


We all have the same problems with different manifestations, so I think it’s vital we find our own peace in the world and acknowledge the abundance we really have.

Of Gourds and Liquor



I finally got around to sanding and carving my damned gourds.  I have a ton of small ones and two large ones (if anyone wants some damned minigourds let me know (you tell me where to send them and pay for shipping lol cause my ass is broke), I have more than I need or will use for my rattles and vessels).  The bowl will look great after it has its stain painted on and when the rabbit pelt is cured, it will be the lining for the inside! 




Found a bottle of old crow.  I have no clue how old the whiskey was, but his grandparents said they bought it a few decades ago lol.  Tasted fine to me so I tipped it back in a few gulps and decided to keep the bottle, it’s just so damned cool.

Rosmerta’s Altar

This isn’t Rosmerta’s statue, hers is being repaired after having fallen during the move, but this statue stands in for any divine feminine when I need to!

Rosmerta, for those who aren’t Celtic or Gallic/Brythonic pagans is a special lady.  She is the abundant one, an entity tied to the cycles of fertility, harvest and merry making.  My discovery and connection to her came at random and sort of upset my strangely intense tie to the Gaelic gods, but she fits right in lol.

There simply aren’t enough salmon berries in the world.  I don’t care for the taste much but i LOVE the colors

On this wonderful waxing day (like I give a damn about the moon, it just sounded nice to say lol), I set out an altar in her honor- mainly because Andrew is working on the new devotional I designed (well, not new, some of you remember me talking about this months ago).  She’s already looking beautiful, and we were just looking to make offerings for inspiration.  Hope she likes it  cause I sure the hell do.  I’ll post the early sketch soon but it’s going to be loaded with symbolism, just like the Morrighan’s devotional, but the style will be slightly different.  Food, wine, liquor, meat, mead, fire, flowers and wealth- abundance all around.



Just because her name is Rosmerta doesn’t mean she’s associated with roses, the roses are there because she’s a being tied to the values of fertility and desire- so rose it is.  Liquor and food complete the offering to this joyous spirit!  A lot of cultures believe in leaving alcoholic beverages as offerings to spirits and gods; this probably arose because it alters the mind and releases one from their sense of self in many ways.  It isn’t always a recreational drug, sometimes it’s just a gift to be shared safely.  I left Rosmerta apricot liqueur among the potato, nectarine, cherries, bell peppers and unripe pears.  My favorite comfort foods for my comfort spirit.




Bronzed flowers on the vine
harvest soaking in the brine
Rosmerta of mead and heather wine
Abundance feast upon the shrine
Great Provider, oh divine


–Little Rhyme for Rosmerta, by Angelina Nelson-J

Frenzy Wines and Balms and Cottonwood

I finally finished my last bottle of frenzy wine-which had been steeping with some delightful herbs (including blue lotus) for over two years.   We set about making the wine after our last trip North and I had been using it as sacrament and spoil in rituals over the last year- finally drinking the last drop last night.  Witches of all kinds from all over the world make concoctions that include entheogenic herbs and substances, to aid in reaching that higher plateau of awareness and inner energy that comes with the abandonment of the ego of the material.  


Some tribes in South America utilized plants like ayahuasca or cacti, some North American and Central American tribes utilized peyote.  Old English folk tales speak of flying ointments (herbs steeped in fats and applied to the body).  In Asian cultures, poppies were utilized, or the secretions of certain poison animals and it’s believed the extinct soma plant of India may have been marijuana.  Every culture had their own ways of reaching that level of frenzy needed to enter the ecstatic world and become one with their Divine.  As a practitioner of European style witchcraft, I’ve always favored flying ointments (and boy have some of them been unsuccessful), and as a modern American slacker, I’ve had my share of experiences with Plant Medicine (and not always respectfully in my younger years), and I, like many witches, have my preferred favorites.  

Some witches prefer smoke, some prefer whole plant ingestion (the most dangerous type), some prefer steeped herbs diluted in fats, oils or water (many of the most accessible and commonly used entheogens are fat soluble)- there are many mindsets and ways of thinking when it comes to herbalism in the mind-altering sense.  I’m in love with the many mentalities that exist in each culture concerning their Sacred Plants- and always have been.  Flying ointments and oils are a special interest of mine, and probably because of my studies in European folk magic, but for my own reasons, I tend to lean towards frenzy wines and smokes.


I began researching frenzy or “maenad” wines about five years ago in college when I took my second anthropology course and met two other women walking alternative spiritual roads and we worked on a project about drugs in ritual.  Rachel, who was studying shamanism at the time gave me some of my first tips and courses on making frenzy wine from already prepared wine (I was too young to get the tools or space necessary to make my own wine).  Her experience was with mushrooms (amanita) in frenzy wine… But, because of certain allergies and age restrictions, I waited a few years before attempting them myself.  It’s not an every ritual kind of thing, which is why it took so long to get through the two small bottles I made, but worth it every time, especially when that frenzy sets in.   

Some witches describe it as flying, but I’ve never felt any sensation like flight, only a madness,a  frenzy that sweeps over the self as I dance around the fire to the beat of drums, the howl of flutes and (sometimes) the sound of my uncontrollable laughter lol.  Ecstatic dancing is a way to bring yourself into that otherworldly connection without the use of substances, and is my preferred crossing method.  Hey, to each, their own.


I have half a jar left of last years frenzy balm- a mild, unnamed cream.  Definitely going to have to whip out the recipe in October when the herbs it contains are in full wild bloom.  I’ll make a new batch of maenad spirits around then too.  I may not be much on oil crafting or incense, but I know liquor and wine outside and in, being the little lush I can be lol.

In other matters….


I collected cottonwood fluff from my yard- the trees are exploding these little poofs everywhere, yards and streets and gutters are smothered in them, like snow.  My allergies have been going nuts because of it.  It will make good stuffing for all sorts of things… like poppets for my new wreath.  Even have a few porcupine quills left to contribute.