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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Sun Run

In traditional societies as far removed as Zuñi Pueblo of the American Southwest and the Kalasha valleys of what is now northwestern Pakistan, the Winter Solstice is marked—among other activities—by footraces.

I've long wondered why this would be so, but this morning—watching the Sun leap up over the horizon—it suddenly occurred to me why.

It's sympathetic magic. The Sun is a runner.

Every day, the Sun walks across the Sky. Even on the day of his birth, he walks from one horizon to the other. Well, he's a god; he can.

(During the Bronze Age, when we became a Horse People, people began to say that the Sun drove across the sky daily in his chariot. In those days, nobles and warriors rode horses and drove chariots, unlike us common folks who walked; when we rode, it was in ox-carts. Surely, went the logic, the Sun was more like nobility and the warrior-kind: hence his chariot. These days, though, we understand that to walk is more sacred than to ride.)

Three-some weeks until the Evenday and his due Eastern rising. This morning he came up still considerably south of east.

“He'll have to run to catch up,” I thought.

Aha.

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Posted by on in Paths Blogs

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There have been a few moments in the last few months where I feel I have come close to losing it. As I look over my journal I notice a secret language of symbols - flames, birds or mighty bolts of lightning - which hint at what was going on. 

...
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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Courting the Pagan Vote

In the dream, Katie and I are at Paganicon when Pete Buttigieg walks by.

(Actually, the entire coven is there, but apparently the rest of them are somewhere else at the time.)

We're standing by the bleachers (!) when this happens. (Remember, we're in Dream Country. In real life, there are no bleachers anywhere near the P-Con hotel.)

Katie greets Buttigieg and, remembering us, he returns the greeting. Apparently we had encountered him previously and invited him to a coven meeting. As he's tendering his regrets and explaining why he won't be able to make it (too busy with the campaign), I slip my arm around his waist and sit him down next to me on a bleacher.

(Even in the dream, I can't imagine doing this to any other presidential candidate. That he's gay too, and kind of cute, lends a certain intimacy to our interactions, there's no denying it.)

I notice as I do so that he's getting pudgy. “Too much bad campaign food,” I think.

Well, dreams are dreams, and reality is reality. But mark my words, for what I say is true.

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    Only two more cycles? Anthony, you're an optimist. May time prove you right.
  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham says #
    I figure about 8 more years before we grow large enough to be courted as a group demographic.
Bliss Balm: Soothe-Your-Spirits DIY Salve

Some of us, like me, are not all that crafty so simplicity is key. This 3 ingredient recipe takes all the fuss and muss away so you even enjoy the process of creating your own calming balm. This concoction will not only soothe and nourish our skin but it also is very good for your soul. Gather up the following: 

  • 1 cup shea butter
  • ½ cup almond oil
  • 1/2 cup coconut oil
  • 15 drops each of 2 neroli and vanilla essential oils
  • Double boiler and water
  • Wooden spoon and whisk
  • Small Clean jars with lids, 4 ounce

Melt shea butter and coconut oil in the top of a double boiler. Remove from heat and let cool for 30 minutes. Add in the almond oil (you can substitute olive oil, jojoba oil, any organic, liquid oil that is organic.) After experimenting a good bit, I discovered that the fresh and lightly citrus scent of neroli in combination with vanilla is extremely comforting and also tremendously relaxing, It is so pleasing, you may even consider using it as a perfume. I

 Stir in almond oil and blend. When the l oils start to partially solidify, add in 15 drop each of the essential oils. Stir in, and then whip the mixture until a butter-like consistency is achieved which will only taka few minutes. If you’re like me, you immediately try it on your own skin so do indulge yourself, you earned it!

...
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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
OH-star-ah or oh-STAR-ah?

The many-hued Lady of Spring goes by many names. The ancient Continental German-speaking peoples knew Her as Ostara.

(The name itself has not been preserved per se in any surviving documents—although we do find it in the plural, Ôstarûn—but the original singular form can be confidently reconstructed on the basis of Her Old English name, Éastre or Éostre [depending on which dialect of Old English you grew up speaking]).

Among contemporary pagans, Her name is usually pronounced with the stress on the second syllable: oh-STAR-ah.

Well, I hate to break it to you, but the ancestors would have laughed to hear you say it that way.

Like the other Germanic languages, Old High German was (for the most part) a stress-initial language: i.e. the first syllable in a word gets the major emphasis. Historically speaking, the correct pronunciation is OH-star-ah (rhymes—kind of—with MOST o' ya).

Well, in language, use determines correctness, they say. So, you can go either say it the way the ancestors did, or you can tag along like a sheep after everyone else. You decide. Really, what's so wrong with "Sam Hane"?

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Pisces New Moon Reading: Find Protection & Truth

Dear Moon Muser,
There is alot going on OUT THERE.
Stay within this New Moon(th).
Be guided by Light.
Find solace in the dark.
We are nearing the change
(Spring Equinox-N. hemisphere + Fall Equinox-S. hemisphere.)
Never forget who you are.
Count your blessings.
(Be Corny)
...and sing.
You are everything
and nothing.

Sparkly Blessings!
Kathy Crabbe
Intuitive Artist, Astrologer, Soul Reader

New Moon in Pisces Reading

Card 1: Circe (Zodiac Goddess Power Deck)

Circe or ‘witch’ was a fate spinner and a weaver of the destinies of men. She was called ‘The Goddess who commanded all the lights of heaven’ by Pliny an ancient philosopher. Circe lived as a witch and a weaver in a little stone cottage by the sea where she concocted magical herbal potions to ensnare sailors shipwrecked near her shores, turning the nastiest ones into swine.

...
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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
A Pagan Response to the Corona Virus?

India being India, there's an entire genre of Bollywood films known as the “theologicals”: religious movies.

Back in the VHS Era, my friend Stephanie and I used to rent theologicals from our local Indian grocery store. Our shared pool of Hindi being pretty limited, it was always quite an experience to watch an unsubtitled 2½ hour film in a language that you don't understand. After a while, we got pretty good at figuring things out.

One of our favorites was a film called Shitala Ma (SHEE-ta-la Mah): “Mother Smallpox.” Shitala Ma is the goddess, not just of smallpox, but of all infectious diseases. (Stephanie, being something of an amateur epidemiologist, found this pretty engaging.) Those infected with disease are considered to be possessed by Shitala Ma, and are actually worshiped as her vehicles (note the donkey in the image shown above); the goddess is given offerings, and asked kindly to depart, leaving the sufferer unharmed.

Now there's something they don't teach you in Med School.

The heroes of the film are a poor family of farmers, pious worshipers of Shitala Ma. While working in the fields one day, they discover a murti (statue) of Shitala Ma buried in the ground. My memory is that the family dog led them to it.

Naturally, they hold a puja (worship) for the statue. Shitala Ma herself appears—this happens during pujas sometimes—and tells them that she wants a temple built for her in the field where the statue was found. The father of the family goes to tell the local rich man who owns the field of the goddess's apparition and of her request.

The rich man, of course, is loathe to lose the field and the income that it brings.

No way,” he says.

(Bollywood being Bollywood, of course, the film is punctuated by mass song-and-dance spectacles, passionate love duets in gardens with fountains, and slapstick comedy routines featuring transvestites, none of which have anything whatsoever to do with the plot. Really, what's not to love?)

Nothing daunted, our pious family sets up a small shrine to Shitala Ma in the field, and soon all the villagers are gathering there to worship the goddess.

Finally the landowner has had enough. He sends his goons to steal the statue, who drop it down a well to get rid of it.

Bad move. Angered, Shitala Ma smites the rich guy's entire family with smallpox.

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